It Just Gets Stranger

Ukrainian Appendectomy Podcast

2012-01-26T21:26:00.000-08:00

I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that I was going to be telling a story on The Porch. The event happened and was incredibly fun. The Porch is a show that takes place in Utah where story tellers come together and share a wide range of experiences--some funny, some inspirational, some sad, etc. As you probably guessed, I was invited to come share ~~an inspirational story about overcoming adversity~~ a humorous experience. So I had the occasion, before a very generous audience, to tell one of my favorite stories from my life: having a surprise emergency appendectomy in a forest in western Ukraine in 2004 (I'm really not kidding). It was great to meet some stranger readers there who came and supported. For those who missed it but desperately wanted to hear the story, I have good news! It was recorded and the surprisingly good quality podcast is found HERE. For those of you who missed it and didn't want to hear the story, I don't have any good news. Below are a few pictures from the night:

Just at the end of a sneeze?

With the world's most supportive friends

With the very brilliant Jolyn Metro

This is how I look when I try to swim.

Hope everyone's week is going well and Just Gets Stranger~

The Bod Pod

2012-01-23T23:01:00.000-08:00

Because I'm spending an inordinate amount of time putting myself through torture for a mistake I made in October (i.e., signing up for the May Ironman), all so I won't drown/die of heat exhaust/fall off of a cliff while biking due to fatigue/turn against the world/etc., I have felt justified recently in self-indulging on all of the top 25 FDA's most toxic foods. My rationale, of course, is that since I'm burning what feels like 250,000 calories a day, I should be able to consume that many, in whatever form I would like, with no consequences. Sound fair? Admittedly, there is a slight chance that I have out-consumed my calorie burning. In fact, you would all disown me if you found out how much Ben & Jerry's Lard-Trans-Fat flavor ice cream I've had over the last several months, usually with a side of something equally depressing and always at an hour when only the creepers are still awake. And as we speak, I am eating hot chocolate powder out of a can with a large spoon. But no longer do I feel good about this behavior.

Last week my "friend" Dan finally convinced me to go to something called the "Bod Pod" and have a machine, which is supposedly the most accurate bad-news-giver/judger-of-man in the whole world, tell me what a horrible suck-face with no future I am. I sincerely believe this machine was invented by the devil and is operated by his minions. And if I had unlimited time and resources, I would devote all of it (save the portion I would set aside for Ben & Jerry's) to stopping it from hurting other people. Dan, who has been training and soaking his insides in lard to the same degree as I have, assured me that he received a positive result from Satan's vehicle for evil, which basically told him he was America's next top model with an impossibly low body fat percentage that placed him in the "ultra-lean" category. This, the results paper explained, is the category of "elite athletes" and others who have a reason to feel good about themselves. Dan explained that this was a confidence booster, one desperately needed during Ironman training, and one he claims he was sure I would receive if I submitted to the test.

So I caved.

First, a man and woman asked me to strip down to a speedo in an office while they stared at and questioned me about all of my life habits and forcefully typed my answers into a computer. I felt like the protagonist in every film ever created about a regular Joe who gets sequestered by the government for contracting some contagious ailment (and for reasons that have never been clear to me, the audience always labels this as an atrocity of the greatest kind because his freedoms have been restricted, even though a waltz out to society would mean the destruction of mankind. Another topic for another day). They then had me step inside the Bod Pod machine (aka, self-esteem deathtrap), which looked like something I've seen on The Jetsons, but less fun. I sat and completed a few cycles where I felt the air pressure change several times as I saw man and woman through the Bod Pod window nodding up and down at their computer screen like they just discovered what they expected all along. I was then released and escorted to a table where man and woman sat judgmentally with my results, prepared to have, what I'm now calling, an "intervention" with me. To my horror, they informed me that I fell firmly into the "moderately fat" category. I didn't even qualify for "lean"--and forget about "ultra lean." In fact, I was closer to the next category up, which I think was called "excessive fat." The only category above that one was something like, "contact the nearest emergency response team if you're not already dead."

Miss Thang counseled me, with a tone in her voice like she was trying to save me, that I should try to lose some of my excess fat if I want to live to see my grandchildren. But it was hard to pay attention to her because all I could think about were the pictures in the other room of the other "moderates" who all looked like they've been eating Cheetos for every meal since the 80s. I also desperately tried to figure out where my twice-the-amount-of-fat-as-Dan-even-though-he's-a-foot-taller-than-me is most noticeable. When I lean forward I think all of it goes to my stomach. When I lean back, my thighs.

Eventually I determined that these were bad people who shouldn't be trusted.

Now that that is settled, I'm here to help anyone avoid wasting the effort to go visit the same people. If any of you out there are considering scheduling the Bod Pod test, I'll save you the time by helping you conduct your own equally-accurate test at home. Please answer the following questions:

1. Are you ever happy?
2. Do you consume food in order to stay alive?
3. Are there any parts of your body where you cannot see the shape of your bones?
4. Are there ever moments where you are not so hungry that you are on the verge of falling into unconsciousness?
5. Do you weigh more than you did at age six?
6. Lift up your shirt, lean forward, and look at your stomach. Have you lost the will to live?

Results: If you answered "yes" to any of the above questions, you should feel bad about yourself, refrain from wearing a bathing suit in public, and get a good life insurance policy.

On the way home from the Bod Pod I stopped by Wendy's drive-through for a large #3. But with a Diet Coke. Just in case they're right.

~It Just Gets Stranger

Yahoo! Answers

2012-01-18T21:59:00.000-08:00

Today I decided to create a couple of Yahoo! accounts (qofcolors and janesnuggies) to go onto Yahoo! Answers and ask ridiculous questions to irritate people (how did I become this person?). What happened was very entertaining, especially the cat related questions. Below is a sampling of my results. More to come:

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Question 1: How can I alter my Snuggie to make it more fashionable? I really enjoy the Snuggie for comfort but there seems to be some social stigma about wearing it in public. I'm just wondering whether anyone has any ideas for making it a little more stylish. PLEASE HELP!

1) I would never wear my snuggie out in public, its an invitation for public humiliation. Keep cozy at home and buy a jacket for the outdoors. Brianna~

2) It's not possible . . . Leave the Snuggie at home and wear a coat outside. Winona~

3) Buy a bedazzler, should be on the as seen on tv shelf right next to the Snuggies. Then you can put ugly fake rhinestones on your ugly Snuggie. Ian~

4) Maybe get a cool designed one and cut and hem to about waist length, and make it instead of having no back to it make it have a back part, (if u understand me) and if you could, make the sleeves a bit smaller, (I realize their really wide) and roll the sleeves about an inch up and it looks pretty fashionable! (well in my head it does lol). Shelby~

5) Impossible. Allison~

6) You can't and never will be able to! Chris~

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Question 2: Tips on swimming from L.A. to Hawaii? I've completed my first half marathon and I'm looking for a new challenge. I'm thinking about attempting to swim from L.A. area to Hawaii this summer. I've never been much of a swimmer so I don't really know what it will take. Does anyone know how much time it should take me or know what kind of bathing suit I should buy? HELP!!?!?!?!?!

1) Buy a chainmail swimsuit to fend off shark bites. Joe~

2) Why don't you try something easier like swimming to the moon. I know it is farther but, you'd be swimming through space where there is not the resistance created by the water and it makes swimming much easier. OR ... stop being so stupid. Academic~

3) The distance from Los Angeles to Honolulu is 4114.57 kilometres (2556.68 miles). Assuming the whole entire displacement is in a water medium, at a 2:00 per 100m pace it would take approximately 57 days, 3.5 hours of nonstop swimming. Apart from my complete entertainment in calculating this, your question was completely ridiculous. Eli~

4) Okay, unless you want to drown of starvation, blood loss, or suffocation, I would highly recommend watching the London Olympics at home while eating popcorn instead of passing out 10 miles off the shore of Los Angeles. The longest distance ever swum was 3736 mi from Cape Cod to France. Good luck being eaten. Btime~

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Question 3: What are the best ways to put a cat down at home? My cat has been sleeping more than usual and I'm pretty sure she must be sick. I'm just wondering what the most humane way is to put her down without having to leave the house. HELP?!?!?!

1) Microwave. Robert~

2) Take her to the vet! You don't even know if she is sick! There is no humane way to put her down at home. Only the vets lethal injection is humane. I can't believe you want to kill your cat because it sleeps a lot. That's what cats do! Kittycat~

3) Any small bullet to the back of the head. Extra Stuff~

4) Take her to the vet immediately. This cat does not deserve to be put down for a non-vertrinary skilled human being self-diagnosing her. This question appalls me. Lindsay~

5) What sort of idiot psychopath are you?? GET HER DIAGNOSED FIRST. I hope you are trolling, I really do. Brendan~

6) You've got to be kidding! Cats sleep a lot, which is just their nature. Sometimes, we adults, sleep more than usual, because our bodies let us know they need more sleep. If your cat was truly sick, as you seemed to think, there would be other signs that she is. Would you assume your parents, grandparents, or your child was sick, just because they were sleeping alot & ask how to put them down? I have a two year old cat & she sleeps a lot, but that doesn't mean she's sick & needs to be put down. Do you feed her daily, give her fresh water twice a day, keep her litter box cleaned out, & spend time talking to her & playing with her? Do you give her treats & tell her she's a pretty/good girl daily? Cats need to bond with their owners & when the owners don't let that happen, cats can read their owners like a book. I suggest you find a really good home for your cat, because you are a lousy cat owner. How sad! Call the vet & have your questions answered. I can't wait for you to ask him how you can put your cat down, without leaving home. I wouldn't want to be you when you ask that question. Short~

7) Take her to the vet. You wouldn't want to put down a small child if they were sleeping alot would you? Eden~

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Question 4: Should I separate my chicken and cat? My chicken and my cat have been sharing the same sleeping space while we are remodeling the cat's room. They have been fighting non-stop but I'm wondering whether separating them will only tell them that it's ok to fight each other. Also, I'm worried about the chicken getting pregnant (the cat is male). Is that even possible?!?!?!?!

1) Worry more about the cat having live/dead chicken for supper. The cat WILL kill the chicken soon. Oc~

2) Chickens and cats don't go well together and obviously your chicken is frightened. And a chicken cannot get pregnant as it lays eggs and cats are mammals so their systems work differently.Toffee~

3) No, that is not remotely possible and neither cats or chickens will learn a bad lesson from being separated. They are not meant to live together. go watch a tweety bird cartoon. Wayne~

4) No, that is not possible because first of all chickens don't get pregnant, they lay eggs, and that can't happen because the chicken is a bird and the cat is a mammal. Chickens are generally happier outside. Buy a chicken coop. Good luck. Murk~

5) They should definitely be separated. It must be causing them huge stress. Secondly, cats and chickens cannot mate. Animals can only mate with their species and the other animals very, VERY similar to them. (example: lion an a tiger) Even if they could mate- you should have your cat neutered anyways. If you're wondering why he's spraying all over your home- that is why. There are organizations that can help you neuter him for an extremely low fee. Also, animal shelters often have events for very inexpensive spay/neuter. Shelby~

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Question 5: Do I spend my time with my cat or my kid? My cat seems to be really upset about the amount of attention I've been giving my kid since I've started home schooling him. I hate seeing her feel so left out. I'm thinking about sending him back to public school, even though his school is a bit dangerous. I don't want to have to choose one over the other, but I have had my cat longer and it only seems fair. Right????

1) It depends. What kind of cat is it? Punk~

2) Umm, no. I mean if you send your child to public school do it for a good reason not because your cat feels left out. All you have to do is spend 10 minutes a day with your cat and let her sleep with you. Don't sacrifice your child's education for a cat. Cool Cruiser~

3) Its a no brainer you ALWAYS put your children first, could you imagine what your son will think years later finding out he went to a dangerous school so your car wouldnt feel bad? seriously I love my dogs with all my heart but my child would NEVER be put in a dangerous situation so they wouldnt feel bad, get another cat to keep that one company or give it to someone who can spend more time with it if its affecting it that bad. Im not trying to be mean or rude but seriously child first. Hope~

4) Honestly when I read this question I thought it was a joke. Put your cat outside and let him go do some cat stuff like chasing mice and rabbits, and spend time with your kid. Anyway think of it this way, if your cat and your kid were both about to drown to death which one would you save? This is a lot more severe but really by spending more time with your cat than your child is putting an animal in front of a human being on your priorities list. Flint~

5) Always put kids first, but you can still pay attention to your cat. school is the best thing for a kid so i would send the kid back to school but pay attention to both, kids are much more emotional than cats. Jack~

6) You can try involving your cat in home school it can make learning fun and your cat will feel less lonely. Catie~

7) Are you stupid? PLEASE tell me this question is supposed to be a joke. Your cat doesn't feel bad just because you don't spend the whole day with it. Cats naturally like to be alone and like their space. As long as you feed her, and let her sleep next to you, she will be happy. "The cat was there first"? What is that supposed to mean. If you think your cat needs so much attention that you have to send your child to a dangerous school, why do you have a kid in the first place? I doubt the cat even cares if you are homeschooling your kid or not, but obviously she is more important to you. Wow. Rose~

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Question 6: How do I hide the number of cats I have from my neighbors? I currently have 20-22 cats in my house and there are a few I would like to take in that I've seen nearby (I can't help myself when I see cats out roaming the neighborhood. Everyone needs a home). I'm worried that my neighbors will complain if they find out how many I have, not that it's any of their business. Additionally, I'm worried that some of my neighbors might claim that I've taken one of their cats that they let out. HELP!

1) I think it would be in your best interest to let those cats go.I know that you are trying to help but it will come to a psychological disorder. Sienna~

2) I agree with that other person you its called animal hoarding and its a very bad habit that can ruin your life. Trust me put those cats at an shelter or call a animal shelter. Some people have atleast 80-100 cats living at their home if their hard core but your still in the light phase put thoes cats at an animal shelter and youlll be good. You can keep atleast 2 or 3. John~

3) hoarder............ probably illegal im sure......incredibly unsanitary....and im sure they are not getting regular check ups vaccinations etc. i hope the neighbors report you so the cats can find homes and people to care for them properly. Yeeyah~

4) I think your best interest is to find some of them homes. I'm not here to judge- I understand where you come from, these Cat's do all need homes. But what they really truly deserve is a home where they can get the one on one attention they deserve. With 20 + Cat's, there aren't enough hours in the day for them to get the care and attention that they need to stay happy and healthy. I hope you do the right thing- you are a good person for giving them a home and you'd be an even better person if you found them a home where they can get everything they deserve. Shelby~

5) How would they find out? Do they visit you often? They won't find out how many cats you have unless the cats make a lot of noise. In that case, you can't do anything, but give up some of the cats. That is WAY to many and it might not even be allowed where you live. Instead of keeping all the cats you find, why don't you try to find them good homes and only keep a few of them. Yes, they do need homes, but it's way to much work and they probably aren't getting the attention they need. what do you mean "20-22". If you don't know how many cats you have, then that's already too many. I think 6 or 7 cats is a limit. Rose~

6) You have a problem. You need a mental health treatment. Strike~

7) [A VERY long explanation of Hawaii's animal hoarding laws].

~It Just Gets Stranger

The First Eye vs. The Q of C

2012-01-15T12:11:00.000-08:00

I had a horrific dream last night (the word "nightmare" doesn't quite do it justice). It involved the two creatures you have all come to know and love recently, but both of which are absolutely the most terrible things that I believe have ever been created other than Glee and sushi. The dream revolved around an upcoming epic battle between the Queen of Colors and The First Eye (in case you missed the description of The First Eye, click here). I'll spare you the details of why they were fighting and how they even knew each other--rest assured, it was all very complicated. And in the dream, the battle never actually took place. There was just a lot of preparation and anticipation before I woke up in one of those half-screams-half-cries. But it's gotten me thinking all day today what would happen if those two forces of evil ever actually faced off. I'm still not sure who would come out victorious, but I did come up with a list of strengths and weaknesses that would factor into the whole thing:

The First Eye's Strengths:

-The ability to roll
-The ability to change size
-Stealth quiet movement
-One thousand blunt toes, which are usually very sharp by about November (since toenail cutting month isn't until March)
-Never closes his eye
-Always angry

The Q of C's Strengths:

-The ability to fly
-Capable of unspeakable evil
-Ability to tangle her shanks in hair (probably not applicable when fighting The First Eye)
-Unpredictability factor
-A vendetta against all living things because of a bad experience in the '80s involving someone's hair
-Always angry

The First Eye's Weaknesses:

-Incapable of punching or kicking
-The vast majority of his body is the most vulnerable part of his body
-Terrible peripheral vision
-Unable to grip weapons
-Zero allies

The Q of C's Weaknesses:

-Unable to lay eggs
-Unpopular at parties
-Small (but don't be fooled . . .)
-Decreased lung capacity due to a long life of smoking
-Has not aged well

If anyone has any thoughts on said hypothetical battle, please pass them along. I hope with everything in me that we never see the day where this hypothetical becomes a reality. But we ought to be prepared in case the worst happens.

~It Just Gets Stranger

Ironman Woes

2012-01-10T22:07:00.000-08:00

Before I rant and rave about my most recent rantworthy rave, I want to let those of you in or near the Provo area know that I will be telling my story of having major surgery in Eastern Europe on The Porch this Thursday (Jan. 12) at Muse Music at 8:00 PM. For the event page, click here. We would love to see/meet any of you who can make it.

Now to more important things: the ever approaching doomsday, May 5th, 2012. Several months ago, in a panic, I went through the 275 step process to register for an Ironman (I found it quite fitting that the registration process itself was like an ultra-endurance event--one which I felt like I deserved a medal of honor for completing). At the time I thought this was a fantastic idea, partly because May 5th seemed like an eternity away. I have the unfortunate habit of considering anything that takes place no sooner than two seasons in the future to be "an eternity away," which very tragically diminishes my ability to make good decisions at times of great pressure. For this reason I have committed myself to "survive" (the term I use instead of "run") multiple marathons and miserably endure several camping trips in my life. But the moment of panic that led to Ironman 2012 was unprecedented, as was the fruit of said panic (I think it may have all been part of an early mid-life crisis (I hope "early" is accurate)).

After registering, I immediately began inserting myself into and violently flapping around bodies of water (without floaters!) as I understood that I will be expected to propel myself forward halfway across the ocean at the beginning of said race. After several months of doing this with some regularity, the "progress" in the pool has been such:

1. I have come to understand how to very efficiently move to the side to let people pass me.
2. I now wear tighter swimming shorts so I appear more competent when standing on the side of the pool while stretching and making my serious face.

On the list of things I've yet to accomplish:

1. Swimming.

And swimming isn't my only problem. As it turns out, after completing the swim across the world, I'm expected to load myself onto a bike and ride it for the next five or so hours. Fortunately they say that riding a bike is just like riding a bike so I fully expect all of my skills from 1994 when my friends and I started a temporary bike gang (with an anti-drug message) will come flooding back to me. I need those skills to come flooding back to me because currently my exhaustive list of experiences on an actual bike since 1994 consists solely of a very long day on a two-wheeled purple contraption with flat tires, a large basket full of bread, a bell, and brakes that only worked if I was going up-hill at the time of use (true story). I have had some experience on stationary bikes, forced to ride them for several months in 2002 when I developed a running stress fracture. I lovingly referred to the two bikes I used as "Chester the Molester" and "Curious George," for reasons you don't want to hear.

To begin to combat the biking problem, my friend and I attempted to attend a spin class this morning that started at (brace yourself) 5:45 A.M.!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I know what you're thinking, "isn't that illegal?" My understanding is that it is not, although I've yet to research this. But this could be a good time to start calling your representatives to demand change. And it gets worse: as we approached the spin room at 5:40 A.M. (!!!!!! :-( !!!!!!), we were greeted by an already completely saturated class of go-getters who had apparently all been there to claim their bikes since sometime before Hanukkah. What this means is that I got up around the witching hour just to get rejected in front of 3 dozen people who are more motivated than I am.

Unfortunately my big mouth has told every single person I've come in contact with about the upcoming event so now any repeat encounters with anyone inevitably turn into the Spanish Inquisition about how my training is going, which in turn invokes CTSD (Current Traumatic Stress Disorder--that's a thing, isn't it?).

Help.

~It Just Gets Stranger

The First Eye

2012-01-05T16:48:00.000-08:00

This weekend the winds of strange blew me southwest to southern California and Mexico. My friend Dan and I decided sort of last minute to roadtrip our way to the land of tortillas (I'm really not kidding that freshly made tortillas in Mexico was responsible for about 82% of my decision to go). We left Thursday afternoon after a mad attempt to get my affairs in order.

The drive through southern Utah is one often full of great anxiety for me, mostly because of a creature my older sisters created in the late '80s to haunt and terrorize my childhood. Dear strangers, meet The First Eye.

The First Eye (TFE) is a mysterious creature whose exact purpose has never been fully explained to me. His entire anatomy consists of one giant eyeball, surrounded by 1,000 toes in a line all the way around his perimeter. That's it. No mouth. No nose. No ears. Just an eyeball with exactly 1,000 toes. As my sisters were incredibly vague about The First Eye's daily activities, hobbies, interests, etc., I assumed from ages 4 to 13 (yes, 13), that The First Eye existed solely to terrorize children. Much of this morbid assumption of traumatic motives had to do with Bob subjecting me to made-for-tv Steven King's "IT" at age six because "it's a movie about clowns!" (Thanks to Bob I have kept a machete and rosary next to my bed and haven't slept for more than 30 minutes at a time since 1989).

The reason I associate driving through southern Utah with The First Eye is because I was first informed of its confusing existence on a drive to visit my grandparents in southern California. On said drive, my straight-faced sister Krisanda matter-of-factly drew a picture of the creature and informed me that it lived in all the caves on Earth simultaneously. For this reason, she lovingly continued, I should keep my eyes peeled as we made our way through cave territory in the Utah and Nevada deserts. She also explained to me every single fact I know about it other than its simplistic anatomy and omnipotent whereabouts:

1. The First Eye is always angry because he is always hungry as he has no mouth with which to eat.

2. The First Eye is a man.

3. The First Eye is sometimes huge and sometimes small, depending on the size of the cave in which he is dwelling. But he is always large enough to sport 1,000 toes.

4. The First Eye is always watching. I assume this is because The First Eye does not have an eyelid.

5. The First Eye has no family or friends.

6. My sisters apparently had the remarkable ability to communicate with The First Eye as they were always relaying messages from him to me.

7. The First Eye's messages to me were always very bizarrely thought provoking, yet eerily simple.

8. The First Eye is incapable of love.

9. To move around, the first eye rolls on his toes, apparently with impeccable balance.

10. All The First Eye wants in life is the ability to wear shoes. Something he will never experience.

As Dan and I made our way south, I felt each hole in the red rock staring at me until we finally rolled into a dark Nevada and continued our journey westward. Sometime during our lonely drive through the Nevada deserts we both saw something that I'm not totally sure is wholly unrelated to The First Eye, but that nonetheless took my mind completely off of him. A UFO. Yes. I'm not kidding about this. A green light high in the dark and overcast evening sky darted from horizon to horizon in two seconds and disappeared into the distance. When telling this story to others later, Dan and I both corroborated one another's recollections very effectively and energetically, finishing each other's sentences and nodding supportively and emphatically while the other one spoke. This continued rapidly for several minutes until, after finishing the story and waiting for the stunned reactions of our audience, Dan backtracked, informing the crowd in a suddenly skeptical and mocking voice, as if I was the sole crazy one and he was on their side all along, "well . . . I don't recall the light being green." When I defended myself, Dan patronizingly responded in that voice, "ok Eli. Whatever you say." while quickly making eye contact with the others. I should point out that Dan was the one who demanded we share the story in the first place before changing his tune after seeing the unimpressed eyes of our listeners. I suspect he did this in an attempt to make friends. But ironically, in that moment, he nearly lost one. Not cool, Dan. Not cool.

After visiting friends in southern California for a couple of days, my wonderful co-worker who happened to be in San Diego as well gave us a quick ride and dumped us at the border to meet my uncle and our good friend Andrea who were eagerly awaiting us on the other side, having gotten a 4 day head-start on tortilla mastication. The two days in Rosarito and La Mision were full of voice-losing karaoke, visits with sweet friends of my uncle, 10,000 tortillas, and fog. Lots and lots of fog. Unfortunately one thing that did not happen during this time was exercise. This is particularly unfortunate for my swimming lack-of-abilities as I need to learn how to swim before my quickly approaching May 5th race. After four months of regular practice, I'm sad to say that I've gone from "panicked drowning" to "calmed drowning" but I don't seem to be working my way toward "moving forward while in water." Add swimming to the list of things I'm self-conscious about. The very long list.

No The First Eye sightings on the way home, although I suspect he's gotten very good over the years at blending into his surroundings. Well, as much as a giant eyeball with 1,000 toes is able to blend into his surroundings.

~It Just Gets Stranger

2011

2011-12-30T23:56:00.000-08:00

2011 was good to me. It was also my strangest year to date, which is how I measure success. I believe that if I'm living my life the way I should, the best year of my life will always be the last one that I lived. "Best year" doesn't mean that all of my hopes and dreams have come true. And a year where all of my hopes and dreams have come true wouldn't necessarily be my best, but perhaps just be my most unexpected one. Best year for me doesn't mean that everything was peachy. And in fact, for a best year to happen, things probably can't be all peachy. That's because a best year is one full of personal growth and change, variety, accomplishment on both a macro and micro-level, and an endless string of bizarre experiences to relay to you. And by that standard, 2011 has easily been my best year to date.

In 2011 I read books and took naps in European parks. I slept in the homes of people I found online, sometimes in their beds. I accidentally wandered into Harlem on a dreary Sunday morning. I passed the bar. I coached a track team of best friends. I ran a marathon without slowing to a crawl by the end. I forced my family into a five mile Thanksgiving walk. I made my niece hate Thanksgiving. I resurrected the Queen of Colors after two decades of silence. I registered for an Ironman in a moment of panic. I frantically started learning how to swim. I got frustrated, a lot. I salsa danced at an outdoor art festival. I almost threw up at a state fair. I got creeped out at Auschwitz. I weathered a rainstorm in Prague. I built a fire in Austria, but didn't do a very good job. I played poker under church pillars in Pisa at midnight. I spoke to blinding lights and crying babies at my law school graduation. I competed at moot court nationals in Brooklyn. I woke up one day in Utah and wound up in Russia without intending to. I became a karaoke star in Mexico. I posted 40 days of Paul Simon videos. I got stuck in Naples. I swam in a clear blue lake in Slovenia. I pulled an all-nighter at school for my last law school final. I inspired a breakfast assault prank. I stood on a train for an entire day. I started a clerkship. I decorated an apartment. I watched my blog go viral over something I didn't think would be that funny. I sort of felt like a celebrity for a few minutes. I became close friends with someone I met in a grocery store and a Canadian I still haven't met. I slept outside in the middle of nowhere near arches. I rode a bike with a basket and a bell across cobble-stone. I wrote a song. I made complicated meals for hundreds of people, and complained the whole time. I moved, twice. I saw a fight in front of a courthouse, but was more intrigued by the person who broke it up. I fell asleep standing up at a reggae concert. I avoided cats and dogs in a little house in Mexico. I read 12 more pages of Crime and Punishment (better than last year!). I jammed on the guitar with Austrians and Italians. I got eaten alive by mosquitos in an old house. I watched most of my best friends move away at once. I made some new best friends who don't replace the old ones and who, themselves, could never be replaced. I ate too much gelato. I bought a beautiful old icon from my favorite collector. I got tired, but was happy enough not to care.

What a great year full of excitement, disappointment, and strange. And as a result of all three of those things, I'm a different person than I was one year ago--a person that I am more proud to be. Lately many strangers have commented on the theme, or the lack thereof, of this blog, wondering why there is such a focus on the strange experiences of life, one even calling it a "waste of time" to read because it provides no value--no skills--no educational information--etc. I guess it depends all on how we value the information. Here, for example, we value humor. But in this little corner of the www we focus on the strange often for purposes beyond prompting a quick laugh. We focus on the strange because the unique moments that cause us to raise an eyebrow and wonder are the same moments that cause us to feel something, whether it be intrigue, sorrow, discomfort, or elation at the time, usually turning into a laugh later in retrospect. And the moments that cause us to feel something are the same moments that turn us into the people we are, for better or worse. So we identify those. We dissect them. We laugh at them. We cry about them. We hope for them to continue. And because we do all of those things, we increase the value of the strange happenings. And we hope that the reminder of them will motivate us to do what we need to do to seek the strange more fervently, even though the normal is more comfortable. Because who ever looked back fondly on a year of mundane? Who ever became something they were proud to be without experiencing something strange along the way? Not saying that Snuggies, fake mom blogs, and childhood journals are necessary for growth. But they sure make the growth more interesting. So there it is, friends. May the lessons of 2011 help 2012 Just Get Stranger for us all~

Character Defense

2011-12-21T22:31:00.000-08:00

This morning I received the following text from my mother:

"Dear Eli, [Cathie always addresses me in her texts by name in case I'm not sure who she's speaking to] I read the comments some people have said about you online and I don't think you should be concerned because these people look weird. And your family loves you."

This was followed by an equally bothersome, "I won't be reading them anymore! Icky!"

Cathie has earned her "Tellin' It Like It Is" award many times over, which is one of the qualities we love most about her.

Wondering exactly what monstrosities about her precious boy she could have possibly encountered electronically, I ventured onto the www to discover what I feared might exist:
online forums of dozens of people dissecting every word of my previous four blog posts, and beyond. I immediately became both proud and disturbed that something that I did made groups of people who don't know me or each other engage in a philosophical debate about text messages regarding Snuggies, the Queen of Colors, and wood blocks. One person was very concerned about a rocket shaped object in the background of one of my pictures. One claimed to have dated my wife freshman year, to which another responded, "that's weird, since he's single and never been married" (is it that obvious?). And several have publicly declared that they want to have my babies for reasons that are still a mystery to me--but I'm in no position to ignore any options at this point (see the "Contact Us" tab for further stalking options).

Some of my favorite criticisms have included:

1) One person making fun of a typo in a blog post from two years ago (this caused me to give up my dream of being a writer).

2) A contention that my stories are "farcical" (this caused me to give up my dream of being a dancer).

3) And an observation by someone named "Cowardly Chicken" on the last post: "Wow. You a huge jerk. I am sure everyone who read this thinks you are so cute an clever, but actually you are just mean." (I assume Cowardly Chicken is referring to my Queen of Colors references).

But I zoomed my focus in on two main points of criticism. First, that I am a "self indulgent jerk," as one lovingly put it, who is sure that a world full of Janes would be better than a world full of Elis (I totally agree, by the way. Especially if Jane has a better Pogs collection than I do). And second, that I am a blatant hack because I did not create joke texting and subsequently blogging about it (also totally agree). I now hereby address these assertions:

Eli is a Jerk:

The extent to which I'm a jerk, I contend, is not as great as claimed by some of my new online friends who have not taken all of the facts into account. I provide you with the following list of evidence demonstrating my kindness, which should be weighed against my snarkiness in making any overall value judgments:

1) I have received text messages from approximately 70 people this month. I only harassed one of them (2 if you count my snarky response to Cathie this morning, "you googled me mom?! What did you find!? I was young! I needed the money!"). That is a 1.43% harassment rate, which is almost 4% lower than my "smile at a stranger in public" rate (I admit that this figure is a bit inflated as I count smirks and sneezes as smiles).

2) I actually do love Snuggies with all of my heart and did my best to help Beth experience them. This is something I did not have to do.

3) My 8 year old niece spent the weekend with me and I took her on a self-guided 2 hour historical tour of the State Capitol Building. I trudged onward even when she began begging me to let us leave after reading 3 dozen tiny print plaques explaining our heritage for 35 minutes. This will one day change her life. Hopefully it will come in handy when she's working there on the far north end of State Street and will not be a waste of brain space when she's working 30 blocks south of that spot in a place with no windows.

4) I always cry when I see commercials on t.v. about animal abuse (although I admittedly take no further action).

5) Recently while walking to work a man threw up onto the sidewalk within four feet of me. I cheerfully exclaimed, "So you've seen the new episode of Glee too, huh?!" This good intentioned merry pronouncement was not well received. And I've lost my taste for corn.

Eli is a hack:

This criticism comes mostly from an argument that contends I stole my ideas from David Thorne, writer of 27bslash6.com, an undeniably hysterical blog full of many humorous posts, including several email exchanges between Thorne and unsuspecting targets. I am neither as funny, nor as cruel, as David Thorne. And admittedly, I did not invent pranks, humor, the Internet, or blogging about pranks, humor, or the Internet. Because my sense of accomplishment has been completely destroyed by this truthful exploitation, I would like to attempt to restore my credibility by providing for you an exhaustive list of things I have created:

1) A blue-green ceramic hand print for my mom in the first grade (although to be fair, I did have help).

2) eligetstobeamommy.blogspot.com, a fine use of a Saturday hour.

3) Slap Bracelets.

4) Somewhere around 1,300 hand drawn mazes between the years 1993 and 1997, three of which were possible to complete. This activity was intended to fill a loneliness void after the Queen of ~~Color's~~ ~~Colors's~~ Colorseses's death, an activity which has since been replaced by creating fake mom blogs.

5) Gourmet Mac and Cheese for 400 people earlier this year, which I begrudgingly stirred with my arm as there was no spoon long enough to reach the bottom of a 50 gallon bucket. (This, by the way, could also go in the "Eli is a Jerk" defense list above, both because I prepared the meal for these people and because I confessed the arm-stirring right before everyone started eating it. Even more points if you consider also that I didn't judge anyone for eating it despite this confession. I did however judge them for eating Mac and Cheese generally).

For balance, I should also mention something I did not create:

1) The Queen of Colors story. That one is tragically true, at least inasmuch as the chicken was caught in someone's hair. See my oldest sister on a good day for details.

~It Just Gets Stranger

Snuggie Texts Part II

2011-12-18T14:16:00.000-08:00

The response to last week's Snuggie Texts post has been very entertaining and unexpected, getting near 100,000 views in the last six days. Many of us wondered whether Jane would eventually see the post. Yesterday morning while attending a family Christmas breakfast party I received a text from the same unknown number. Below is our text exchange which took place throughout the day. Please share it via Facebook or otherwise and feel free to like our facebook page. I love you Jane. Keep being you.

Enjoy.

Jane:

So I've seen your blog.

Eli:

Which blog?

Jane:

The it's stranger blog.

Eli:

Is that the mom blog or the pet blog?

Jane:

You know which one I'm talking about. The one with my text.

Eli:

? A blog you've written? Can you send me the link?

Jane:

I'm talking about my text messages.

Eli:

What about them?

Jane:

Rrrrr. I saw your it's stranger blog with my text messages that I sent and your ridiculous texts about snuggies.

Eli:

Oh! Yes. Wait. Who is this?

Jane:

Jane.

Eli:

Oh hey Jane! Did you end up going with the snuggies?! After I thought about it, I changed my mind about the kitty pattern. Plain white with their initials would probably be more "Beth" (you know how animal patterns make her skin look).

Jane:

I didn't want to go halfsies on just one word block. I wanted to find a bunch of cute ones painted different colors that they could decorate their place with.

Eli:

Oh. Tell me more about this wood block idea?

Jane:

That's all. It seemed like you were teasing me about snuggies because you thought my idea was stupid. I don't think it's stupid and I think you misunderstood that I didn't want to get just one.

Eli:

Did you happen to find any that say "Self Control?" I'm looking for one of those. (For a friend).

Jane:

No. This is so frustrating.

Eli:

I get it Jane. This actually reminds me of this time I tried to buy word blocks for a friend who was getting divorced. But instead of "hope" and "faith," I was looking for blocks that said "despair" and "better luck next time." How frustrated I was when the store had apparently sold out of them, as there were none, and only had a bin full of "it takes a long time to grow old friends" cross-stitched pillows and Wilson Phillips single "Hold On" cassette tapes.

Jane:

Whatever. You think my gift idea was a joke and that's fine.

Eli:

Not at all!!! I think you were totally serious about it!

Jane:

I mean you think it's a lame gift.

Eli:

Oh. In that case, yes.

Jane:

So why do you think it's such a dumb idea?! It's not an uncommon decoration gift . . .

Eli:

Oh, a lot of people joke about wood blocks. But I know a lot of people like them and I just thought maybe you were joking. I don't know you very well, obviously, so I don't know your sense of humor.

Jane:

That's just what I said about snuggies.

Eli:

Really? We must be very similar. My mom told me as a child that I have a twin that went with my dad when they split in 80s. Any chance your dad told you the same story? (For the record, my mom often led me astray. She also told me to stand up to bullies).

Eli:

I always hoped to meet you at summer camp and do a switch-a-roo. Of course since you're a girl, we would have to do more than cut your hair and pierce my ears.

Jane:

I doubt we would have been friends at summer camp.

Eli:

Well obviously not at first! But after getting into trouble for pulling pranks on one another we would have concocted a plan to switch places with the goal of reuniting mom and dad. I also know a great song we could have performed called "Let's Get Together" but we would need go-go boots and a baker's dozen of hula-hoops to do it justice.

Jane:

I bet you're cracking yourself up. My friend showed me the blog. So weird.

Eli:

Oh, now are you talking about my mom blog? I have a confession: I don't actually have kids. I just find photos of trendy looking toddlers online, post their pictures, and then make up stories about all of the cute things they've done like cleaning the bathroom without being asked.

Eli:

Also, occasionally I post about how hard it is to hold a job down at the quarry, attend AA meetings, bathe the Queen of Colors, etc., while raising 5 children. Which is also not true. It's not that hard. Or probably wouldn't be if I was doing those things and had help. Also the Queen of Colors died in a very unfortunate incident involving my sister's hair and a machete in 1987.

Jane:

Huh? I don't know what mom blog you're talking about . . .you know I'm talking about your stranger blog.

Eli:

Sorry! Where are my manners??! It's at eligetstobeamommy!.blogspot.com

Jane:

That link pulls up nothing.

Eli: (About 1.5 hours later--after realizing Jane was actually going to attempt to access the site)

Oh. Try it without the exclamation mark. eligetstobeamommy.blogspot.com

Jane:

Did you seriously create an entire blog as a joke? Where did you get those pictures?

Eli:

Ok. So maybe it's not all "cutsie" like some others out there. I'm a working single mom. It's the best I can do. And it's the only place I can go and talk about the real issues I face. Or the issues I would face if that was really my life.

Jane:

You are so confusing.

Eli:

Check back later. My oldest, Fortify, just wrote the cutest Haiku about me that I hope to post tonight! (Hopefully I post it on my blog before she posts it on hers!).

Jane:

This is all going to end up on your blog again, isn't it . . .

Eli:

~It Just Gets Stranger

Snuggie Texts

2011-12-12T18:58:00.000-08:00

Perhaps because I've been in a particularly snarky mood lately, I couldn't resist last night when I got an accidental text from an unknown number. The following is our text exchange over the next 24 hours in its entirety. [For follow up, see Snuggie Texts Part II]. Please LIKE us on Facebook. Enjoy:

Unknown:
Hey Amanda! This is Jane. I was thinking for Beth's wedding gift we could go halfsies on one of those blocks of wood that says words like faith and hope that they could put on a mantle or hang on the wall. What do you think?

Eli:
Hmmm . . . I saw couples snuggies at K-Mart the other day on sale for 9.99 and I think this is probably more of what she's looking for. It's more practical.

Unknown:
Lol! That's what I got them for their birthdays! But seriously, what do you think about the wood block idea?

Eli:
Ok . . . I know for a fact you didn't get them snuggies for their birthdays because I talked to Beth recently and asked her which kind she would want if she got one as a wedding gift and she didn't say anything about already having one . . .

Unknown:
Oh Amanda, I was just joking. Sorry. :( Tell me more about your snuggie idea?

Eli:
I'm confused . . . what was the joke?

Unknown:
Oh, a lot of people joke about snuggies. But I know a lot of people like them and I just thought maybe you were joking. I don't know you very well, obviously, so I don't know your sense of humor.

Eli:
Well obviously I don't think we should get them leopard print. I was thinking the classy kitten snuggies with their names embroidered onto them and a phrase like "1+1=furrrever."

Unknown:
1+1=furrever? Do you mean 2+2?

Eli:
2? Are they each 2 people? Why would it be 2+2?

Unknown:
1+1 equals 2, not 4. So the number "furrrever" doesn't really make sense with 1+1. Also, I don't think Beth likes cat stuff . . .

Eli:
Furrrever isn't a number . . . And Beth doesn't like cats but I'm pretty sure she likes cat stuff. I get her t-shirts with kittens on them for every birthday and she always says she loves them and that she wears them on vacations and stuff.

Unknown:
I bet she likes them just fine. I guess I just assumed she didn't like cat stuff since she doesn't like cats . . . But maybe she would like them. Or we could think of other options . . .

Eli:
I can tell you don't like the snuggie idea so let's just bag it.

Unknown:
I'm willing to consider it of course! But, are you at all interested in my block word idea? We could get those really cute ones that are painted different colors and just have a whole bunch they could put around their house.

Eli:
Here, let me text you a picture of my snuggie so you can get a better idea.

Eli:

Unknown: (2 hours later)
Honestly Amanda, I'm not crazy about the snuggie idea. If you want to do that, that's cool but I'll probably just do my own thing. Is that ok?

Eli:
Is it because of the picture? Obviously the Venetian mask and tea kettle wouldn't be part of the gift. I was just trying to show a few different uses. I can send other pictures if you want to see more.

Unknown:
No, that's ok. I think it looks really comfie. So you don't like the block words idea?

Eli:
You can go to football games in them, do grocery shopping, wear them around when all of your clothes are wet, read books, etc.

Unknown:
Yeah, they seem really cool. But she probably wouldn't do that kind of stuff in one . . .

Eli:
Well obviously she would have to tie it in the back so it wouldn't fall off. Especially if she didn't wear any clothes under it.

Unknown:
Alright. So you aren't interested in my block word idea?

Eli:
It's not that I don't like it. It's just that, when I was a kid my grandma used to always give me books for Christmas and I was always like, "thanks grandma. Now I have to read to enjoy your gift." You get me? Plus who has time for that?

Unknown:
But you understand the blocks are just one word. Like it would just be a block that says "Faith" or something.

Eli:
Oooooohhhhhh. So like a whole bunch of them that you move around to make funny sentences like word magnets on fridges that say stuff like, "I don't want no bunny banana frog ok no way!"

Unknown:
? No. Like, it's just the one word and you put it on a shelf or something.

Eli:
So we would have to get them a shelf too?

Unknown:
No . . . Ok, so you're not crazy about my idea. Do you have any others, other than the snuggie idea?

Eli:
What about garden gnomes?

Unknown:
Well they don't have a yard . . .

Eli:
Oh. What about a couple of chickens! Ok, hear me out on this. When I was a kid my parents had a chicken coop and we called one of the chickens the Queen of Colors because she was really colorful but one day her legs got stuck in my sister's hair so they had to cut the chicken out.

Unknown:
I don't think they would appreciate live animals.

Eli:
You're missing the point! The Queen of Colors got stuck in her hair! You have no idea what that put her through. Everyone called her "chicken head" until she lost her eye in a rubber band fight with her sponsor and they all started calling her "one-eyed-Wendy." But she's so much stronger for it.

Unknown:
I'll just do my own thing and you can do whatever you want. Ok?

Eli:

Unknown: (Many hours later)
Who is this?

Eli:
Eli.

Unknown:
And why did you keep texting me when you knew I had the wrong number?

Eli:

~It Just Gets Stranger

Emails From Craigslist Part II

2011-12-02T15:47:00.000-08:00

If you missed yesterday's post, you'll want to go back and read it before you read the continuation of my back-and-forth email communication with a stranger from Craigslist who goes by the name of "Ray."
Yesterday he responded with the following email:
______________________________________
Knick knack Paddy Matt,

Although this email is hard for me to write, I fear this is something that must be done. You have provided your number now multiple times, and my fingers ache to delicately pick up my receiver and gently spin the wheel of numbers until I have dialed the magnificent combination of 8-0-1-X-X-X-X-X-X-X. My heart cannot deny the yearning I feel to hear the voice that answers the phone (what type of phone it is, I know not, though I particularly fancy the idea of it being a Cricket Wireless or, dare I let my mind go wild, an I Phone.). Alas, I cannot allow myself to call because mother has returned.

Late last night as I creating a paper mache gift for you, using all of our correspondences and printed pictures of people I think you might look like, I heard an awful screeching noise above. I knew that everyone was asleep (the annual Ms. Kitty Cat Utah was held today, which meant an early morning for everyone), so I scurried up the stairs after slipping on my hemp socks. To my shock, as I heaved atop the stairs, I came face to face with mother. Not surprisingly she was looking fabulous in her nightgown (with a figure like mother's, you've got to accentuate with just the right material, and fleece works just right for a classy yet comfy allure), but her eyes did not betray her sultry appearance. With little more than a flick of her finger, I was banished to her closet. Later that night she swung open the door with wrathful force, her teeth barred against me (only the front two teeth were in, but man were they terrifying, even more so than full denture grimaces). In her left hand mother held the paper matches, and nothing more had to be said.

Now, here I sit with Mother, as we write our farewell to you. We have decided that the loving bonds of family must outweigh any other relationship, and embracing such a relationship would be harlotry. With the fondest love and moon soft beams of friendship, I bid you, dear Mattianious, farewell.

Xoxoxo
Ray and Mother

__________________________________
I then replied:
__________________________________
Raymond and Mother,

I wet my Snuggy with my tears last night, partly because of the death of 2 to 4 of my cats yesterday in an unforeseeable incident involving egg nog, Ms. Beetris from next door, and the game of Twister, but mostly because of the melancholic farewell you bid. Why you insist on destroying our bond before our anticipatedly tear-filled first face-to-face meeting, is as big a mystery to me as the reason "Small Wonder" didn't have at least ten seasons in the '80s. (Surely you remember "Small Wonder." It was the humorous, yet thoughtful, television program revolving around a family who had a robot as a daughter but tried to hide this fact from the world, always finding themselves in some kind of mischief before carefully resolving every plot twist within 30 minutes. It reminded me of my up-bringing, minus the robot and problem resolution. I'm still praying daily for a reunion).

And now here I sit, all alone, sipping a jar of my favorite Ovaltine-Fresca-crouton blend, thinking about what could have been. Nay, what should have been. I imagined tandem bikes, couples haircuts, and kite flying in the spring. I imagined a world where cats rein supreme. Our world. Our cats. Us. This all reminds me of a time when Old Betty Belendro (BB) from down the street used to have me over every other Thursday from 4:00 to 6:00 to bathe her cats with her while eating the toffee she had saved since her childhood and listening to The Carpenters' Greatest Hits record. Occasionally she would remove her prosthetic leg and ask me to massage the stub, which I did gladly as it made me feel important but also, for reasons I can't explain, turned me off to corn dogs. She used her tongue to clean the cats, but I wasn't ready for that so I gently washed them with sponges, the way grandmother washes me. BB used to speak to me in different voices, sometimes choosing one voice for an entire day. Others cautioned me to stay away, for fear of my safety, multiple times counseling me to see a doctor who sought to convince me to ignore her existence. But seeing as she only became violent with me on two occasions, I didn't feel the need or desire to distance myself from the love. I just stayed, and desperately tried to understand her mysterious ways. She told me one day I would understand. I didn't understand before she died in her massage chair that malfunctioned and folded in half while she was trying to see if she could sit in it upside-down to better view a painting she accidentally hung upside-down (in her defense, it was one of those modern art paintings--a large red circle in the center of white canvass. She says she retrieved it from a distant land as it hung sadly on one side from a pole in front of a large building, apparently having no frame. I saw no meaning in it, but BB always had an eye for the arts). Her untimely death was ironically very timely as I later found out my grandmother (who was supporting and bathing me at the time) had began hiding some pills in my supper each day, causing all sorts of strange behaviors. I wouldn't have wanted BB to see me like that. And so as quickly as she came into my life, she and the cats were gone. They never gave her a funeral and her house disappeared, as did all of the belongings she left me, including her entire Frisbee collection and a jar of dried orange peels she was saving for a special occasion. Now when I speak of her to others (in a hushed voice) they inevitably pretend they've never heard of her. I know it sounds strange, but every year on her birthday I find cat hair in my mouth. (Granted, I find cat hair in my mouth most days).

Mother, I'm relieved for you but terrified for society that you have been released from prison. But 25 years is probably a sufficient amount of time to serve for laxative-ing all of those people in the Hands Across America line in '86, leading to a very unfortunate brawl at a rest stop 20 miles from Seligman on Route 66. I hear they still have the road shut down and only allow access to high clearance federal agents and squatters.

Ray-bees, I'm sorry to hear you're living in the closet again. I often shut myself in small confined places for hours at a time but I know that I'm in the minority for enjoying that sort of thing. It makes my subconscious believe I'm in the womb again, which truly was the happiest time of my life, excluding one vacation to Nebraska when I was 12 and my sister and I came up with a new dance, which we performed in the car for two straight days without stopping, making it into the Guinness Book of World Records. Of course the memory of that is bitter as some fool by the name of Los del Rio stole the entire thing, added a hip swivel at the end, and started calling it the Macarena, all just two months before we were ready to release our home-made music video modeling the same dance we had called the Macaroni. Since that day I have avoided dancing in clubs, book stores, or anywhere in transit along the interstate for fear that my artistic self-expression will again be whored to the world in the form of an (admittedly catchy) one-hit-wonder. Never again. If ever we meet under the auspices of a higher power perhaps we can coin a new dance together.

And so it goes. Maybe we'll meet sometime. But until then, don't forget to feed the cats.

Catman
_________________________________

~It Just Gets Stranger

Emails From Craigslist

2011-12-01T15:16:00.000-08:00

My roommate Matt is moving out of our apartment at the end of the month (artistic differences) and so is desperately trying to sell his lease. He recently posted it on Craigslist and yesterday got a very interesting email from someone named Ray:

_______________________________
-Matt

This apartment sounds great, and the move in time sounds ideal for my situation. I was so relieved to see that the rent was so affordable, much better than what I have been paying for the past ten years (my mother has charged astronomical amounts, but I've stayed to tend her cats). Please let me know more about the apartment and roommate. Regards,

Ray
_______________________________

Matt responded:

_______________________________
Hi Ray,

What questions do you have? The roommate is a great guy and it's a wonderful apartment. I believe it is about 1100 sq ft.

-Matt
_______________________________

To which Ray shot back:

_______________________________
Hello friend!What are utilities usually? And why do you say your roommate is a great guy? Often I've found that the only people I feel are truly "great" are war hero's and saints. I suppose my childhood friend, Bill, was great, but he died which proves that greatness will only take you so far.

So excited to finally meet you, I love making new friends (maybe we should move in together. Are you looking for a roommate?).

Regards,

Ray
_______________________________

At this point Matt forwarded me the communication and I couldn't help myself. So I wrote the following email, which Matt then sent to Ray:

_______________________________
Hey Raymond!

I am so excited that you want to be my friend! I thought when I posted this that I would maybe meet a couple of people, but I never thought I would be able to start a close relationship with someone! I often have close friends that leave me after a while because they say they need their space, which is interesting because they always leave me to go be with someone else, which doesn't look like space at all to me. But what do I know--I spent the better part of my early adulthood in prison where space isn't exactly one of the feature attractions (although I find that if I close my eyes and use my imagination, I can feel like I have infinite amounts of space, which usually makes me feel lonely, even though there are several people around me. It's crazy that I can stand in the middle of a crowd of people and feel loneliness. Come to think of it, Woodstock '69 was probably the loneliest time of my life. But that had more to do more with the fact that I showed up at the wrong field and actually spent the next several days alone, listening to music in my mind (because we didn't have iPods back then) thinking the whole time that Woodstock just had a really embarrassing showing. The whole time I only saw about 4 other people and they were all homeless. I could have sworn someone said it was supposed to be in Alabama. Boy was I wrong! But I did learn about survival at that time. Which reminds me, do you want to go camping this weekend? I know a few great spots downtown we could go.).

Let me know if you want to hang this weekend. I'll be at the Barnes and Noble all night starting about 7:00 on Friday (unless they make me leave again because of their whole "shirt" rule). It's the one in Sugarhouse. Do you know it? I'll have a book ("The Berenstain Bears Learn to Share"--Unless I finish it before then. I'm on page 4 now) and a rose. Just come find me at one of the tables.

Cheers!

Matteo
_____________________________

To my absolute delight, Ray responded with this beauty:

_____________________________
Matteo,

I could not believe my eyes when I saw your email after logging onto my computer, signing into my wireless network, entering my user-name and password for Yahoo! Mail, and then clicking on my in box; you called me Raymond. How you knew that this is what my closest friends call me, I don't know, but it is one of many signs that there is more at work here than mere chance alone. Space issues are so fascinating. What is space anyway!?!? Although I cannot personally relate to being imprisoned (which shocked me by the way. I mean, who could imprison you? Hello? There's a thing called the constitution which protects you from that stuff. But hey, who I am to judge.), I can relate to the lonely nature of prison. As I mentioned in a previous email, I tended after my mother's cats while she charged me exorbitant sums of money for renting with her. I needed to tend the cats because mother was under federal custody in the Draper, UT, correctional facility for ten years. She enjoyed her stay immensely, and I always got my rent to her on time by the way. In June of 2009 I went by to drop of July's rent, but the female guard accidentally signed me up for a conjugal instead. My mother and I didn't understand why were met in a private room with a bed, but we certainly didn't waste the opportunity! We snuggled right up and took a nice long nap (I smelled like her cats, so she wore my shirt, which must have seemed odd to the guard who came to get us, but it's normal to miss your cats).

Sorry to hear you missed Woodstock, though it sounds as though you had an equally fun time as anyone in NY. When you mentioned '69 it brought back memories of a night in Amsterdam I had on my 30th birthday. Late that night, after all my sisters went back to the hostel, I walked down to the red light district, having heard from several tour guides stationed on street corners that I would have a great time there at night. The place was bustling, let me tell you. I was like, "where am I, China!?" (if you know what I mean). Anyway, I stumbled upon this great spot where I had the best night of my life. I was so sore the next day having never played Netherlands pool before. The rules are very similar to our pool halls, except that there their balls are lead, so they can be quite difficult to hit.

The Barnes and Noble rendezvous sounds spectacular. The Sugarhouse one is so peaceful, though some odd people sometimes wonder through. I'm actually quite allergic to roses, so unless you always read with a rose, maybe a daffodil would serve us both better. Not to be too forward, but maybe we can read the last few pages of your book together, I've heard that series is simply exhilarating when read aloud. After that we should go camping in mother's backyard. The warm smells from the house are so nice on cool nights stretched atop the soft soil. What about the apartment though? When are you available to show it? I'll be downtown most nights this week, so just let me know the address and when and I'll be there. Either text, call, or email me the specifics. Best regards,

Ray
______________________________

I then wrote back:

______________________________
Sunshine Ray,

Is it ok I called you "Sunshine Ray?" I'm all for using popular nicknames but if we're going to start any kind of special friendship (and I'm speaking of the bosom buddies persuasion) I would prefer to have a unique name to call you and in order to best facilitate a hit-the-ground-running situation, I should probably start using that nickname now. But I don't want to use it if it belittles you in any way. When I was 10 there was a boy in my class whom everyone called Stinky Steve until Mrs. Goodrow told us that his family moved away because the kids were too mean and they wanted to give him a fresh start. Naturally we all started calling Bully Brad "Stinky Steve" the next day, but this led to a very different result. Also in high school a girl I knew named Claudia came down with a bad case of Chlamydia. I referred to her regularly as Chlamydia Claudia until one day in 10th grade health class Mrs. Roberts showed us pictures of the top 10 most common STDs, after which I avoided Claudia enough that I was never given the opportunity again to call her any name at all. In that same class we were also forced to watch the birth video. This didn't disturb me until about half-way through when I found out that what was being portrayed on screen was not actually a bad sci-fi movie from the '80s. I haven't actually eaten anything since that day, which has been fine as I'm trying to get my weight down to 85 pounds by 2013. I know that 85 sounds like an awful low number, but rest assured, I fully expect to have one of my legs amputated before then, which will be a pretty abrupt weight decrease.

I'm sorry to hear about your mother. I'm pretty sure I knew her (and not through conjugal visits). I think she was the one who could roll cigarettes the fastest and contradictorily quoted Confucius but then swore like a drunken sailor whenever anyone got her talking about politics or French cheeses. She shared a cell with Bigmouth Bertha until Bertha contracted leprosy and got stuck in solitary. Everyone felt badly for both of them because they were so good together and gave each other great back massages every night. Then a woman from Myanmar moved in and wouldn't talk to anyone because, so we thought at the time, she was too good for the rest of us (she had a gold ankle bracelet when she first got there so we all assumed she was rich--as it turned out, it was a fake). She was killed in a prison brawl one night. We found out the next day that she was deaf.
I put down the Berenstein Bears because I'm starting to realize that it's the same old story every time. One of the bears is in trouble. The others pitch in to help. Everything turns out fine. If these are the kinds of books they're pushing on adults, it makes me wonder what the kids are reading.

The rose is fake. I don't use real flowers because it promotes the use of pesticides which I do not support. I am all for living in harmony and peace with all living organisms, including insects. I'm thoroughly disgusted that so much of society assumes that it's perfectly acceptable to kill bugs for human enjoyment. For this reason, I always refuse lettuce and tomatoes in my hamburgers at Burger King.

On a more serious note, I'm particularly relieved to hear about your experience with cats. I currently have between 12 and 14 living in the apartment. My last roommate was completely unreasonable and issued me an ultimatum that it was either him or the cats. Had he given me the option of promising to only let 5 or 6 out of the refrigerator at a time I would have been more willing to negotiate, but he had a very all-or-nothing mentality that I couldn't work with. Ultimately he had to leave and not the cats (thank heavens for fine print in leases, am I right?). I think it was for the best anyway. He was always complaining about something ("the cats destroyed my laptop again!" "When are you going to take a shower?" "Why has kitchen burned down?" etc. etc. etc.).

I will be home every night this week and would love to have you come by. Please call me and we can work out a meeting time.

Scat Cat Matt
_____________________________

Ray responded with our last communication of the day:

_____________________________
Dear Mattel,

If I can be direct, I need to make you aware of a few things. First, I love the nickname Sunshine Ray! Secondly, and I hope this is received with love and not hate, you should NEVER subject cats to the refrigerator. I can't tell you how troubling that was to read -- I had to excuse the cats from the room while I read the rest of your email due to its graphic and disturbing nature -- so please never do that again. Additionally, I completely respect your stance of insect protection, but my hell man, you're still eating the beef meat! I love all animals, though I do eat fish (for personal reasons I have a strong distaste for fish, and feel it my responsibility to depopulate the seas of their pernicious ways).

Regards,

Ray or as my new friend and love calls me, Sunshine Ray
______________________________

I think I may have found my soul mate.

~It Just Gets Stranger

Technology

2011-11-15T19:57:00.000-08:00

I belong in 1950. And not a minute later. This is because of technology. I'll explain.

Technology and I have a hard time together (I imagine the feelings are one way. But I'm not totally sure that techology is sans feelings, or that it is apathetic about me if it has them). Already at age 27 I'm that bewildered old man who gets lost in conversations that use words that start with "I" and end with another word that by itself doesn't greatly confuse me, but seems to mean something entirely different in the context I'm discussing here. Normally when people use these words, I nod thoughtfully and respond with something vague like, "communication and entertainment really do drive innovation, don't they . . ." assuming that whatever they're discussing has something to do with either communication or entertainment. I then change the subject to something I'm very knowledgeable on, such as the benefits of having a Snuggy (I'm wearing one right now, and I love it with all of my heart).

Part of the problem is that I don't seem to stay up to date with this stuff, sometimes finding out that certain technology exists when I see my 7 year old niece playing with her parents' 2004 hand-me-down devices that are more advanced than anything I believed existed because they are more advanced than anything I ever saw on the Jetsons (I recognize that I should probably update my future-technology-predictor-media from a 1960s cartoon that was created at a time when it was still ok for teachers to beat children in school (the good old days)).

Recently gmail has developed a very confusing level of consciousness (or should I say, recently I've become conscious of this--this may not be a new thing. See previous paragraph). Whenever I attempt to send an email, gmail is right there with me making all sorts of suggestions like a nosey coworker standing over my shoulder reading the intimate contents of each and every message. The problem is, gmail is a 6 out of 10 on the intelligence scale, which makes it just smart enough to be annoying, but not quite smart enough to be helpful (I know some people who fall in this category, which is how I know where to rate gmail).

To illustrate, when I went to Europe a few months ago I sent the occasional mass email to my loved ones to ensure each of them that I had yet to be human-trafficked (or had I?). Thanks to the world's-colliding email distribution list that included people who will only ever have the chance of meeting when I die and my family throws a very elegant funeral, now whenever I try to email Joe Shmo about crazy wild party weekend, gmail insists that I add grandma and her entire Bible group to the email as well. Additionally, if ever I use the word "attach" in any form, gmail has a meltdown when I try to send the email without actually attaching a document, concerned for my eternal salvation that if I send an irretrievable email without an intended document, my life may fall in shambles. Normally I ignore gmail, creeped out that it thinks it knows what I want, but also strangely disappointed that it isn't correct more often.

Apart from gmail, technology poses other problems for me as well. I'm still generally concerned that we all carry with us our own portable communication devices, all day, every day, each with great potential for total social destruction. Since 2005 (when I got my first cell phone), I have checked my phone every 45 seconds on the dot to make sure I haven't inadvertently called someone and let them listen to whatever embarrassing broadcast I'm currently engaged in. The only five times in the last six years I've missed my appointment to check, I have unfortunately inadvertently called someone, singing dramatically at the very top of my lungs the most embarrassing songs I know (in 2007 this constituted a ten minute message on the voicemail of my roommate's girlfriend, featuring such songs as the Spice Girls "Tell me what you want, what you really really want," "How do You Solve a Problem Like Maria" from The Sound of Music, and "Feed the Birds" from Mary Poppins, sung in excessive vibrato (twice)).

Send help.

~It Just Gets Stranger

The Lost Journal Series: Part VI

2011-09-26T22:23:00.000-07:00

I'm back with some more entries from 1996. Everything in [brackets] is tonight's commentary.

May 20, 1996 (age 12):

We are practicing for Romeo and Juliet. In the play I 'm Benvolio and Sam is Romeo. I think we are pretty good. I'm sure that we are probably the best of all of the sixth grade classes. I'm in soccer with all of my friends. We always lose. But I think we will win in a couple of weeks. [I had no plausible basis for believing this. Part of our losing streak was due to my teammates and I occasionally sitting down on the field mid-game].

May 21, 1996 (age 12):

Today I went to Young Mens for the first time [this is a church organization for teenagers]. It was fun. We played a lot of games. I had a really bad day. It was so boring. I don't think I have even smiled yet today. The most fun thing that I did today was watch a movie about Fish. [Huh?] Yeah. Tim is the most conceded kid in the whole world. [That came out of nowhere--and there is no further explanation for this]. I wasn't looking forward for anything today. My only friend that I sordove [sort of] like is Jon and Sam [and apparently Jon and Sam are one person]. Some of the people I know are really annoing [annoying] me. And kids at school won't stop talking like a baby or a girl! I would say a lot more but I know my sisters will find this. So goodbye!!! [I don't think the end of this entry needs any additional commentary].

May 28, 1996 (age 12):

The JAZZ won the stupid sonics today. I hate them. They spit in the Jazz coach's face when they won! [There is no way this really happened. But I so wish I knew why I thought this was the case in 1996]. I wanted to spit in their stupid [here there are five words completely scribbled out. I can't be totally sure, but I believe they constituted one string of profanities that I apparently didn't have the guts to leave in print. While this may have been merely because I was sure "my sisters [would] find this" (see May 21), the more likely explanation is that the last time I used foul language was in 1991 when Cathie washed my mouth out with dish soap, and I wasn't quite prepared to risk it again five years later] coach's face!!! The sonics are babies. We had a handycapt assembly today. [I so wish I had explained what on Earth this was].

[Below this drawing there is a picture of two people with bulging biceps under the word "Jazz" standing next to someone with skinny arms under the words "wimps" and "sonics"].

May 30, 1996 (age 12):

[This is the first entry of my life that is actually broken up into paragraphs. Our little boy is growing up!]

Jazz won the sonics again today. They are going to play again on Sunday.

Me and Sam and Jared and Tim dug up the jar we buried a while ago. [See November 6, 1995]. The messages were very stupid. We might do another one. [Yes, because it worked out so well last time].

Sometimes I just wish the Jazz would hurry up and win every game they ever play. None of the other teams are even nice. And the Jazz are all so good at basketball. Like the big dawg of course. I bet none of the other players have ever even played before! [So glad to find yet another nonsensical rant].

July 4, 1996 (age 12):

Today I went and saw Independence Day. It was the best movie I have ever seen. It is probably the best movie that has ever been made. [So glad my tastes have changed since 1996]. It made me wonder what would really happen if it came true. Like what would I do to help people and stuff. It is the kind of movie that really makes you think about things. [Like, what would I do if aliens attacked the Earth?].

~It Just Gets Stranger

The Lost Journal Series: Part V

2011-09-21T21:50:00.000-07:00

Welcome back. Enjoy Part V tonight. Again, anything in [brackets] is tonight's commentary.

February 19, 1996 (age 11):

Today was President's day so we didn't have school so we could celebrate all of the presidents. Except my dad said that we don't celebrate the bad ones like Bil Klinton. [Bob has never been one to hide his feelings about politics]. I was going to play football today but it kept raining and I didn't want to get hurt because Jr. Jazz.

[Apparently I accidentally skipped the following two pages and later discovered this because I have drawn all over them. Specifically, there are several very crude drawings of ants with the words "The ants go marching onto the next page hirra, hirra." I also have written, "I didn't mean to!", "I'm sorry!", "forgive me", and right on the edge of the right page, "you're getting warmer!" And for those who were wondering, "dog" is written at the top of both of these pages as well].

February 20, 1996 (age 11):

Me and Sam made up a poem. [Note that Christmas is now two months in the past]:

Twas the day before tomorrow and all through the class
everyone was screaming and having a blast.
For Mrs. Southwick in her desk and I in my seat were eagerly waiting for lunch to eat.
When all of the sudden there arose such a clatter, the janiter fell from his little read [red] latter [ladder].
Then all of the sudden the bell started to ring and all of the children started to sing.
We ran to the lunchroom and ate very fast then we remembered the janiter might have needed a cast.
We ran outside and there he lay so we got in a car and drove away.
The princible ran outside and yelled hey.
He asked the janiter are you ok.
The njaniter looked up and replied nay.
We drove 5 miles and then we stoped for we ran out of gas and the tires had pooped [I'm pretty sure I meant "popped" here].
We filled up on gas and field all the tires and all that we used were little red pliers.
We hid in the bushes and ran to my house
We ran around in circles and we found a mouse.
He said you might as well fase it.
We looked up and said ya lets brace it. [???]
We drove back to the school and the princible said detention to all because the janiter's dead.

[No idea why we wrote that, or why I copied it into my journal. I have absolutely no memory of this.]

February 21, 1996 (age 11):

Today there was an assembly about pride in drugs. [Huh? Like, being proud about drugs?]. We all promised that we would never do drugs. We had to raise our hand and say that we will never do drugs like smoking. ["Smoking" apparently was the only "drug" I could think of at the time]. I don't think they are going to check on us later though, like when we are really old, like when we are 25 or something. [Is that really old?]. I think they just want us to promise and then they hope that we will remember. Because it would probably be too hard to make sure that we actually didn't do any drugs. But maybe if I see someone smoking later who I know promised not to, I could tell them that they broke the promise. [I'm still waiting for this opportunity. Eagerly].

April 18, 1996 (age 11):

Me and Sam wrote part of the spoof on Romeo and Juliet. Mrs. Southwick asked us to do it so the whole class can perform it. It is so funny. It will probably be a big hit! I think that if the actors do a good enough job that they will probably ask us to do it again another time and maybe it will become famous! [This, ironically, is exactly the plot of my very favorite movie that I didn't discover until 5 years ago, Waiting for Guffman]. If this turns out really good, maybe I will be an actor and a writer when I grow up instead of a lawyer! [Note: I am a lawyer]. We will probably finish writing it pretty soon. [Unfortunately I have a video copy of this thing, which our sixth grade class actually did perform. I was Romeo (note another Waiting for Guffman similarity). I remember thinking this was the most hysterical play of all time. A few years ago I found the video and watched it. Not only were the jokes horrifically unfunny, but they were also mostly wildly offensive. But this was 1996 when it was still ok to not be PC. In any event, watching the video again caused me to lose 35 points on the self-esteem chart (which only goes up to 150)].

April 28, 1996 (age 11):

Today was Sam's birthday. That just reminds me that my birthday is coming up which makes me really sad. I guess you could say I'm having a pretty hard day. It's hard to have a birthday and know that my parents will never let me have a dog. [This is a guilt entry (see yesterday's post) in hopes again that my parents would read my journal and feel badly enough to get a dog. I did not, however, actually feel at all the way I described in this entry]. Sometimes I just sit and wonder what will happen in my life. Maybe one day things will work out. One day.

May 19, 1996 (age 12):

Yesterday was my birthday and we got a DOG!!!! [Wait. Did the guilt thing work?]. Halaluya! Halaluya! I want to name it Twister! [We did not name her Twister]. My great grandpa Hinkle came over. He kept telling everyone how old he was. He's getting weird. [That would be the Alzheimer's. And it would only get weirder . . .].

~It Just Gets Stranger

The Lost Journal Series: Part IV

2011-09-20T21:56:00.000-07:00

Tonight I bring you Part IV in my ongoing series. Tonight's entries take you through the end of 1995 and into 1996 with additional commentary in [brackets].

[Before I start on the journal entries tonight, I would like to first mention that at the top of every single page up through page 49, the word "dog" is written in pencil. The reason for this is that sometime in early 1996 I imagined that the best way to get Bob and Cathie to allow a dog in the house was to convince them that I longed for one so badly that it was on my mind literally every single day of my young life. This, I believed, would tug at the heart strings of any loving parent (and I believed Bob and Cathie fit the bill) and would encourage, nay, force them to grant me my wishes. I also operated under the delusion that my parents would likely pick up my journal at one point and read it (because, as you have seen, I was writing some pretty important things at this time that they undoubtedly would have been dying to read) and so I assumed that they would see that "dog" had been written at the top of every page and this would necessarily cause them to believe that the only humane thing to do was to get a dog to appease the wishes of the boy who wanted it badly enough that he actually took the effort to note it briefly on a regular basis in the same place he shared his most intimate thoughts. The problem(s) with this? While I hoped it would appear to be the case, I did not actually write "dog" at the top of the page each time I wrote an entry. Rather, I took a pencil, went back to page one, and flipped through the journal, writing the word on each page, well beyond any entry up to that point (I thought it would be more efficient to do it this way). So, while each entry is done in a different pen color and with ever rapidly evolving child-handwriting, the word "dog" is consistently written in the same rushed sloppy manner, (getting ever so sloppier as my hand started to hurt during the later pages) and with the same faint pencil. And it was written beyond the pages I had actually used up to that point].

November 28, 1995 (age 11):

Christmas is coming and I'm really excited!!! Christmas comes every single year. [Glad we cleared that up]. A little while ago I was on an airplane ride with my uncle, Jared, and another kid my uncle took. [My uncle is a pilot, fyi]. First we learned about planes, then we went flying and Jared almost threw up. [I'm positive this isn't true but it's clear that in 1995 I was looking for any reason to criticize Jared in my journal]. I will probably be a pilot when I'm older unless I decide to be a lawyer, like in the court rooms instead. I think I could get the judge to do whatever I tell him because I could just explain to him what is right all the time and he would have to listen. And I would ask people questions and they would all say the right things. [I have since learned that things don't exactly work this way]. We're going on a field trip tomorrow and my mom gets to go. I hope she doesn't try to kiss me on the cheek! [For the record, this was a valid concern. Cathie's cheek-kissing only happened in public, was done solely for embarrassment purposes, and continued to take place with some regularity through at least 2007]. I started Jr. Jazz today! This is my second year! I can tell that I'm going to be a lot better this year. [Sadly, still no, kid].

December 15, 1995 (age 11):

I went to school today. It was o.k. I'm really excited for Christmas. We have a train and a vilige [village] under the Christmas tree. It hasn't snowed yet and I want it to. [That's it. This journal does not belong to me]. I went to piano lessons today also. I didn't do very good. [Is it because you didn't practice? Yes]. I [and the journal entry ends here after that one lone word. Although there is a drawing at the bottom of the page that appears to be a bed that has been scribbled out. No explanation for this].

January 10, 1996 (age 11):

Last week it was Utah's birthday! It turned 100. We had a big assembly at school and we sang a song about Utah. [My close friends know that if you catch me on a good day, I am usually willing to perform this song with the hand actions in their entirety. Most people who were children in Utah in 1996 still seem to remember at least fragments of the song which has since become the official state song). As a preview to hold you over until you next see me in person, I'll just tell you that it involves marching, enthusiastic swaying, big hand gestures, and contains lines such as: "Utah! People working together! Utah! What a great place to be!" and "This is the PLACE!" I remember spending an embarrassing amount of time in school learning the choreography to this. (Ours didn't look exactly like this, but you get the idea)]. I'm reading a book called "My Brother Sam is Dead." It's a really good book. I have over 350 rubber bands tied together. [This thing went everywhere with me for the better part of one year until it was mysteriously lost. I still have my suspicions that Bob and Cathie had something to do with its disappearance. Maybe it ended up "running away" like Gigi (my baby blanket) did in 1991. I'm not sure whether I should be more embarrassed that I believed that story or that Bob and Cathie actually had to make it up because I was still carrying my baby blanket around at age 7]. I'm almost done with my life. [I read this several times before figuring out what I was talking about. And no, this isn't a suicide note. Life was a goal/level/state-of-being(?) in Boy Scouts and apparently in 1996, I had almost achieved it].

That's all for tonight folks. Tune in next time for more insights into my 11 year old mind, including the continuation of the dog story.

~It Just Gets Stranger

The Lost Journal Series: Part III

2011-09-19T20:58:00.000-07:00

Tonight I bring you part III of my childhood journal entries, full of adventure and enlightenment. Everything in [brackets] is commentary from tonight.

August 15, 1995 (age 11):

School started yesterday and I am in sixth grade. I have a nice teacher named Mrs. Southwick and she has to take care of her new baby. [Again with the babies . . .]. I hope her baby behaves itself soon so she can come back.

August 31, 1995 (age 11):

Today I played with Sam and we played in his backyard. I can ride my bike without using my hands. I think I'm pretty good at riding my bike but I have to be careful because I'm also really good at soccer [false] and basketball [even more false] and if I get hurt it will be really hard for me to continue to compete how I know I should. [Getting hurt and removing me from these sports might have been the best thing that could have happened to me and my reputation for competency]. Paul [not totally sure who this is] grabbed a 5th graders arm and started pinching and scratching it. [No further explanation about this or why it made it into the journal]. We had a firedrill at school today while my class was in COMPUTER!!! [No?!? That's crazy!]. Doug has been soo bad that Mrs. [illegible] kicked him out of the class and made him go to Mr. Pullin's room for ONE WEEK!!!

September 5, 1995 (age 11):

Mrs. Southwick came back today. She moved people and I'm not even sitting by Sam or Tim anymore! She gives more homework than the substitute!!! And I thought she was a nice lady at first! I guess I was wrong!

September 6, 1995 (age 11):

Today I got so much homework. I did a maze with chalk on the sidewalk. My sister went to a dance. I walk home from school with my friends. Some people said mean things when we were walking home today but we didn't listen to them and I bet they stopped because I bet they felt really gilty [guilty] for the things they said when they saw they weren't listening to us. I bet they are all thinking about what they said and wishing that they were better. [I'm sure that's exactly what was happening. My 11 year apathy to the "mean" comments, whatever they were, led immediately to regret and self-reflection].

November 6, 1995 (age 11):

For Halloween my friends and I went Trick or Treating. We got more candy than you would even believe. Me, Sam, Tim, and Jared got a jar and we each wrote a note and we didn't tell what we wrote then we stuck it in the jar and burried it in the jar [wait, so was it in the jar?] and burried it on the side of Jared's house. From the big rock its 2 steps and there's a stick. Seven more steps and then there's the jar! We will probably dig it up in like 20 years. Or maybe sooner. [Update: we dug it up less than 6 months later. It was a miracle we found it using the directions I provided. I have no idea why we thought measuring steps from an unspecified rock and a stick lying on the ground would be helpful in 20 years. Fortunately I drew a very detailed map of the location on this page of my journal, marking the exact spot. Unfortunately when we did dig it up, the jar was full of ridiculously useless notes that had nothing to do with anything that could ever matter to anyone. If my memory is correct, the notes talked about how old we were and what we had done that day, including fragments of knock-knock jokes we had made up on the spot. We also each chose to bury an object in the jar but the objects were mostly just small broken toys we had found 10 minutes before in Jared's garage. So all-in-all, not an incredibly successful time capsule experience]. I axadentally broke the back of Sam's little car but he can glue it back on, I hope.

~It Just Gets Stranger

The Lost Journal Series: Part II

2011-09-18T21:31:00.000-07:00

I now present for you part II of The Lost Journal Series. Again, these are exact passages from my childhood journal. Anything in [brackets] is my current commentary and explanation. Enjoy.

December 20, 1994 (age 10):

Yo. I'm Eli W. McCann. I'm in Jr. Jazz and my team is cooooooooooooool. Sometimes I get the ball [unfortunately for the rest of the team. Jr. Jazz was not my calling in life. Even after playing for 4 or so years]. I think if I keep shooting, I'm going to score points for the team [nope]. I bet I will be on the Jazz one day. I will never play for another team because the other teams are mean. But I heard that the Jazz are nice. I was sick today.

[Below this entry is a picture of a garbage can with two feet sticking out of the top. There is a caption bubble coming out of the garbage can that says, "Help. It's me. Jared." Clearly my relationship with my next door neighbor and close friend was waning at this time.]

January 5, 1995 (age 10):

Kebacboleda! [???]. Yesterday was Micalyne's birthday! [Nope. Her birthday is January 3rd].

February 10, 1995 (age 10):

Tim J. is my best friend. Jared is NOT my best friend. Jared probably thinks he is my best friend but he is not! Maybe some other time Jared can be my best friend again [I so wish I had taken the time to actually explain what was happening between us. I'm positive that it had something to do with my jealousy that he had recently turned 11 and I was still 10. Because when you are a kid, your age is about the only thing you have to be proud of]. I have brocatous [bronchitis]. I like to talk about things that are important [still true today]. Some kids don't like to talk about important stuff but they just talk about stuff that isn't important like pickles and stuff [because, you know, kids are always talking about pickles]. I talk about things like electistry [electricity. I talked about it, but apparently couldn't spell it. I would really like to know what I had to say on the subject] and like how many people there are in the world [both very important topics].

May 21, 1995 (age 11):

School is almost out and I am excited. My sister made up a dome club [dumb club] called the Safety Kids Club. So you can always remember your helmets. [To her credit, she was only 8 at the time and was already making up much more practical clubs than I was. Just off the top of my head, by this date I had formed the following clubs with my friends: a club that looked for alien artifacts, a pretend fight club with daily performances in front yards that always came with a special after-school-special-like message, multiple bike gangs, and one club that took place on the front porch of a very elderly woman down the street who took off her prosthetic leg for us if we sang her a number of songs (this was very similar to every episode of Barney and Friends you've ever seen except it got really freaky when the leg came off)]. I passed off my swimming merrit badge yesterday [this must be a sham because I still can't swim for the life of me].

[Below this entry I wrote my name 7 times.]

~It Just Gets Stranger

The Lost Journal Series: Part I

2011-09-18T00:14:00.000-07:00

Recently I rediscovered my childhood after finding a very entertaining pile of journals. After staying up late for a couple of nights in a row to read entry after entry, occasionally looking over my shoulder to make sure nobody was around because of how mortified I was about some of the things I wrote in said journals, I knew there were only two things I could do: 1) bury/burn/hide the journals and desperately attempt to forget about them, or 2) share them with the world. The second option sounded more exciting. So I now present for you the first of a series that will take place over the next several days called "The Lost Journal Series." I will type these exactly as written, mistakes and all. Anything found in [brackets] is my contemporary commentary and explanation. Enjoy.

September 8, 1994 (age 10):

Today I woke up at 5:30 in the morning. I got ready for school and Jamie and Easten came to walk to school with us. They walk to school with us everday. We walk so fast. We are friends. I like summer. Math time is not fun. What is that? [???] My teachers name is Ms. Daniels. We have a prymantis [Praying Mantis] at home and she layed eggs. We found another one and put them in the same box. They started to fight. One of them ate the other. [This may be the source of my fear of all living things]. I would never eat one, especially if I was one. [I still feel this way, btw]. I bet that prymantis we put in the box with the mom doesn't even have any friends. [Because he keeps eating them?]. On our street we always play games. Now we are having races on our bikes. My sister has a job. Micalyne did something to her elbow. She has a cast. I want a cast [for attention].

September 19, 1994 (age 10):

Today when we went to school there was grafity everywhere. There were no swearwords but there were mean things. At school Tyler told me some [here I proceed, nonsensically, to write the entire alphabet in cursive]. I used to think Tyler was mean but now he's really nice. [This observation would fluctuate throughout the remainder of my childhood. But in retrospect, he was mean]. We went to a park today.

September 23, 1994 (age 10):

All of my friends like me. I think they like me the most. [This part of my personality has remained mostly unchanged in the last 17 years]. But I'm not sure. Maybe they like other friends a lot. There should be a test to find out who is best friends. But I can jump really far. [Relevant?]. We made stuff for our teacher at school because she had a baby or something. [Or something? Like, she had something and it might have been a baby?]. I hope she comes back soon but I do think she should raise her baby right now. [Opinionated, already at age 10. And here comes the very strange insight into child-rearing]. Unless there is a daddy at home to raise it. Then she should come back to school and the dad should be responsible for it. Because he is a parent to not just the mom. They just need to decide what they are going to do with there baby. But they shoudnt give it to an orfinage. Unless it's a nice one and they can live there to and keep raising there baby. Because they could help take care of other babies to that got lost and have to live there right now. I'm 10. I heard that when babies are small, they need to be held like all day or else they will probably grow up to be mean. On my baptism my friends were all there. [My baptism took place more than 2 years before this entry. I think this was in response to a recent lesson in church about writing down details about important events]. Most of my relatives came. I should eat a snack.

[Below the entry is a drawing of a person sliding down a water slide. There is absolutely no explanation for this. And the drawing is terrible].

September 27, 1994 (age 10):

Today at school we started SAT tests. There really easy tests that take about one hour. At lunch my friend Sam always spills his drink all over me. [I'm positive this never happened more than one time]. Today he spilt MY drink all over me. After school me and Jared played. We can't figure out if aliens visited our backyards. [Is 10 too old for this? Please tell me this is normal 10 year old behavior]. But we found this metal piece and we are pretty sure it came from a UFO. [This was based on absolutely nothing logical, if I remember correctly. I believe we found it when we were about 7 years old and we held onto it for years]. But we are going to keep looking for more pieces. [Strangely we never found any]. My aunt Barbara played a board game with me. She is really nice. For Halloween I'm going to be a neard. Jared keeps changing his mind first he said he was going to be a skelatin then half man half woman then an old lady then a Tales from the cript Keeper. I don't know what he will say next. I'm 10.

September 28, 1994 (age 10):

Today I decided I don't want to be a neard for Halloween. Torie kept going daaaaaaa[the "a's" continue for the remainder of the page] all day! [This was a game we played well into middle school where we each took turns yelling in class until one of us got into trouble. My friendship with Torie was responsible for the vast majority of days I had to spend sitting at Ms. Painter's desk in the third grade].

~It Just Gets Stranger

Apartment Hunting

2011-09-14T16:06:00.000-07:00

It’s been an interesting few weeks of change here in SLC since I’ve returned and recovered from Euro-trip 2011 (screenplay coming). Since returning home I have moved into a new apartment downtown (where all the hipsters live) in which I have started setting up life, because I’m a grown-up now (they should change the voting age to 27). The apartment search didn’t last too long but it was full of enough terrifying glimpses into a potential lifeless future to scare me into the place my friend and I ultimately found. As it turns out, finding an apartment in SLC can be a bit daunting, especially at the end of the summer when all 6 million students move back into the city for the new school year. Our search began on one end of town in a place that I think I’ve seen on the news and then eventually made it to the other end of town with bird-house lady. Bird-house lady was nice enough, but the 30-40 pastel-colored bird-houses draped with 1985 lace and fake twigs strewn decoratively about her apartment and common-stairwell were already enough for me to want to high-tail it out of there. But being the polite boys that we were (or should I say “men” now), we went with her to the potential living-quarters and graciously thanked her and laughed when she pointed out that the entire apartment was Pepto-Bismol pink. I thought this was a bit of an inaccurate description because there were several places that were colors other than pink. For example, many spots on the walls, counter-tops, and carpets were suspiciously stained brown or blood-red. Also the bath-tub and bathroom tile were a nice light greenish-bluish-barfish. So there was that. While walking around the place she lectured us about how no parties were allowed and that she expected us to quietly respect the neighbors (who I think were all geriatrics, ages 75 and older). During this escapade, I had the distinct impression that I may never be happy again. It wasn’t even a temporary or potential feeling, like “oh I just need to get out of here” or “I would not be happy living here.” It was more like, “walking into this apartment may forever prevent me from feeling happiness again no matter what happens with the rest of my life.” This by itself was a good enough indicator that we hadn’t found the right place, so we told her we would think about it and got the heck out of there.

Finally we came across an incredible place just two blocks away from where both of us work. Perhaps we liked it better than we would have on a normal day due to our new perspective thanks to a depressing morning of apartment shopping in Shadyville, but it’s a great place nonetheless. Of course when I told Bob and Cathie where I was moving, Cathie immediately informed me that that is the building “where all the shootings happen.” (Cathie is one of the persons from whom I inherited the worrying gene. It’s dominant but manifests itself a bit differently in each possessor. One way it manifests itself for her is that it provokes an automatic chemical reaction in her brain that causes her to envision a bad gang scene from West Side Story any time one of her children mentions the word “downtown.” Bob’s worrying gene makes him think that any time one of his children leaves the country, there is a 200% chance they will be killed in a terrorist attack (this, ironically, is up from 150% since Osama was killed). Mine caused me to drive back to Uncle Will’s house three times last night to make sure I had turned the stove off and shut the garage. I have wondered whether two of my sisters are adopted because they seem to have escaped the effects of bad genetics. But Krisanda and I beautifully carry on the family tradition of curiously-optimistic expectation of certain death at every corner). Fortunately Cathie warmed up to the place when she came to visit and saw that it most definitely is not the “shootings” place (which may or may not actually exist) she has seen on the news.

I don’t begin my job until next Monday so I’ve been living the life of a stay-at-home-single-guy (which I think is less rewarding than being a stay-at-home-parent or spouse). While I have become quite domestic over the last 10 days, I am pretty ready to head on to work and do something lawyerly for the first time in several months. But until then, I’ll keep decorating, cooking, and “gabbing” with all of my friends on the phone all day. Fortunately the domesticism and decorating have been greatly aided by so many wonderful friends who have come out of the wood-work with incredible furniture for our entire previously unfurnished apartment. Biggest thanks goes to Uncle Will and our good friend Andrea from whom I feel that I just won the show-case showdown on The Price is Right thanks to their basements full of great tables, chairs, lamps, and art. After moving things in and hanging all of my art that I’ve collected from foreign countries over the years and never done anything with, Krishelle glanced around and informed me that “it looks like a grown-up’s apartment.” So there’s that.

Well I better go. Nothing awaits me.

~It Just Gets Stranger

Finale

2011-08-29T23:17:00.000-07:00

It is my last night in Europe, which is probably a good thing as I smell terribly, the entire continent has almost completely run out of kebabs, and I seem to be forgetting English as is evidenced by my very natural use of the word "brang" earlier today (past tense for "brought"). This would be more excusable had I actually been learning other languages along the way but sadly I can't really claim that that's true. Although I have basically learned 5 or 6 new keyboards, which seem to change with the borders. So there's that.

We made it safely out of Slovenia several days ago, catching a 6:30 AM bus to do so. We were much more considerate than our hostelmates of the night before who got up earlier than sin and stomped around the room for several hours speaking something that I'm pretty sure was a made up language consisting entirely of the most obnoxious sounds the human voice can create. But the noise didn't bother us quite as much as the smell, as they were most definitely the stinkiest backpackers we have encountered. And we have encouterned stinky backpackers from everywhere. (For those who were wondering, I am probably about average to slightly-above-average backpacker-stinky right now). We spent a few hours in Venice waiting for our next train, which took us all the way to Florence that evening. We found a great little hotel in Florence where a very elderly man walked us to our room and then proceeded to give us a 10 minute speech about how to use the AC. Unfortunately we only understood about .2% of this speech because it was all in Italian (The .2% comes from the use of some sounds that sound like Spanish words we were probably supposed to learn in the 8th grade had we been listening in school). We think the speech was probably unnecessary, however, because the AC seemed pretty basic and we were able to use it without problems after he left the room. We are hoping, however, that his speech wasn't about how the AC leaked poisonous gases and we should avoid using it all costs. I think we're probably ok, but it's hard to tell which of my diseases have come from which place right now, so the jury is still out.

Florence was wonderful. We saw the David statue and wandered through several beautiful streets and churches. We also bought some clothes in hopes that someone will later ask us where we got them so that we can respond, "let's see . . . oh, you know what--I got this at that shop on Via Del Fabio. You know, the one in Florence." (We have practiced this several times, saying it in a voice like everyone should know where that street is). The most exciting part about Florence (other than the great art and blah blah blah) was that for the first time since before the war, we actually stopped sweating because it was quite cool out. Due to the sudden decrease in perspiration, my entire body immediately dried up and cracked from head to toe. But it was so worth it. This also helped me not want gellatto quite as much, which is definitely a good thing right now as I calculated today that I have probably had somewhere around 70 scoops in the last month (mostly in the last 3 weeks). 50 year old Eli will curse 27 year old Eli later for the things he did in 2011.

We made it back into Rome yesterday (for the 1,000th time) to say goodbye to all of our favorite sites and get ready to fly out tomorrow morning. It's been another great couple of days in Rome and we'll be sad to say goodbye.

I can't believe the trip is finally coming to end. Part of me feels like I've been away for decades (the part that desperately wants a shower and actual clean clothes as opposed to "sink washed" clothes which I'm still not sure does anything). But the time has also flown despite the days and days of adventure-packed experiences that have worn me out over the past 5 weeks. I am so thankful that I have been able to come out and do all of this. It's been a wonderful experience of making great new friends, eating my weight in terribly unhealthy foods, and experiencing cultures in unique and exciting ways. I've slept in a stranger's bed, ridden halfway across the country on a dirty train floor, and been pooped on by diseased birds. I've also played with hilarious children, ridden bikes around one of the most gorgeous cities in the world, and swam in a clear blue lake in the mountains. I've learned about cheeses and schnitzel. I've learned about art and religion. I made time to read some great books amid many naps in parks in gorgeous cities. I've been through the tourist end of town and the not so tourist end of town. I've tried juice from fruits that I didn't even know existed. I've jammed on the guitar with new friends in multiple countries. I've done a lot and seen a lot and I've loved almost every minute of it. And the minutes that I didn't quite love, I at least appreciate for the stories.

It Just Gets Stranger

Exodus to Slovenia

2011-08-25T13:17:00.000-07:00

Since I last left you, I have spent somewhere around 1200 hours on trains. No wait, that can't be right. However many hours it is, it feels like somewhere around 1200. We bought tickets in Rome to Venice several days ago after being told that all of the trains were full until 2075 but that we were welcome to buy "standing" tickets, which train-station-man seemed to think would be a perfectly fine option for us. We didn't like the sound of "the train is full but here are some standing tickets" but we also didn't think we had much of a choice, so off we went to find out what "standing" really meant.

Krishelle later pointed out that she was impressed that the train station was able to sell 4,000 tickets for only 400 seats. This was probably very little of an exaggeration as we boarded the train and were immediately forced to stand with our bulky backpacks and luggage in the incredibly narrow corridor outside of many six-seat compartments that lined the train. And we were not alone. The entire corridor from end to end was totally packed with panicked looking people who each had a minimum of 17 bags and had apparently also encountered the same greasy salesman in the train station who made the standing option sound like a pleasant stay in a 5 star hotel. The packed corridor somehow did not stop cart-man who miraculously pushed his way through, back and forth, for the entire day selling warm drinks and stale cookies, making us suck in our stomachs, stand on our luggage, and guard our appendages from being run over. This was like a very tricky game of twister most of the time. But I had bigger troubles to worry about than cart-man because Heather and Jonathan asked several times how long the train ride would be and I repeatedly lied to them and then had to engage in some very tricky mind-games and manipulation to keep them from finding out the truth. I told them it would just be a few short hours. Truth: we were scheduled to arrive in Venice no sooner than 6 and a half hours after take-off. I'm sure they were strong enough to handle the truth but I figured that after the Naples experience, I shouldn't risk it.

And so we rode. And we rode. Through the hot Italian deserts while hairy, sweaty, stinky, Europeans walked the length of the cabin back and forth, for no apparent reason, occasionally stopping to rest on top of us and in our laps. This misery continued until we finally arrived in Ferrara. Never heard of it? That's because the place is a dump. And we know that it is because that is where our train practically exploded. Well, we think it probably practically exploded because we can't understand what else could have caused a scheduled 2 minute stop to take 2 and a half hours. This is no exaggeration. Every 20 minutes or so the conductor would announce that we would be leaving in another 30 minutes, which we optimistically believed, over and over, like the abused in an abusive relationship (and believe me, we were the abused in a very abusive relationship with the entire train system of Italy by this point). Unfortunately for all of us, the tiny bit of air conditioning that had been coming from a couple of unclogged vents completely ceased for the duration of the break, leaving us to continue to bake in the 100 or so degree conditions.

The train finally moved on and arrived in Venice several hours later, pulling in about 9 or 10 hours after we had initially sat on the corridor floor in Rome. We think that we can relate to the pioneers now. Or some other group that has suffered. We will likely share this experience in a church lesson later mid tears (while also making up a few facts so that it actually relates to the lesson).

When we got to Venice we never wanted to climb aboard any transportation again. So we found a great apartment in the center of the city for a good deal and camped out for a couple of days. Venice was wonderful and we all felt it was well worth the trauma above mentioned to get there. We wandered from end to end of the city, visited St. Marks, ate our weight in gellato, and explored many incredible churches.

Yesterday we put our brave faces on (for the kids) and decided to make our way to Slovenia. While Venice and Ljubljana, our desired destination in Slovenia, look to be within walking distance on a world map, one finds that the train from one to the other takes literally 9 hours. This is because the train goes through Arizona to get to Ljubljana (ok, so Arizona is an exaggeration, but it actually does go all the way through Vienna, which is nowhere near either city at all. For comparison, imagine taking a train from San Diego to L.A. and having it go through Phoenix. This is actually a pretty accurate comparison). So we instead took a train to Trieste Italy for a little over one hour and then found 2 hour bus tickets to take us the rest of the way. When our bus tickets were sold to us, the four of us stood in shock, staring at one another, waiting for the catch, because we were positive that something had to go wrong since we hadn't had a seamless travel experience up to that point yet. But alas, the trip to Ljubljana went very well and we arrived safely.

We found a hostel near center that seemed like a good choice. The four of us were immediately placed in a room with 6 other strangers. We welcomed the adventure. Until night came. Four Indian men came into the room around 3:00 AM and marched around, taking things out of their bags loudly for about one hour as they prepared to go to bed. None of us can figure out why on Earth it took them so long to get ready for bed, or why they needed to be so loud about it, but they did. We sighed a major sigh of relief when they finally climbed into bed at 4:00. But the peace did not last as all of their alarm clocks began to go off in 4 minute increments starting at 6:00, which they each responded to by pressing snooze over and over again until Heather finally sat up and screamed "SHUT UP!" at 7:00. This is a true story. Any of you who know Heather are probably very shocked right now because she is so mild-mannered and typically very patient. But we found her limit this morning at exactly 7:00 AM. In her defense, it took an awful lot to get to that point. And to her credit, it worked like a charm because the whole room immediately fell silent at her request and stayed that way until she was ready to get up.

Ljubljana is gorgeous and clean and sans tourists. We love it here. Today we took a bus to Bled and swam in a gorgeous lake that sits in the mountains. Unfortunately we didn't think to bring anything to swim in, but the water was so clear and beautiful that we couldn't help ourselves so we made make-shift bathing suits with whatever clothes we brought (which may or may not have involved extensive amounts of forest nudity to get to something workable) and just hoped that we would dry off in time to climb aboard our bus back to Ljubljana at the end of the day. It all worked out very well. We swam and hiked and never wanted to leave. It truly was one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen.

Tomorrow we'll head back into Italy. Not totally sure where to just yet. Probably Verona or Florence or wherever we can go that doesn't require "standing" only tickets.

~It Just Gets Stranger

More Wandering in Italy

2011-08-21T15:02:00.000-07:00

Just a quick update tonight since I don't have a lot of time.

Matt flew out a few days ago and it was sad to see him go. But he was quickly replaced (not that you could ever be replaced, Matt) by Krishelle, Heather, and Jonathan who flew into Rome to join me on a frantic few days of Italy wandering (and in some sketch neighborhoods. Welcome to the world of international travel, Heather).

We had a great couple of days in Rome, checking out the Vatican and several incredible churches and ruins. All of this amid drinking from every fountain and puddle of water in sight, including some that looked like they were meant for human consumption, and others . . . not so much. I think questionable water and even more questionable 4 weeks of kababs are having a huge fight somewhere inside of me right now. If I'm picking sides, I hope the kababs win so that I'll feel justified in consuming so many. (I'm making little sense).

Then we thought, "hey, let's go to Naples City, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty!" (Reference for you rock stars out there). The pictures we saw online looked great (although we think most of them were actually of Naples Florida, which probably is nice). So we boarded a train that must have just arrived from hell because it was hot enough to roast a kabab in there. This was likely most miserable for Heather, who, for reasons I still don't understand, was dressed like we were heading to Siberia in the winter for the entire day. So we arrived in Naples hot and sweaty. After about 35 minutes of wandering Naples looking for our hotel, which happened to actually only be about 2 minutes away, Heather informed us that "this place must be the Harlem of Italy." And she was right. Or the landfill of Italy. Or the Harlem landfill of Italy. But we dropped our things off at the hotel and asked hotel lady where the beach was, who then told us mid-cackles that there are no beaches in Naples but then pointed to a green spot on our terrible map and said that we could find something there that "looks kind of like a beach." And so we walked for another 2 or 3 hours until we reached that place and found that her description was actually pretty generous. Let me help you imagine this place. Think of a beach. Now make it the size of your bedroom. Now take away the sand and add mud and cigarette butts. Turn the water brown and put garbage in it. Now add 200,000 naked Europeans.
The next day we took a train to Sorrento where the beaches were supposed to be lovely. Sorrento was a cool little town and really pretty. the beaches were about one step above the "beach" of Naples, but the town and area was really fun to see.

We decided to head back north since it was too difficult to find ferries out to Croatia on such short notice. We made it back into Rome this afternoon and wandered a bit more and recovered from yet another train that had just come from hell (where it's summer right now so it's even hotter than just normal hell). Tomorrow we'll train up to Venice and stay for a night or two and figure out where to go from there.

We're having a great time, although I'm getting tired and hope to sleep for about 15 months when we get home.

~It Just Gets Stranger

Padova (Venice), Pisa, and Rome

2011-08-16T13:22:00.000-07:00

It's been a nice and busy few days since I last wrote. We made it successfully into Padova, as promised, but not without some hilarity on the way. Our train from Salzburg into Padova was a night train. Another night train like the last we took where dozens of strangers were piled on top of one another in a dense layer of human bodies while the conductor turned the heat to full-blast for the entirety of the night. Our cabin had six people in it, like last time. We were the two middle bunks, sandwiched by two British guys below us and two Japanese girls above us, who sat up in their beds for the majority of the night, with the light on, saying over and over in high-pitched voices the only English word we ever heard them speak, "whaaaaaaaaaat?!?" followed by the occasional ghostly yet worried sounding "oooooooooh." This all started after Matt attempted to have a very confusing conversation with them about why he was moving their luggage around to make room for ours.

We arrived in Padova at 5:51 AM, which was 30 minutes before the Venice station where the vast majority of the people would be getting off. The train person woke us up a bit before our stop so we could get our things and get ready to jump off. This woke up the entire cabin however at which point confusing conversation part II took place where the girls on the top bunk attempted to feed their luggage down to us in a frantic daze, prepared to jump off with us at Padova, where they undoubtedly would have been incredibly confused as Padova looks as much like Venice as Kearns Utah. Eventually we resorted to crude caveman like gestures and sentence structures (You Venice. We Padova. This NO Venice.) while they continued the "whaaaaats?!" and "ooooooohs?!" Sometime during this mess the British became alert and also started frantically asking if they were supposed to get off the train now. One of us finally yelled a final, "everybody just stay!" as we hopped off and left them to fend for themselves. We had our own problems and most of the time hardly know where are ourselves. I've wondered many times since whether any of them made it to Venice.

Then Padova. We had a couchsurfing couple in Padova who are some of my favorite people I have ever met. They actually lived just outside of Padova in a town called Sarmeola. We stayed with them for a couple of nights. One of the nights we had a great Italian dinner with more cheeses than I knew existed and some drink (the non-alcoholic option) that tasted worse than any mixture of liquids I could ever come up with on my own. I did a lot of pouring my can into Matt's cup while he wasn't looking, ultimately getting to the point where I was sure I was going to upchuck cheese you've never even heard of all over the table if I had to even pretend to take one more sip. Somehow we got out of drinking more of it (although there seemed to be an unlimited supply and possibly an expectation that we would completely deplete that supply (don't try to make sense of that)). This was because they whipped out the guitar and for the rest of the night we jammed together and sang and laughed and had one of the most fun nights I've had in a long time. We loved spending time with them and were so sad to leave.

During one of our Padova days we took a train into Venice and wandered for the day. The city was incredible. I didn't try to drink any of the canal water (I have a goal to drink water from every lake, river, and stream in the world before I die . . . or until I die . . . I don't remember the goal exactly) because the water was a new color that I don't think I've ever seen before (and here I thought I had seen them all). But other than that, Venice was clean and beautiful and bustling with tourists, which brought us back to not-so-happening Padova, which we thought we could take an entire day to explore, only to find that 27 minutes was actually sufficient. Nonetheless we filled our time doing the usual: eating everything in sight and taking naps in parks.

We left Padova a couple of days ago and trained to Pisa where we stayed for the night. We hadn't planned on going to Pisa at all but we found a couchsurfing host there and thought it might be interesting to check out. This was partly because this was suggested by two guys we met in Venice who were from St. George and who were also travelling through Central and Eastern Europe but having a much different experience than we were. They have been literally sleeping on the streets for several weeks (and they looked and smelled like it too) and had also been robbed in Rome, badly; one of their backpacks with all that they had had been swiped at a train station. I felt badly for them, but then less so when I realized they had some bad karma following them after they explained to us how they had cheated the system to get free train rides in addition to some other perks by falsifying various documentation throughout Europe. In any event, they gave us great advice, and also unintentionally convinced us that sleeping on the street, which we were pretty willing to try up to that point, was actually not a good idea.

Pisa was nice. We had a couchsurfer there who, through some miscommunication on both of our parts, didn't get home until pretty late. We hung out under the pillars of some old church playing poker (with devil cards) while we waited for him to come home, wondering if sleeping on the street would actually happen after all. But he made it home and let us into our room after explaining to us that he has several roommates who are currently out of town, which is why he had so many free beds. We wondered once or twice whether his roommates had any idea that he was letting the strangers of the world inhabit their personal space whenever they skipped town but then figured we would probably be gone long before they ever found out. In any event, mystery roommates probably got the last laughs as their beds and sheets were not so clean and may have given me bedbugs (I'm mostly kidding--but I do have about 300 mosquito-looking bites on my legs right now from that night, despite Matt's crusade against them where he stood and killed somewhere in the hundreds before finally declaring the place "sleepable" and climbing into his bed. I'm now referring to it as "The Great Battle of the Bugs of 2011." Screenplay coming.).

The Pisa tower was incredible. And actually really leaning. More than you would think. There's really nothing else to see in Pisa except for graffiti and kabab stands, all of which we visited in the 24 hours we were in town.

Yesterday we rolled into Rome and wandered the city for the afternoon and evening, looking at the beautiful churches and ruins. Rome is wonderful. Hot and crowded, but wonderful. Today we made it over to the Vatican and did some more city exploring. Rome is the first and only city on this trip where we did not find couchsurfers so we found a hostel near the train station, which has worked out nicely, even though we have serious communication problems with all of the employees (but we're getting used to that).

Matt is flying out in the morning and I'll go with him to the airport to see him off and pick up Krishelle, Heather, and Jonathan so we can continue our adventure for a bit longer. I can't believe it's already time for him to take off. He's been a lot of fun to travel with, plus he doesn't smell that bad, as far as backpackers go.

~It Just Gets Stranger

Austria

2011-08-11T07:47:00.000-07:00

We have travelled quite a bit since I last wrote you. First we had a couple of great days in Prague (or "Praha" as we natives like to call it). For two and a half days we wandered the city, ate some amazing food and lounged around reading books. Mostly my attention span only allowed me to read for about 12 minutes at a time between long naps. The city was gorgeous and our couch surfing host there was awesome. She made us some great Czek food and wandered the city for a while with us. Prague feels like a step back in time, except for the 12 and a half million obnoxious tourists standing in front of the clock in the center square all day with cameras waiting for it to chime on the hour, every hour, so they can essentially ooo and aaah at absolutely nothing at all. (Ok, so I wasn't super impressed with the clock, and I'm finding out that I'm not ultra crazy about crowds). We also spent part of this day taking classic "girl study abroad in Europe" pictures that we've seen from several of our friends over the years. So far we have great shots of: pretending to open a castle door, emphatic jumping on an old street, making a scandalous face while putting arm around old statue, and many many more. If any of you can think of pictures we've left out, please let us know ASAP.

We hopped on a train from Prague to Vienna a couple of days ago and had a gorgeous ride through Austria. We had a couch surfing couple host us in Vienna and we loved them. We loved the city too but the saddest part about leaving Vienna for me was saying goodbye to them. We hung out with them the two nights we were there and swapped funny travel stories, laughing and eating amazing Austrian food. Vienna was fun. The city was less busy with tourists and so a bit more pleasant to wander. We visited a million more churches and ate food from street vendors that looked suspicious but apparently weren't too bad because neither of us has upchucked yet.

Yesterday we hopped a train out to Salzburg (western Austria). This is one of the most amazing cities I've ever seen. It sits in the middle of and on top of several green mountains and cliffs. The city is really old and really clean. We didn't have a place to stay when we were planning to head to Salzburg and thought we would have to search for some hostels when we got here but fortunately a girl invited us over very last minute. We're staying in this really cool house burried in the forest on the edge of town. They have several bikes sitting out front to ride into town so we've been biking and hiking all over Salzburg for the last 24 hours, looking at castles and churches and eating even more questionable food from street vendors (fingers crossed). The biking has been interesting, primarily because neither of us has ridden a bike since 1992 but also because we have a difficult time reading the signs and understanding the very complex bike traffic laws in this city. We may end up on a later episode of locked up abroad, which is fine with me if they serve schnitzel in their prisons. As for the not riding a bike since 1992, as it turns out, "it's just like riding a bike" has earned its status as the ultimate proverbial phrase for never forgetting how to do something, except for as pertains to the hind parts, which apparently have LONG since forgotten how to ride a bike. But enough about me.

Tonight we'll head out to Italy via train. We're going to a town called Padova which is near Venice (it's sort of a long story how we ended up getting tickets to Padova, but in the end, being the travel snobs that we are, we are excited to go to a less well known place so that we can later tell others that we went there in a tone that sounds like we think everyone should know where Padova is). It will be a little sad to leave Austria just when we've gotten so good at speaking German (and by speaking German, I mean saying English words in German accents over and over and then laughing like it's the first time we've done it. Our current favorite is saying the the word "people" but replacing the L with and R).

~It Just Gets Stranger