Close Call

Th. will likely tell you on his blog about the accident the Thteeds were in today as they tried to leave Las Vegas, but considering his history of crying wolf, you might not believe him. In order to convince you, I offer a second witness--I saw the smashed driver's side where he was hit by the car he tried to make a left turn in front of--and I offer you this evidence:



It's a good thing he was wearing the hat. That could have been his head.

All Thteeds, by the way, are safe and well, albeit concerned for their car. They rejoice, however, in the opportunity to spend another night in Vegas with us.

Fun for All Ages with Master Fob

INSTRUCTIONS

1. Click on the image below to open a larger version.
2. Print the picture.
3. Color Master Fob.
4. Scan the colored picture and email it to me.

I'll post the top ten entries on the Fobcave, making you famous for years to come!

Test Your Fobby Knowledge

How many Fobs (official and otherwise) do you recognize?

And Speaking of Modern Technology...

Behold, the wonders of the Panoramic Fobcam®!

Satellite Blogging

After hanging out with the Thteeds after the blog party until 2 this morning, then sleeping in until 10:30 thanks to S-Boogie being up till midnight and FoxyJ being good enough to get up and feed the child breakfast while I fought to ignore the sunlight, then taking a couple hours to get the three of us ready and clean up the house, then a six-hour (including stops) drive made short by the accompaniment of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (provided by Edgy), we have arrived at the satellite Fobcave in Las Vegas. Through the miracle of modern technology, I will continue to post as if I were in the 'Cave in Orem. The wonders will never cease.

Party Blog

Right now, this very minute, the blog party is happening. Where are you? Just to make you wish you were here even more than you already did, we're going to have various and sundry blog party attendees say various and sundry interesting things:

editorgirl: Shouldn't that read "editorfob"? Or am I the only one who realizes how Master Fob has appropriated our nyms? So. . . various and sundry. . . various and sundry. . . oh, hell, this is too much pressure, so I'm just going to say "Hi Mom" and "You love me! You really love me!"

thmazing: All is not well at the blog party. Here I am, typing in the intimacy of the Mr and Mrs Fob's bedroom, while out in the living room, further details are being arranged regarding the offing of JK Rowling. I suspect that certain persons attending this party have already been offed in preparation for this grand offing. I look around me, but no longer do I see dear friends such as Daltongirl and Daltonboy, Lola and the Marchioness, Bawb and Brozy, Edgy and Absent. Where have they gone?!?! What assurance can I be given that I am not next?!?! I haven't felt the same since I put on my jacket and it was filled with orange seeds. What ominous symbolism might they hold? How can I know tmzzzyjhokl

Tolkien Boy: Sandwiched as it is between two of my finals, it seems impossible to believe that Master Fob's party could be anything but the riotous, drunken melee that it is. Or perhaps it isn't, because the most exciting beverage served was Orangina, a delightfully frothy drink that seems to be the unholy lovechild of Florida Orange Juice and Sprite. It has, as it proudly proclaims, its own pulp, and that of course has set the tenor for our conversations this evening: sweet, carbontated, and pulpy.

In other news, reports of my systematic slaughter of party-goers have been mostly exaggerated. I did kill one person, but I was provoked. Everyone else, I just kicked their shins.

Asmond: I now join this cloak and dagger assembly, and pray that the souls of those who manage to escape this property are not darkened too black by the hours. Th wanted to know what dire portent the orange seeds did foretell, and I shall elucidate, the seeds are a symbol of birth and life, the orange-reminiscent of fire. Together these foul omens become the effigy of a conflagration. Who will die next in its foul flames?

I am in the Fobcave... and I'm writing on Master Fob's blog. This is a surreal experience! You should see it, this dark damp cave. There are bats hanging from that bar in the closet. There's this great big computer place where Batma--Master Fob analyzes... things... And there's a party in the other room. People are just sitting there chatting it up while I hide in this dark cave deep below the earth. Or not. Perhaps I'm just sitting here not knowing what to type in a rather pleasant room in a rather pleasant house with lots of magazines and books and cool people. In any case I'm having a great time! :)
-JB

Hap! Hap!
-Lunkwill

Nocturne~ Why do I feel like I have suddenly been transported into an Agatha Christie mystery? Well, I was the one done away with by Tolkien Boy. As I suspected, it wasn't just about the chicken fingers. So, after exposing Tolkien Boy as an effeminateVirgil he slit me open in a very Dantesque fashion. It was messy. I'm now going to go clean up the Fobkitchen. I hope I have made you all sufficiently jealous that you missed out on this super stupedously wonderful party and Tolkien Boy's one-and-only killing spree.

kirsa: I have the urge to admit to editing someone else's comment above, but I'm afraid I might perish in unquenchable flames were I to do so (does that count as subjunctive?) and due to my desire to survive long enough to get married in a week and a half (it's very difficult at this point in the party to avoid making dirty jokes after a comment like that) I will instead sit passively and NOT admit to editing anything, ever. And now you can all wonder about whether I did or did not edit anything, and my nefarious (and no longer secret) purpose will have been successfully accomplished (better than accomplishing a porpoise).

Mike (vengance.net): And suddently, a large sea dragon crashed through the window, and flooded the entire apartment. Each man left to himself, the women banded together and formed a large bunker. The photographer never stopped, and the lion was eating all the mosquitos.

Speaking about Annie, I wish I knew more of these people here, but can only wish that someday, in the far, far future, things will work out for them. As for me, I'm off to Jamaica, and having finished finals, I couldn't feel better.

Lady Steed: Acckk!

The Big O: gggffdddddddddddddddddfddddddddddddddddd dddddddmurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr dsdssazcgjjhfn

Thirdmango: This party started at 5:30. I showed up at 5:30. I was the only punctual one. Those that didn't come, even less punctual then I. It was a fun party, one in which you were missed, and cursed and sacrificed to a Pagan God. If you'd like your soul back, let me know. So as I ponder what else to write, I look around the room and find that Master Fob has such a large comic book collection that it makes me want to become his best friend so that I may read each of these comics. Then I look at his cds, and I suddenly want to borrow a lot of his cds. Then I look at his pushpins...

FoxyJ:I was unaware of any of these nefarious goings on, because I have spent much of this party barefoot and in the kitchen, where I belong. But seriously, I have enjoyed the party and am glad that so many people came and partied with us...

Master Fob again: That's it, folks. Only a few bloggers are left alive, but the party goes on. Those of you who came and left before we started the party blog, feel free to add to this post in the comments section. Those of you who didn't come may comment as well, but only if you do so with a repentant heart and a desire to come next time.

BYOC (as opposed to byuck)

If you have a portable (i.e. lawn or other folding) chair or two, please bring them to the blog party. Wednesday. 5:30 pm. The high's up to 72 now and there's no rain till Friday according to the current fobcast.

I Did Not Break My Daughter's Arm

When I am holding S-Boogie's hand, especially when we are in a parking lot--as we were this afternoon after eating at Thai Chili Gardens with the Thteeds--I hold on tight. Apparently, this is not such a good thing to do, at least not when your child tries to pull away quickly or starts to fall.

I was not fazed when I heard the pop or even when S-Boogie started crying because that has happened a few times before and each time I panicked because I thought that I'd broken her arm, but in the past she has always recovered in a minute or two and forgotten about the incident, much to my relief. This time, however, she did not stop crying. We got home and she was still crying. We watched Veggie Tales and she was still crying. She took a nap and woke up crying.

So we took her to the doctor, who said it looked like she had nursemaid's elbow, which is basically a slightly dislocated elbow that toddlers occasionally get. When the doctor failed to relocate the elbow he sent us to have an x-ray. We watched Jeopardy while we waited for the results and, thankfully, by the time the radiologist reported that there were no fractures or dislocations, S-Boogie was already acting like she felt better. Apparently the doctor had managed to relocate the elbow without realizing it, or it relocated itself. Either way, we're glad it's not broken and S-Boogie doesn't have a cast to prevent her from swimming in Grandma's pool this weekend.

Weather Forecast for Wednesday

High 70, partly cloudy. This sandwiched between showers on Tuesday and thunderstorms on Thursday. Cross your fingers, pray, or do an anti-rain dance (depending on your religious preference).

Master Fob's Musical Missionary Work

Listen here.

Buy the album May 9th.

Please, please, please

PLEASE watch out for pedestrians. Especially if you drive a white four-door sedan, Utah license plate 337 PEC, and you came within two inches of hitting my daughter this morning as you made a very fast right turn across our greenlit crosswalk. The rest of you, if you see this car, give it a good kick for me.

Gender Identity Confusion

Take a look at this list of problems the BYU Comprehensive Clinic helps with.

Call me naive, but I don't think there are enough transgender students or even transgender-inclined students at the Y to warrant mention on such a list. Homosexuality, on the other hand, which is not otherwise mentioned on the list, is one of the biggest concerns at the BYUCC. I think it's safe to conclude that there's a new Mormon PC term for gay.

So the true reason I'm attracted to men is that, deep down, I'm confused about whether I'm a man or a woman. And to think I didn't even know it! Silly me.

Goodbye, Dear Readers

(For now.)

I am going to teach my classes for the last time in an hour, and when I come back I will have forty 10-page papers to grade. I may not blog or otherwise interact with human beings again for the next few days.

Don't forget, the Blog Party is in seven days.

A Harry Question

Currently halfway through the first one and enjoying it, but...

There are four houses at this school, right? And everyone knows that one is the evil house and it's run by evil teachers and produces evil students. Why, then, does it not occur to anyone that maybe, just maybe, they should consider cutting back to three houses? Or at least come up with a less sinister name than Slithering*?

And on that note, Foxy and I have decided to name our son Evillo. I'm sure it will have no impact on his personality.

*Okay, I just looked it up and discovered the name of the house is spelled Slytherin (I'm listening to the book on cd so I didn't know), but still I stand by my argument.

Farewell, Dear Lent

Your mom's going to eat ice cream tonight.

Fobsvithe 4: Sing Your Heart Out

I have a tendency to approach life tentatively. This comes mainly from a fear of doing things wrong or otherwise making a fool of myself. If I'm going to screw up, I'd rather do so quietly than call attention to myself. So if there's any doubt about my ability to do something right--and if I'm good at anything, it's doubting--then I generally tiptoe and mumble my way through it. Sometimes, however, this approach doesn't work.

One of my passions in life is music. Having no musical talent, though, I have no choice but to practice this passion passively, enjoying the music that other people make (on a somewhat related note, we went to see Sethillama's band perform at Borders last night and I was impressed; go to his blog and ask if you can buy a cd--they were selling them last night for five bucks a piece). I remember believing that I had a good singing voice when I was in Primary, but whether that was true or not, puberty hit and dropped my voice down to ridiculously low depths. This might not be such a bad thing if I knew how to make a low voice work for me--Barry White does just fine with his--but the problem is I don't know how. In the first place, the majority of singers I sing along with, like Erykah Badu and Lauryn Hill, are singing in octaves I can't dream of approaching. When I was dating Foxy J her sister was amused to hear me attempting to sing along with Mariah Carey. I end up either singing twelve octaves too low and my voice comes out flat, or I try to hit the high notes and come out horribly off-key. Add to this the fact that unless people told me I wouldn't even know I was singing flat or off-key, and you can see I simply was not made to sing. Most of the time when I sing in the company of others I either sing very quietly or I exagerrate the offness of my key, lest anyone think I'm actually trying to sing well.

This would all not be a problem if I did not secretly desire to be a beautiful singer, capable of ending world conflict with nothing but the sound of my voice, and if I were not too stubborn to accept the fact that I'm just not good at some things. So a couple months ago I joined the choir at church. For those of you unfamiliar with Mormon ward choirs, generally they are so happy to have another warm body, particularly a male warm body, that they don't care whether you can sing. I took my place among the basses--making three of us--and did my best to pretend I knew what I was doing. You'd think I would be fine singing bass, but first of all I have to hear the bass part, which is hard to do when all my life I've never heard anything but the melody, and in the second place most of the songs we sing have notes, even in the bass part, that are too high for me to sing. If the darn songs would stay in my four-note range at the bottom of the bass clef I'd be fine, but those stinking composers expect my voice to jump all over the place!

What I usually do in practices is sing loudly whenever we're on those four bottom notes, then as we progress higher my voice gets softer. Often, I run out of breath when trying to sing high notes, so I'll just mouth them while others sing. This has saved me from embarrassment several times as I tried to hit those notes that dare to float above the clef and my voice cracked. Can you imagine if I'd been singing loud enough for people to hear me when my voice wobbled and squeaked? How embarrassing. They'd probably laugh me off the stage and right out of the building. I'd look like a fool.

This morning, though, we sang "I Walked Today Where Jesus Walked" in sacrament meeting. It's a beautiful Easter song and I really wanted to give it my all. Jesus, I figured, deserves no less. I sang from the bottom of my gut--which is what the conductor always tells us to do--and put as much power into each note--even those high, floating-above-the-clef ones--as I could. And you know what? My voice didn't squeak, wobble, or crack. I can't guarantee you this because of my above-mentioned inability to recognize my own bad singing, but I'm pretty sure I was hitting the right notes. I was so happy to hit that C (it might even have been a D; I don't remember), I actually held it a bit too long. Nevertheless, the song was powerful, it was moving, it was beautiful, and I was part of it.

As with many things in life, singing requires you to give it all you've got, even when you're not sure you can do it right. The few times in my life I've gotten past that tentativity and made a leap of faith, I've been rewarded. I should do it more often.

S-Boogie's Blog

You are under no obligation to read S-Boogie's new blog. We created it chiefly for the following reasons:

1. To chronicle S-Boogie's toddlerhood in pictures and occasional words.
2. To entertain family and friends who want to see cute pictures of S-Boogie but aren't so interested in my longwinded political/religious ponderings.
3. Because I had an ultra muy cool picture of S-Boogie that had to become her banner.

We are, however, not entirely sold on the title. It refers to the name of the recording studio the Fugees use (S-Boogie, of course, being a reference to L-Boogie aka Lauryn Hill), but the thing is it's not really a reference or a clever pun or anything--it's just the name of the studio, the Booga Basement, taken as is. And really, I'm more clever than that. Just not without your help. So share your ideas, please. Imagine how important you'll feel when, years from now, you can say, "I named S-Boogie's blog."

Weather People

I realized today that I am not a weather person. I know many people who are happy when the sun shines and sad when the rain falls. I couldn't care less if I tried. Rain or snow, sun or clouds, locusts or frogs, I will do whatever I plan on doing and will be happy about it. I believe this will be a good quality to have in Seattle.

Blog Party Countdown: 11 Days

Wednesday, April 26th. 5:30 pm. By reading this you legally and bindingly commit yourself to come.

Multireading

It appears that Edgy Killer Bunny has triggered my competitive nature. Lest he beat me in book-reading, I have begun reading three books at a time.

Actually, how it happened is that, having finished Dark Sons, I picked up Wicked, which Tolkien Boy had lent me several months ago, and started to read. Reading Wicked, though, reminded me of the wicked-cool Oz-themed novel I want to write, which reminded me that before I do that I need to reread The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. So I checked it out of the library and started reading it to S-Boogie, then Foxy remembered that we own a copy of TWWOO (which happens to have much more interesting illustrations than the one I checked out), so I returned the library's copy and continued along in our own. S-Boogie is mainly interested in the lion on the cover. In the midst of all this, the book-on-cd version of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone that I'd requested at the library came in, so now I've started that as well. I highly recommend listening to Harry Potter while taking long walks through Orem. Especially when S-Boogie is ornery and to sit around the apartment with her would be torture.

So now I'm in the first few chapters of three books. This concerns me because in the past when I've tried reading more than one book at a time I quickly lost interest and gave up on one or all of them, and I really like all three of these. It would be a pity if I were to miss out on any of them because I'm trying to read all of them. So please, friends, lend me your book-reading willpower. Even you, Edgy.

Various and Sometimes Conflicting Thoughts on Soulforce

You may have heard that Soulforce came to BYU yesterday. Foxy and I took S-Boogie to the rally at Kiwanis Park. When we arrived there weren't very many people so we felt a little silly laying out our big blanket and getting out our picnic food, but later as things got started and the crowd surrounded us and we became a nexus of sorts for a gathering of friends and friends of friends, I felt pretty cool. I'm not sure how to reconcile all the thoughts I've had since then, so I'll just spew them out at you:

• Almost ten years ago I attended an anti-gay-marriage rally at the Hawai'i state capitol. Thousands of Mormons, Catholics, and other conservative Christians showed up to say that the supporters of gay marriage were nothing more than a vocal minority. Across the street from us, a couple dozen representatives of that vocal minority showed up to protest the protest. It hurt me to watch the people on my side of the street--the representatives of Christianity--throw insults, profanities, and rocks at the people across the street. Last night, while the Equality Riders of Soulforce led the crowd in singing "I Am A Child of God," a small group of (I presume) BYU students stood behind us shouting, "Soulforce go home!" I was glad to be on the right side this time.
• I am aware of the faults in the ethos-based logic necessary for the implied argument of the above thought. The fact that some people who believe homosexual behavior is a sin happen to be pricks does not mean that all people with that belief are, nor does it mean the belief is wrong. Likewise, singing "I Am A Child of God" does not make Soulforce's beliefs true.
• I was a bit embarrassed today to read Saule Cogneur's criticism of the faulty logic and silly crowd mentality at the rally because yesterday I was sitting right behind him and I was one of those people laughing at the unfunny jokes and mindlessly cheering at "I've been excommunicated three times" and "Five of us got arrested today" and "My son is not gender confused." I was embarrassed because really I agree with Saule. None of those things deserved cheers (except perhaps "gender confused," and that only if the GA who originally said it really was euphemizing "gay," which we don't know for sure but I suspect was the case). I'm not sure why I felt the need to go along with the crowd. I think what it comes down to is that, in a group composed of liberal people and ridiculously liberal people, I feel a need to impress the ridiculously liberal people by showing that I am one of them. Which is ridiculous.
• I went last night because I wanted to hear what Soulforce had to say and because I wanted to show my support in general for gay rights. I was unsure of how much I supported their particular stance, though. BYU, after all, is a private institution and has the right to demand certain behavior of its students. My problems with BYU's--and more broadly, the Mormon church's--treatment of homosexuality is not so much in the organizational policies but in the behavior of a large number of individuals. I am annoyed, for example, by the witch-hunt tactics used by the Honor Code Office to track down gay students and punish them. I am annoyed by the general unChristian attitude that many Mormons have toward homosexuals. However, I am not waiting for the Church to change its doctrine on homosexuality. I know what is right for me and what is wrong for me; I don't need anyone else to tell me what I should or shouldn't do and I know that every individual is capable of making his or her own moral choices. (This is, to be honest, a moot point for me personally because what I feel is right for me in regards to homosexual relationships happens to be what the Church says is right for me.)
• All that said, the speeches last night made me question my neutral stance on BYU's and the Church's policies. It is devastating and infuriating to see repeatedly how Mormon culture produces gay people who feel that suicide is their best option, parents of gay people who tell them they would be better off dead, and peers who tell them they are no better than terrorists. Yes, there is an important distinction between Mormon culture and the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but at what point does the organization and its doctrine take responsibility for the culture it produces? The fact is that it is just as hard to hate the sin without hating the sinner as it is to believe it's a sin once you learn to love the so-called sinner. Gordon B. Hinckley has a responsibility to stand by the doctrine he believes has come from God; I do not doubt that. What I, personally, would like to see is (a) evidence that he has actually asked God about this and not just assumed that what has been taught for centuries must be true; and (b) a greater effort on the part of the Church's leaders to teach the members not to act hatefully toward homosexuals. This past General Conference, I think, was at least a start in the direction of the latter.
• I'm rambling. I'm sure I had more to say but I have no idea what it was. I'll stop now.
  

Fobsvithe #3: Old Testament Thought

I think they made Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy so long and boring so that we would have empathy for the children of Israel. It may take us forty years to get through it all ourselves.

Submitted

The Amazing, Incredible, Uncanny Adventures of Don Quimby of BYU

Pray for me.

According to Big O (the tire store, not the toddler)

I am fifteen dollars and eighty-eight cents less attractive than Tolkien Boy.

Happy Birthday to Tutu

To see the video, click here.

And, in case you're wondering why she's called S-Boogie, click here.

I hate it when other authors steal my titles

Now I'll have to think of something else to call my autobiography.

Blog Party III: The Mother of All Blog Parties

Who: You

When: Wednesday, April 26, 2006 (we're planning this way ahead so you can reschedule finals, get off work, and buy plane tickets to be here)

Where: The Fobcave (if that means nothing to you, email me for directions), in the backyard (weather permitting)

What: A celebration of TOLKIEN BOY'S PENDING GRADUATION and EDITORGIRL'S BIRTHDAY and A CHANCE TO MEET TH., LADY STEED, AND THE BIG O (this is not confirmation of their tentative plan, by the way, but an expression of faith). Lots of yummy food. We'll provide burgers, dogs, and all the other main stuff; if you want to bring something, you're welcome to bring snacks, dessert, or drinks. I'm still waiting to hear back from the Roots, Erykah Badu, the Fugees, and Michel Gondry, but hopefully we'll be filming the forthcoming Master Fob's Blog Party.

Why: Because we like you.

Svithe #2 (A day late)

I watched much of General Conference this weekend with FoxyJ and I really liked the recurring theme of being nice to people who are different from you and not judging and not stereotyping and all that. I hope people were paying attention because Mormons are big-time stereotypers. They're all ultra-conservative Republicans who hate liberals and make false assumptions. I bet no one really got the message, though, because they were probably sitting there thinking about everyone else who needs to stop judging and stereotyping. It's just like them to miss the point because they assume it's someone else's problem.