Fob Bible Updates

I just learned that the Fob Bible is now available as a PDF for only $5.99. You can buy it here. (Note: This is the complete book, as opposed to the PDF sampler that is available for free.)

Also, thanks to Theric for pointing out to me that we got a positive review on Feminist Mormon Housewives, as well as another positive review that the reviewer linked to in the comments on FMH. As we were putting this book together, we were worried that it would be too... eccentric for some tastes, and surely it is for some, but it's great to see that a lot of people really get what we're doing, and like it. And thank you to Chanson for plugging us on Main Street Plaza a couple times now. I (heart) good reviews!

They like us, they really like us!

Thank you to Katya for letting me know about this very nice review of the Fob Bible. And of course, thanks to Dallas Robbins for writing it.

Coming Soon to a Library Near You

(Assuming you live in Orem, that is.)

Strolling Down Main Street and Hoping Not to Get Hit By a Trolley

The Queen of Outer Blogness, C. L. Hanson, has kindly offered me the opportunity to showcase the Fob Bible on Main Street Plaza. Being the egotistical fellow I am, the excerpt I chose to post is my own short story, "The Changing of the God."













Hey, why are you still here? Get over to MSP and read the story!

Even More Fob Bible Goodness

Tyler Chadwick at A Motley Vision wrote a very nice review of the Fob Bible. A commenter noted that Tyler's review did a much better job of explaining what the Fob Bible is than anything she'd seen previously, so if any of you have been wondering what exactly is this thing Mr. Fob keeps trying to sell you, I'll let Tyler explain:

The Fob Bible, an anthology of stories, poems, closet drama, and email correspondence, positions itself within this general tradition of enhanced, altar-type, family Bibles, though with a significant revisionary difference: instead of constructing a new apparatus intended to direct our study of the scriptures in specific, predetermined ways or offering a new translation of a text that has already been translated repeatedly, the contributors to The Fob Bible have re-imagined well-worn Old Testament stories, revisiting Eden and its surrounds, the Deluge, the final moments of Sodom and Gomorrah, Abraham and Isaac’s ascent to Moriah’s pinnacle, the relationship between Isaac and Esau and Esau and Jacob, Joseph’s—then Moses’—journey into Egypt, Balaam’s bond with his ass, Samson, Solomon, Rehoboam, Naaman, Ezra, Job, Jeremiah, Daniel, and, of course, Jonah and the giant fish.

These postmodern visitations reshape each historically privileged narrative and narrative voice from the perspective of the less-privileged story, the unheard voice, offering new characters—or familiar characters recast in new molds—the opportunity to speak and, in the process, to influence the world “in exciting new ways.” For instance, Danny Nelson gives voice to Job’s wife, a woman unnamed in the canon whose scriptural screen time amounts to one line of dialogue and two obscure references, three slight appearances from which she is sometimes judged to be “bitter, angry, and wrong.” Yet, Nelson gives the woman a name, “Hadasa,” the whole cast of human emotions, and a book of her own, a space in which she (or Nelson’s version thereof) can flesh out her poignant account of Job’s tale, which is, in the end, their story and deserves to be told in her voice, too.

Tyler goes on to talk of the "revisionary proclivity" of the Fob Bible, attributing this to the fact that all the writers are Mormon, part of "a Christian religious heritage founded on a restorationist theology." Though I don't consider myself Mormon anymore, I like Tyler's take on this idea, and I'm happy to attribute any revisionary proclivities I might have to my Mormon heritage. It makes sense. But don't take my word for it; go read Tyler's review. As Theric points out in the comments, the review itself is a work of art, and we don't just say that because he says nice things about us. (But it doesn't hurt.)

Drive Carefully

Because the Fob Bible hits the streets today! Order your copy now. (By way of disclaimer, I haven't ordered my copy yet only because I'm moving next week and don't want to lose it in the mail.)

According to the official description, The Fob Bible is "The Old Testament re-imagined through poetry, verse, closet drama, e-mail, and short story." I would add that said re-imaginations strike just the right balance of thoughtful reverence and humorous irreverence toward the source material to please believer and non-believer alike. And that it's really good.

And anyone who can tell me the difference between poetry and verse wins bonus points. There's certainly enough variety of poetry and verse in the book to warrant two labels, but I'm just not clear on the distinction.

Fob Bible Release Party Recap

Thanks to those of you who stopped by the party. To those of you who didn't make it, you can still relive the fun here. The highlights of the party were live readings of a few excerpts from the Fob Bible, which I'll happily repost for you here.

FoxyJ reading "Capitulation: Forbidden Squirming" by A. Arwen Taylor:



Me reading an excerpt from "The Changing of the God" by B.G. Christensen:



Eric reading "Them Bones Them Bones Gonna -- Walk Around (a bar song)" by Theric Jepson:



Lady Steed reading "Philistina" by Danny Nelson:



Me reading "Wings" by Sarah E. Jenkins (sorry, Sarah, I'm not a great poetry reader):



And finally, Eric reading the illustration captions as if they all go together in a long, nonsensical story:



Now that we've whetted your appetite, buy the book!

Ere you left your computer this evening...

Did you think to stop by the Foblog after 6PM PDT to check in on our Fob Bible Release Party and say hi? (Click the link Foblog link to sign up for an email reminder.)

Also, don't forget to pre-order your copy of the Fob Bible!

Fob Bible Goodness

The Fob Bible will be released on June 1st and is now available to pre-order. Whether you order because you want to see Old Testament stories as envisioned by literary geniuses, because you don't want to feel guilty next month when I ask you what you think of it, or because you want to donate money to the LDS Humanitarian Fund, rest assured that you're making the world a better place for you, me, and poor kids in Africa.

To celebrate, we'll be throwing a release party this Friday, May 29th, at 6pm PDT. Can't make it to the Fobcave in Davis, CA? No problem. Pop into the Foblog sometime Friday evening, see what's going on via liveblogging, say hi via comment, and pour yourself a glass of sparkling cider to celebrate with us.

Cheers!

A QUOTIDIAN BOOK OF SCRIPTURE
CONTAINING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO,
THE JUICIEST PORTIONS OF THE
OLD TESTAMENT

—sans, for obvious reasons, Judges 19—

translated through means of memory and nightmare
out of the pre-translated tongues (being mainly English):
and with the former translations ignored,

or—in special cases—
dictated but not read,

by His Fobbiness’s
special command, in perpetuity,

worlds with very definite (and sometimes good-looking) ends,
albeit of a feminist bent in places,
with far too many references to behemoths and leviathans,
and thus, being indebted to the grace of your most gracious progenitrix,
published in the year of the FOB seven
(using the Jepsonian calendar for its ease of dates).

Fully Authorized Fob Version

Interview With the Vampires

Because I don't publicly reveal enough intimate details about myself on a regular basis, my friends Theric and Tolkien Boy have teamed up to expose the skeletons in Master Fob's closet.



Th.: Once upon a time there was a ... well, there were a lot of things. Which one did you have in mind exactly?

MF: I was thinking of something along the lines of a souffle.

TB: You've just written the great American novel. What happens in the seventh chapter?

MF: Really, TB, you should know me and my writing well enough to answer that question yourself. The same thing happens in the seventh chapter as happened in the first, second, third, fifth, and sixth: The protagonist stares at another guy's back while thinking angsty self-reflective thoughts. Chapter Four is a flashback to his angsty childhood.

Th.: Between you and me, how come you've never invested in the daisy business?

MF: It just seems so, I don't know, invasive. I mean, really, even cows deserve some personal space.

Ooooohhhhhhh, you said daiSy. Hm. More or less the same reason, I'd have to say.

TB: Shakespeare once wrote: "And we all know security is mortal's chiefest enemy." Some variations on this might include "And we all know dexterity is teenagers' temerity" and "And we all know that piety is just holy anxiety." Given all this, what is fobbery, and how do you justify that?

MF: Well, we all know fobbery is a fob's fobbest fobby. That's justification enough, isn't it?

Th.: I'm of the strict opinion that seventy-five is seventy-five is seventy-five. But this one stumps me (maybe you can help): What's seventy-six?

MF: The bicentennial? Your birth year?

TB: Boots are made for walking--but is that all they can do? What are your five favorite non-walking uses for boots?

MF: Ooh, a list!

1. As flower pots.
2. Kicking.
3. Keeping one's feet dry.
4. Hiking.
5. Accompanying fishnet stockings to a nightclub in Spain.

(Please note that #s 1 and 3 are mutually exclusive.)

Th.: Pleated pants, yes or no? Defend your answer.

MF: I'm offended that you would ask such a thing.

TB: You board a bus only to discover that it's travelling in time rather than space. At what stops do you categorically refuse to get off? And when I say "get off" I mean "disembark."

MF: (Thank you for the clarification.) I pretty much refuse to get off (by which I mean disembark) at any point before the present. The past is so yesterday. I'm all about the future. I might make an exception for the sixties. I won't go to San Francisco, though, unless I'm wearing some flowers in my hair.

Th.: If God were to call up this evening and say he was sick and tired of all these ridiculous hiccup cures and he wants to settle on just one ridiculous hiccup cure--one that'll work every time--and he wants you to choose that cure, what will you tell him?

MF: If God were to call up this evening there are a lot of things I would tell him, and probably more things that I would ask him. As for the hiccup cure, I'd suggest to him that he's being too narrrow-minded and that really, there is no one-size-fits-all solution but that he should adopt a more relativistic view of the universe; all ridiculous hiccup cures lead to happiness.

TB: You wake up one morning to discover that your past life has been a dream and you are, in fact, a playboy millionaire movie star. Who are you, and can you explain why you're not wearing any pajamas to the interested press?

MF: I have enough money that no explanations are necessary. Please, now, let me be--all this questioning tires me.



Having been exposed, I am now ready to expose others. Let me know if you want to be interviewed and I'll send five questions your way. Be warned, though, that if you ask for the questions and then don't answer them on your blog, you'll anger the chain-blogging gods and they will bring their electronic wrath down upon you.

A Post About Tolkien Boy

Tolkien Boy mentioned last week that few blog posts have been written solely about him. He recognized this notable exception, but apparently that's not good enough for him. So this is a post about Tolkien Boy.

For more than two years now Tolkien Boy has been my best friend (which is in no way a slight to other best friends). In those two years he has motivated me to go to the gym regularly, he has provided consistently valuable feedback on my writing, and he has on countless occasions given me a shoulder to cry on, both figuratively and literally. I think it's safe to say that I have done all those things for him as well, which is one of the many things I value about our friendship: we are equals. At times the balance may shift to one side or another--lately, for example, I've felt rather needy--but over the past two years we have each had our moments of giving and receiving.

As most of my friends over the past five years have learned, Master Fob is a package deal. Befriending me means befriending my family, and Tolkien Boy has done just that since the moment Melyngoch introduced us. He is as good to FoxyJ, S-Boogie, and Little Dude as he is to me, and that is hugely important to me. It delights me to see the people I love love each other.

Despite the fact that TB knew more than most about the almost constant state of turmoil I was in, he was always supportive of my marriage up until the point I decided to end it. In the midst of all this, TB recognized that ultimately I wouldn't listen to whatever advice he or anyone else gave me, even if I solicited such advice, and that his unconditional friendship was needed more than his opinion. He was right, and I'm thankful to know I can process my thoughts with him without fear of judgment.

In summary, Tolkien Boy is a good person. If you aren't already his friend, you should be. The waiting list may be long, as he's quite the popular fellow, but don't worry--you can read his 200 or so blog posts, which are all as witty and insightful as they are lengthy, while you wait.

Brief Observations Made Over a Weekend Spent With Each of the Current Members of FOB

• Tolkien Boy will someday be a great father. S-Boogie always has a lot of fun with him and he worries, for example, about the fact that she looks like a little movie star. On the other hand, I tend to assume that this only means she will be happier than ugly people.
• Weed will someday be a great marriage and family therapist. He is great at listening and empathizing without making value judgments. After spending Saturday afternoon with him I felt happily therapized in a marriage and family sort of way.
• Sir Jupiter will someday be a great hot dog vendor. Or something. In the few months we've known him, he has been very generous to us, and his generous gifts have often involved food of some sort. Last night he made us a yummy dinner of Chilean-style hot dogs with tomatoes, avocado (he won me over with the avocado), and mayonaise.
  

Twelve Fobs of Christmas Delayed by Facts

One of the clearest childhood Christmas memories I have is of sneaking up to someone's doorstep in the dark, dropping a package--with cutout magazine letters describing the contents thereof--on the doorstep, then ringing the doorbell and running like crazy to get back to the family car without being spotted. Nowadays you get arrested by the FBI for such behavior, but in that innocent age it was mostly overlooked. At least a couple Christmases during my formative years, my family did the twelve days of Christmas for another family, either because they were in need or just because we liked them. Starting twelve days before Christmas and every day thereafter until Christmas, we would get some kind of gift to match the day, come up with a clever line or two to decorate the brown paper grocery bag, and make the delivery each night without getting caught. I enjoyed this not so much for the warm fuzzy feeling of having done something nice as for the piped-up adrenaliney feeling of being sneaky. A couple years ago, FoxyJ and I did something similar for a family that lived upstairs from us, and I enjoyed it just as much.

So this year, when Tolkien Boy challenged Foblog contributors to post Christmasy things for our fellow Fobs, and upon counting I realized that there are 12 Fobs besides me, I decided that I must go against TB's plea not to and create the Twelve Fobs of Christmas. As I got ready to do so, though, I came up against a nagging question I've had for years--does the Twelve Days of Christmas start on the 13th and go to the 24th, or does it go from the 14th to the 25th?

Rather than randomly decide on one or the other, I decided to look it up. After some in-depth research of the type that only an experienced information professional such as myself could perform, I found that the Twelve Days does not start on the 13th or the 14th. Rather, the Twelve Days of Christmas run from the night of the 25th through the night of January 5th, otherwise known as (duh) Twelfth Night. January 6th, then, is Epiphany, or as I and other people who've lived in Spain know it, Dia de los Reyes.

It troubles me to no end to know that all those years my family was doing it wrong. But alas, there's nothing I can do now but press forward in the light of the truth. So, now that I am no longer deceived (you might say I've had an epiphany), you can watch for my oh-so-clever ode to my fellow Fobs to appear nightly on the Foblog between December 25th and January 5th. And to all the rest of you who aren't official Fobs, well, I'm sure I love you too.

An Ode To Fob

Inspired by editorgirl's implication that one poem does not qualify me to read in the Association for Mormon Letters' Poets of the Future presentation (where editorgirl will be reading), and by editorgirl's thing of late for meaningless but nice-sounding language poetry, and by my love for Fob, the greatest people on the planet.

Fob, fob, fibby fob fob
A fobby fob fob in your fob with a fob
I fobbed your fobby fob with a fob fob fob
While fobbing a fob with a fob fibby fob.

Who fobs?
I fob you fob he she it fobs
We fob you fob they fob
Thou fobst
Ye fob
On a fobby fob fob fob.

Go fob
whoa fob
no fob?
No fobbing fob!

Last fob I fobbed a fobbled fob of fobbled fobbers
And they fobbed back.
And now I fob till the fob
When we fob again.

Three Cheers for Tolkien Boy

1. Hurray for Tolkien Boy for being a novelist. The novel he's working on now promises to be even better than his first. Well, it doesn't literally say, "I promise to be better than the first novel," because that would be ridiculous, but I think it looks like it'll be positively delightful, whereas the first was only affirmatively delightful.

2. Hurrah for Tolkien Boy for being a funny, funny man.

3. Huzzah for Tolkien Boy for being a successful babysitter. He kindly watched S-Boogie last night while Foxy J and I went out for dessert. Well, technically, he watched The Simpsons last night while Foxy J and I went out for dessert and S-Boogie slept peacefully in her room, but the important thing is that S-Boogie is alive and well and apparently unscarred from her first Tolkien Boy babysitting experience. We'll have to take advantage of Tolkers' kindness more often, perhaps next time while S-Boog is awake and can enjoy his company.

Who? What? When? Where? Why?

Master Fob and Foxy J
saved the children
on the fifth day of the seventh month of the year of the howling monkey
in your pants
because Foxy J's uterus fell out.

Andre 3000
tiptoed through the tulips
when the stars fell from the sky and the sun burned out
on a mountain high, near the clear blue sky
because, just like me, the end of the story looks better in a Speedo.

King Kong
broke
before the Earth and Moon collided
in the place between dreaming and waking
because who doesn't like merengue?

The David
decorated the Christmas tree
during the War of 1812, or maybe it was the Korean War, or maybe it was just the finals of American Idol
under a rainbow-colored sky
because sometimes less is more.

Share Bear
lunging
during Ramadan
under the futon
because there was no toilet paper in the bathroom.

The Big O
erected a block tower
in the middle of some pagan brouhaha
behind the Port-a-Potty behind the Monte Carlo
because what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

The Little Drummer Boy
masticulated [sic]
last night
in the bathroom of the Bellagio
because the devil made him do it.

Melyngoch and Roth
juxtapose inappropriate movie quotations
during the Spring Equinox
in the swimming pool
because no matter how you look at it, fish just aren't that tasty compared to snowflakes and candy canes.

Bigfoot
conquered the world with love
after a late supper
in the pool
because the monkeys were restless.

The fish that was Melyngoch in 1902
licks toe hair
when the days were accomplished
beyond the Swamp of Doom, in the Dark Tower of Morbid Death, on the planet Zizufryxx
because he needed to deliver a very important package to a very special girl.

Tolkien Boy, who wasn't foreign to those parts,
kicked the bucket
during the Norman invasion
inside a tent made out of Saran wrap
because God has a purpose, not a plan.

What if?

Q: What if Tolkien Boy and Melyngoch produced a love child who grew up to conquer the world?

A: Then all the men in the audience would confirm Master Fob's suspicion and become gay.

Q: What if Tolkien Boy got a job dancing in the show at Bally's?

A: Then Fob Reunion 2025 will have to be African-themed.

Q: What if S-Boogie and the Big O get married and live in Madagascar some day?

A: Then maybe TB and Melyngoch shouldn't have a child after all.

Q: What if we're all robot clones of our former selves?

A: Then Melyngoch would, for the second time in history, have nothing left to say.

Q: What if Fob (official and honorary) were to give up your mom jokes forever?

A: Then her baby would die, and that would be tragic.

Q: What if Foxy J's uterus fell out?

A: Then, perhaps, we could be translated like the City of Enoch.

Q: What if Fob became a communal society?

A: Then they would have to reduce his allowance by the same amount.

Q: What if Th. and Lady Steed had a child named Maximillion, but the nurse got confused and named him Maxithousand?

A: Then they might end up on one of those annoying inspirational billboards.

Q: What if the Fobs attempted Everest as sesquecentarians?

A: Then we would know that everyone in this house is among God's chosen people.

Q: What if both California and Utah were struck by an 8.0 earthquake tonight at three am?

A: WHO TOLD YOU???

Q: What if Th. were a spy sent from the planet Thmars to prepare Earth for an invasion?

A: Then writing would give way to school bus zombies.

Q: What if Master Fob became Master Shake?

A: Then he would have to go on a national tour and get beverage companies for sponsors.

Q: What if Foxy J named her child Fobapalooza while Master Fob wasn't watching?

A: Humankind would change forever.

Q: What if... Melyngoch... and a pumpkin... and a trout... met up and... you know?

A: MADD would form a secondary group: MAFOB.

Q: What if FOB was the basis of a Vegas revue?

A: Then we would know where the wrath of God will strike.

Q: What if the Church bought the Las Vegas Strip?

A: Then it would be purpler on the other side.

Q: What if grass were purple?

A: Then the world is not very strong.

Live from Las Vegas--Fob!

.

Theric: About three hours ago I drove into Las Vegas and was graced with more shots of naked breasts than I recall from prior drive-throughs. This proved to a poor omen as within about fifteen minutes what I actually found in Vegas was some fellow fobsters (fully clothed).


Melyngoch: Of course, when th. says "fully clothed" what he means is "half-naked," but to his breast-innundated eyes, I suppose we were close enough to clothed for his purposes. (He has not yet told us what his purposes are.) In the Bellagio, you can buy coloring books that have a lot of penises in them. (The plural might be "pene".)


Tolkien Boy: As this is my first experience being on the strip, I had to work hard not to look like a gawking tourist (as a side note, we've realized that a pun of Melyngoch's name is Melon Gawk. As she points out, "Time flies when you're making puns"). The trouble was my experience with naked women has been limited to watching Manon of the Spring in high school and an unfortunate incident involving my cousin. In my attempt to be blase about it all, I'm afraid I made a number of gaffes. A naked woman approached me and asked me if I had the time, and I, blushing, replied, "It's 12:30 am in Utah."

Okay, that didn't really happen, but it's the sort of thing that could happen here in the City of Lights. And I have every intention of letting it happen, so that Melyngoch can kick said naked woman in the shins (my long experience in soccer has taught me that naked shins sting when they're kicked).

Foxy J: Well, they call it the "strip" for a reason. Unfortunately, no one wanted to stop at any of the wedding chapels we passed on our way back to my parents' humble abode last night. I still think that one of my favorite moments of the evening was when my mother invited Melyngoch and TB to "get cozy" in the single bed because she did not realize that they weren't married. The slogan does say that "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas" but I'm afraid that this entire post violates that agreement.


Theric: I just came up with a great idea for next year's bad Christmas movie: Undercover Santa--however, I realize that in the context of this post, the particulars of this film may be miscontrued in such a way as to render it family-friendly no more.

As for stuff staying in Vegas, the can keep it for all I care. A pox on you and your pleasures of the world!


Melyngoch: Suffice it to say that I would have kicked more than the naked woman's shins, given the chance and the reason. (Incidentally, Master Fob just walked in and announced that he will not be contributing to this post, so we all feel much freer to say what we really think of him, without danger of rebuttal. At least, in the same post.) Also, I wanted to stop at the wedding chapels, but FoxyJ totally rejected me. Fortunately, TB was there for the rebound, and our elopement was solemnized some time last night after the fifth or sixth shot of Absolut.

Other than propositioning Tolkien Boy via FJ's mother, my favorite part of Vegas so far has been getting lost in the industrial waistland and climbing over police fencecs in the mysterious parking lots on the wrong side of the Monte Carlo.

Tolkien Boy: I decided that I wanted to get to know the real Las Vegas, so this morning while the house slept I took a walk. I saw so much of Vegas I actually travelled all the way out of the city. Climbing the hills behind the town, I discovered a grave, a capuccino machine, and someone's discarded wife-beater (before Melyngoch asks, no, I did not try it on). And that, I assume, is what the real Las Vegas is all about.

Oh, and apparently the police don't like you discovering the real Las Vegas. I was trying to reconstruct the capuccino machine that sat at the summit of the mountain I was on, and a police helicopter came by and made menacing motions in the air (by this I mean circling me and then spraying the ground around me with machine-gun bullets). I can see why they'd want to protect the secret of Las Vegas - discarded wife-beaters are dangerous commodities in the modern world.


Theric: I remember the last time I was shot at in Vegas and it had nothing to do with those things which Tolkers has so euphemistically referred to. In fact, it had less to do with mountain tops than gutters and more to do with bus benches than weddings. Which is one long way of saying that before we all leave, Master Fob will be dead. There is a reason he "decided" not to post here. But I shall not "reveal" it.


Melyngoch: S-boogie would like to say "Hello," if "Wooby wooby hee?" means "hello". Master Fob would like to say -- oh, just kidding, I forgot, he's -- um. Out. Yes.


Lady Steed: I have been busy trying to get the children to go down for a nap, so I am not quite sure how it is that Master Fob became or is to become dead. My alibi is sound, I have no doing in this knocking off of Master Fob, that is certainly not why th. and I sped down here to Vegas. We certainly did not bring my meat cleaver with us...


Tolkien Boy: Melyngoch just realized that Master Fob is out, which is a good indication that she's not keeping up with his blog.

Today we sat in the hot tub of Foxy J's sire and dam. I give you this short ode:

I sit here in the hot tub
far whiter than the moon
but soon the change will be complete
I will be a prune.

I must admit that my poetic ability has suffered somewhat since my ride with Melyngoch. She got so angry with my constant poeticising she said, "I'm going to hit you so hard you'll never have children; so hard that, even if you were able to have children, your children would never have children."

Foxy J: And so we leave you from the neon splendor of Las Vegas. Watch for our next series of crazy adventures--perhaps we will visit Disneyland, or The World's Largest Prarie Dog.

A Fobby Day

Yesterday I saw each of the current members of the Friends of Master Fob (FOB) writing group, individually. This was good because it gave me a chance to conduct PFIs--Personal Fobhood Interviews--in which I ensured that each of them is living up to high fobworthy standards of conduct.

First I spent a large portion of the day working with Jane Austen at the library. I gave her a hard time about disagreeing with everything Lunkwill said at the party the other night, but I'm not very good at giving people a hard time because inevitably they will say, "I'm not all that bad, am I?" to which I will have to honestly say, "No," because if they really were all that bad I wouldn't say anything in the first place. A better hard time giver would carry the joking remonstrance to the point of tears if necessary. Alas, I am a softie.

After work I was supposed to go to the gym with Tolkien Boy, but thanks to emergency homework on TB's part and several Utah Disaster Kleenup trucks blocking the entrance to the athletic building on my part, that plan was changed. Instead TB came to dinner at Sonic with me and Foxy J. I had a jalapeno Super Sonic burger and onion rings. It was yummy. TB and I exchanged "your mom" jokes, which is about all we would have done at the gym anyway.

Then Editorgirl treated Foxy and me, as well as a couple other FOEGs, to a Divine Comedy show. In the spirit of the PFI, EG informed me that Fob has not nearly lived up to the level of "your mom" jokes and general offensiveness she had been promised before joining. We'll do our best to remedy that situation this Thursday, I promise (as you can see, TB and I have been practicing). I considered writing an Ode to Editorgirl to post in gratitude for the delightful show, but I'm not a good enough poet to even write humorously bad poetry. I assume she'll post a review on her blog so I won't attempt one here, but I will say that my favorite skits were "Freshman Nights" (in which a BYU student and her missionary boyfriend tell their friends/companions about their freshman fling) and "Medieval Girl" (in which a member of BYU's medieval club sings about living in a modern world as a medieval girl).

Six Degrees of Foberation OR How I Know the People You Know

I just discovered, thanks to Foxy J, that Theric has started a blog. Several weeks ago, in fact. I would gripe that he failed to mention this to me, but he has posted on my blog several times with his fully linked blogger identity and has, in fact, mentioned to me that he was in the process of figuring out how he intended to make his very own impact on the blog world, so it's my fault for not figuring it out sooner.

Somewhere, among the comments to a post or two he made on his blog, there's a conversation between Theric and Singing Cicada about whether or not they know each other, given that they seem to know the same people. I am mentioned in said conversation. *blush* And elsewhere, or perhaps in the same place, Theric comments on how the Internet has cut down the six degrees separating everyone in the world to two or three degrees. That got me thinking, and has inspired me to tell the following [long] story:

Several years ago, I worked at the Morris Center with Melyngoch (who as far as I know doesn't yet have a blog despite all her friends' collective insistence that she start one). I could tell you all sorts of embarrassing things about Melyngoch, but if you know her she's probably already told you and if you don't you don't care.

Also several years ago, I took a Creative Writing class from Dean Hughes. Theric was in that class. As it turns out, at that time Theric's wife, Lady Steed, was working in the same office as my wife, Foxy J. So it was natural that the four of us started hanging out. Then one day Theric and I decided to form a writing group. I invited Melyngoch, but she declined for hectic life reasons. Zippergut Queen, whom I knew from a writing conference, accepted the invitation, and the Friends of [Master Fob] was born. (It's a wonder we didn't call ourselves FOMF instead of FOB.)

A few months later, Melyngoch decided her life was de-hectified enough that she could now be a full-time Fob. Then, one day, she said, "MF, you and Tolkien Boy should meet. You have a lot in common." A year and a couple misdirected emails later, I met Tolkien Boy and we quickly became good friends.

Shortly after that, TB invited me to a St. Patrick's Day wake at Singing Cicada's house, where I met, besides Cicada, Ambrosia, Bawb, Jersey Jobber (who may or may not get a new tag now that he's no longer jobbing in Jersey), Cicada's Brother Number Something, and Brother's Date That Night. There were other people, I'm sure, but either they were unimportant or I've forgotten them. At any rate, I found TB's friends delightful--particularly Cicada's performance poetry.

Then came the Great Blog Explosion this summer (at least that's when I became aware of it), and suddenly I could follow links to get to know (sort of) my friends' friends' friends' friends. For example, there's Eleka Nahmen, who has spent the summer working at the same place my wife did seven years ago and I finally met in person last week. And there's Texas Mama, who appears to be an acquaintance of Cicada and also appears to have been in Madrid at more or less the time both Foxy and I were there as missionaries. And then there's Miss Nemesis, whose blog I happened upon by linkhopping from Cicada's page (I'm beginning to wonder if really Cicada is at the center of the universe), then later discovered while conversing with Theric that he also knows her, from his time at the Y.

Which is really where all this six-degrees-type pondering began, and which leads me to believe that the thing that cuts those six degrees down to two or three is not the Internet, but BYU. The Internet only makes us aware of the phenomenon.

Moral of the story: byuck* around on the internet long enough, and you might end up fobbing.

*The term "byuck," I believe, is trademarked by Thmazing Theric. I use it by implied consent, implied only because I'm his friend.