Changing of the Guard

In which Deb realizes she is Old.

We recently had quite a shakeup in our ward.

(For non-LDS readers: Our local congregations are called "wards," which are assigned geographically. Wards are grouped into stakes, which are grouped into areas or something, and then it gets fuzzy to me. Each stake is led by a Stake Presidency (president + 2 counselors); each ward has a Bishopric (Bishop + 2 counselors).)

Our ward has had a wonderful Bishop for the past 6-7 years: Bishop Likemydad. I've known Bishop Likemydad since I was a baby. One of his daughters and I were the same age, so we were in Primary and Young Women's together. Bishop Likemydad's wife, Sister Likemymom, knows how to do really cool things like quilting and making her own soap. Bishop Likemydad had something in common with all of the Bishops I've had throughout my life:

• He is very comforting and calm
• He is caring and someone I could always trust
• He is old enough to be my father

Bishop Likemydad was released from his position with a sincere vote of thanks, and we got a new one.

Remember Brother Coolguy? Yep. Enter Bishop Coolguy.

Who is seriously lacking in one particular quality I have always associated with Bishops: age. He is my age. To be precise, he is a mere 3 months (to the day!) older than me.

What does this mean?

It means that, at 34, I am now old enough to have a Bishop my own age. I shall soon be knitting shawls and grousing about the incomprehensibility of popular music.

Ah the days of my youth. I'll miss them.

I'm toying with the notion of assigning him a cute derivative, like "Bish" or "Shoppie." As in, "Yo, Shoppie, whaddup with dat tithing settlement, yo?" Lest my mother hyperventilate herself into unconsciousness, I have abandoned that idea. I look forward to working with our new Bishop and will support him with a straight face and enthusiastic heart.

Congratulations, Bishop Coolguy. I mean it.

A Fly On The Wall

CHAIRMAN: Order, come to order, please. This meeting will now come to order.

TABLE AT LARGE: Mumble, rhubarb, rackin, ahem, achoo.

CHAIRMAN: Thank you. As you know, we're here to discuss this "Swine Flu" everyone's been in such an uproar-

PORK MAN: I OBJECT! Who decided to name this "Swine Flu?"

BEEF MAN: (smirking) The guy who caught it from his pig, probably. (Elbows the POULTRY MAN, and they chortle until a glare from the CHAIRMAN silences them.)

CHAIRMAN: Pork Man, your objection is noted. He has a fair point, people. It's transmitting from human to human, now. I mean, my neighbor caught it from a street performer named Stain, but we're not calling it "Stain Flu."

TABLE AT LARGE: Mumbles agreement.

CHAIRMAN: So, we need to come up with a name for this flu that won't offend anyone. Anyone have a suggestion?

SYCOPHANT 1: Why not name it after something lovable and popular, like The Jonas Brothers?

CHAIRMAN: Jo-Flu! I like it!

MICKEY MOUSE: I OBJECT! The Disney corporation will not tolerate its licensed trademark characters used in this way.

JOBROS: Hey, we're sitting right here.

MICKEY MOUSE: Quiet, you. You can't have the name, and that's that. And Miley Cyrus is right out, too.

CHAIRMAN: All right, that's fine. What other names can we give it?

SYCOPHANT 2: The Barbie Flu?

BARBIE: I OBJECT!!

SYCOPHANT 3: The Iron Chef Flu?

IRON CHEF CHAIRMAN: (bites into yellow pepper) I OBJECT!

CHAIRMAN: How does he dub his own voice when he's sitting right here?

SYCOPHANT 4: R2D2 Flu?

GEORGE LUCAS: Why, you-

CHAIRMAN: Wait! You may be on to something. We'll give this flu a combination of numbers and letters in an order so random and arbitrary it won't offend anyone. Gentlemen, break out the nine-sided number die and the 26-sided alphabet die.

(Sound of dice rolling.)

CHAIRMAN: My dear colleagues, I'm pleased to announce that, from this point forward, Swine Flu will now be called "H1N1."

TABLE AT LARGE: Yay!

ALPHABET: I OBJECT!

NUMBER LINE: ME, TOO!

CHAIRMAN: Oy...

Fin.

Energy In Hate

I've been spending some time lately reading comments on blogs, stories, and videos I find online. What a remarkable age we live in! Even the semiliterate and possibly unmedicated can voice an opinion and have it accessible by the entire world.



Controversy provides interest. That's why bloggers vie for high comment count, right? Tons of comments must mean something interesting happened. I read a comment once in which a blogger confessed to bypassing blogs with low comment count, because surely nothing interesting could be said on a blog hardly anyone cared to comment on.


I know I feel this way sometimes on a discussion board I frequent. Sometimes I will skim through the archives and look at the page count. A post that has elicited 15, 20, or 30 pages of responses is generally much more likely to contain that magic of the internet: anonymous (or nearly anonymous) snark. When the topic has 22 pages of responses and has been locked, I know I've hit pay dirt. Some pretty nasty snark usually has to happen for a topic to be locked after 22 pages!



All of this is fine, but I've begun noticing a phenomenon that is bothering me more and more: online hating.


I define this as someone who goes to great lengths to seek out groups of people who love something, and then bash it in the most offensive, objectionable terms possible. These terms may or may not include obscenities; I'm referring more to the personal insults.


I'm not really including things that are up for general comments, like news stories. Those are designed to elicit opinions from all sides, and though you often see snark there, it seems to be welcomed by those asking for the comments. I'm talking about finding a website, forum, or blog dedicated to the love of something, and then posting about hating it, even returning to the site again and again to post about their hate.


An example would be going to the Eggplant Lover's discussion forum, registering for membership, getting a user name, and then responding to posts with comments like, "Eggplants are the dumbest vegetable. Only complete losers would waste any time with eggplants."


I have learned, in my time on the interweb, that sometimes these are "trolls," that is, sad, lonely people who just like to make other people angry, so they submit posts designed to infuriate. "Don't feed the trolls" is an oft-quoted aphorism many groups and discussion boards, and with reason. But I don't think they all are trolls. In fact, I'm starting to think many aren't. They are intelligent, otherwise reasonable individuals who are allowing themselves to become obsessed with something they hate, and that makes me sad.


If I, for example, saw a movie I disliked, that I thought was a bad movie, that I thought sent negative messages about femininity or sexuality or relationships, I might go to Rotten Tomatoes or Amazon and write a review. If the movie came up in discussion, I would express my opinion of the film, but in such a way as to not malign the people who liked it. I understand that we all see art, news, current events, and people differently. For example, I have yet to find someone who agrees with me on the misogyny in Independence Day. That being said, I would not watch the movie over and over, noting its flaws, even those unrelated to my case, and post them to Independence Day fansites. I wouldn't write nasty personal things about the writers, directors, producers, or actors, implying that they were somehow defective emotionally or personally because they produced a piece of entertainment I don't happen to enjoy. Why is this now "okay?"


It is the internet that has made all of this possible. In the old days, what could you do? Write a letter to the editor of your newspaper? Tell your friends you hated the movie? Forbid your children from watching it? That was it. And most of us were satisfied with that. Most of us didn't become so obsessed with what we hated that we allowed it to consume huge chunks of our time. We couldn't. If we had, no one would have listened to us, and we wouldn't have been invited to parties. Now, by giving us an arena to vent about what we hate, what we hate is overtaking us and growing beyond all proper proportion.

It makes me sad, sometimes. How many wonderful things are passing these folks by, unnoticed because they have to post to another Star Trek forum about how the new movie is going to be terrible? How many good books have some people missed because they feel they have to re-read Twilight to count all of the typos?

Now, please excuse me. I am working on a frame-by-frame analysis of Pootie Tang. Expect my next blog to expose the truth behind this supposed "classic." I suspect it may contain some cultural sterotypes that may damage the next generation!

A Celebrity Encounter (New Edit To Include Dramatic Reveal)

The most amazing thing happened to me last week. I had an encounter with a genuine, bona-fide celebrity.

Well, perhaps I should clarify. I didn't really meet this person, she was my substitute on Friday. However, since my absence provided the reason for her presence, I consider myself deeply involved in the entire affair.

Secondly, I should qualify "celebrity" as "former contestant on a reality show." Yes, I had a bona-fide former contestant on a reality show celebrity as my substitute last Friday.

Lest you think I am about to indulge in a snide snark-fest, let me make it clear that she was not on a lame, personality-based reality show, like Rock of Love or the nightly news. She was on a show based on talent. Her show was one of those talent-based competition shows, like American Idol or America's Next Top Model (though she was not a contestant on either one of them).

Anyway, this young lady was the substitute for my music classes last week, and she couldn't have been more lovely. She didn't mention her celebrity status to anyone, until some of our older students recognized her. She was very gracious to the kids who demanded autographs. However, what really impressed me was this: the students in the classes before and after the one full of autograph hounds had no idea who she was! She didn't bring it up at all.

In the interest of protecting our anonymity, and to keep the paparazzi away, I won't say who she is. I will say that I'd hire her any time, but I sincerely hope the next time I need her, she's far too busy.

Edit: My celebrity sub was a young lady named Charlye Nichols, from a show called The Pussycat Dolls: Girlicious, or something like that. She didn't win the show, but they picked four, and she was number five. Here's a link to one of her performances on YouTube. She sent me the nicest e-mail today about how wonderful my students were.

Living Up to the Hype

Does anything in life ever live up to the hype? Anticipation, though delicious in and of itself, often ruins the exact thing we anticipate. Expectation, anticipation's spinster aunt, is even worse: it is anticipation without the joy.



I recently wrote a blog entry about how I can find anything. I have now failed to live up to my own hype for almost a week. I came home Saturday afternoon to find that Sven had lost the remote control to the downstairs TV. (Sven claims one of the children took it, which is possible, but if Sven had only taken the common-sense precaution of tying the remote control to his left wrist, none of this would have happened.) I have looked all over the house, but my fabled psychic find-all is broken. I think the problem is that I wasn't there when it was lost, hence I cannot be there when it is found. It is but the way of the world. I have now taken the step that will guarantee that the remote will be found: I have ordered a replacement, which means that ten minutes after we open the replacement, the new one will emerge, chuckling heartily, from its hiding place.

Another lackluster hype-fest was last night's finale of Top Chef. I don't watch a lot of reality TV, understand; I fully recognize that reality TV is the total downfall of our civilization, so I only watch the really socially redeeming ones, like:

• Top Chef
• Project Runway
• America's Next Top Model
• Hell's Kitchen
• Flavor of Love
• Keeping Up With The Kardashians (which I watch ironically)
• The Girls Next Door (which I only watch so I can pass righteous judgment)
• The Real Housewives of Atlanta (which I view as straight comedy)

So, I have come to expect a certain level of professionalism and quality from the reality shows I watch so selectively. This season of Top Chef disappointed me on many levels by stooping to the "romance among contestants" ploy so often employed by less me-worthy shows, thus keeping two lackluster contestants around longer than they deserved so the romance angle could be played up. And, worst of all (spoiler, so highlight to see): one of them won.

Fortunately, some things do live up to the hype. Lost is having a great fifth season. I enjoyed all of the Twilight books. My stuffed Evil Monkey came yesterday, and it looks almost exactly like the one on Family Guy.

I'm on the lookout, though, for things that aren't pre-hyped for my entertainment pleasure; things I can discover on my own and nurture until they become so popular that I give them up in disgust for selling out to all of those fans who only liked them after they became "popular."

As it is supposed to be.

On Top Of Everything Else

I was reading an interesting article today about the Octo-Mom, Nadya Suleman. This article was marvelling over the fall from miracle to punchline in such a short time.

It seems like ages ago when it was announced that *someone* had given birth to octuplets, and all looked to survive. Remember the initial coverage? The doctors talking about the "surprise" eighth baby, because they were sure there were only seven? It was quite a heart-warming story.

Of course we all assumed that fertility treatments were involved. But as the story unfolded, a sense of unease about the whole situation seemed to pervade, quickly turning to hostility.

I remember first finding out that she had six children already. Then I heard that she was single and lived with her parents. Then I heard that the doctor had implanted way more embryos than he was supposed to have. Then I heard that the first six children were also through IVF. All of this made me uneasy.

Then I heard that all of her fertility treatments, medical care, and personal expenses were being paid for with public money. (For the record, I have no idea if this is true or not, since I live in a different state, but this is the commonly-held perception.) This is when my perception of her turned hostile; my health insurance doesn't cover fertility treatments, so the thought of someone being allowed to use public funds for this purpose really, really irritated me.

I'm obviously not the only one. However, how many of our reactions are fueled not by what she has done, necessarily, but by all of the other things that are going on?

The economy has everyone scared. People are losing their jobs; people who are keeping their jobs are facing some pay cuts or decrease in benefits. When we hear about a single mother with fourteen children being supported by taxpayer money, it allows everything else we're scared about to come to a head, and we express all of our anger and fear at that one, final stimulus.

This happens to me all the time. For me, one of my very silly stimuli is the internet. I'll read a blog post, or a discussion forum post, and it will make me so angry that I literally shake. Am I really angry that a college student hates Twilight that much? No, of course not. I'm scared that my son is always sick, I'm scared that we don't have enough money, I'm frustrated about not losing weight, I'm scared about growing older, but I'm angry at Twilight-hating-girl because that's not about me at all. I can be angry at her without hurting myself, examining my life, or facing my fears.

For me, my new goal with my Octo-Mom obsession is to try and focus on something else, something that I feel I can really help with and relate to.

Zac, Justin, Rob: I can help you. Call me.