Once upon a Three and a Half Hour Long Graduation.

My last post was entirely self indulgent. And I'm having a hard time thinking, because I'm boring and the first thing I want to do with my summer is take a nap. I legitimately fell asleep for ten minutes during break in class today, and when I woke up someone had drawn a very detailed and artful picture of a gladiator on the board. I was so confused.

Well, another year is over! It seems kind of impossible to think. It's been a really full year. Tanner left on his mission, came back, we got married...I'm now living in a new place for the first time in my life...

But, I have not yet accomplished what so many of my peers have accomplished as of right now. I have not graduated college.

I did graduate high school, though! Two years ago. I was one of a class of (I believe) 30 or so students, and our graduation lasted OVER THREE HOURS.

Graduations are all entirely ceremony anyway. That's why they play "Pomp and Circumstance" when you walk across the stage or into the auditorium. If we're being honest, if you're cleared for graduation and you're walking, you're really just being generous for your loved ones. You graduated.

I almost wish I had sluffed my high school graduation. We had three keynote speakers and an overabundance of performers. Which, in a performing arts school, having a lot of performers is kind of expected That's not to say that the performances weren't good; each performer was so talented, but everything added up to three and a half hours. For thirty kids. And three hours, wearing those hideous grow-your-own swamp ceremonial robes in a stuffy auditorium, rapidly became more like torture than a celebration of, "Look! You've completed all your credits and passed the ACT! You're eligible!"

Every time we thought the ceremony was done, something else would pop up. I distinctly remember hearing groans when we thought we were done, but then sweet freedom was robbed from us by a slideshow of our baby pictures.

And then, the principle gave us all a book, which was actually kind of the crowning insult. It was a child's book called "ISH."

"I look out at you, and I remember you all singing-ish and dancing-ish and acting-ish in the hallways..." the Principal said.

As if we only did things halfheartedly, and what we did do, we weren't really good at. I went to an after party, and I congratulated everyone for graduating-ISH.

The next year's graduating class did things much smarter than we did. They had a preshow for the performers, two performances during graduation, and one keynote speaker. It lasted maybe for a grand total of 45 minutes. And, I think they even got a better kids' book out of that deal.

Graduations would be better with a little less ceremony and a lot more to the point. Personally, here's what I wish I had heard at my graduation, in order:

-Welcome all!
-Congrats on graduating. We recognize you and your accomplishments. Nice job, we realize it wasn't easy to get here. As such, we won't keep you here long.
-Life is maybe kind of scary sometimes. But don't be too scared. Go to college, think for yourself, and you'll be fine.
-That college thing? Not as nightmarish as your teachers and councilors make it sound. Just get used to working hard and again, you'll be fine.
-Don't be afraid to fail, as long as you use failure as a jumping point. In fact, go home and listen to JK Rowling's Commencement speech. Save some time here.
-Now, come get your diplomas and go live your life.

To my graduating friends, here's my last advice:

Because, under those robes, if you skip the deodorant, people will be able to tell. Ergo, it's common sense to wear deodorant.

And (more importantly) if you skip common sense in life, you'll end up with a lot worse than BO. So, go forth and conquer. Save the world. All that stuff.

& That's elementary.

Guess who's coming to dinner...In my IMAGINATION!

In case you haven't noticed, dear readers, I have a very active imagination. It has been said that writing is a bit like schizophrenia, and I think if you spend enough time with writers, you'll start to see why. I legitimately do have a list in my head of historical and fictional figures who I would either eat dinner with individually, invite them to a banquet, or both. Mostly, both.

So, here's my list.

1). Atticus Finch. Atticus Finch is probably my number one in terms of hero worship. I wrote my college application essay on Atticus. I basically have his courtroom speech memorized. In terms of human rights, I think Atticus nailed it. I don't care about the critics that say he's racist, to me, Atticus epitomizes justice, fairness, equality, and GREAT PARENTING. If I can be a parent like Atticus, I consider my life a success. I'm actually having a hard time finding things to say about him, that's how much I love and respect Atticus. Dignified, educated, socially aware, ethical...he would add class to the banquet, but he would never in a million years be boring.

2). Oscar Wilde. Probably just because I've had a class on him all month, and I've grown ridiculously fond of him, but he's been on my mind a lot lately. Some girls have a sassy gay friend that they take everywhere with them. Oscar Wilde, in my head, would be my witty bisexual friend that I would take everywhere, because he would kick TRASH in any conversation. And, he'd be a good reference for interior decorating and clothes shopping, being an aesthete and all. But I care less about shopping and more about wit, that's just the kind of person I am. I think we'd have the sort of camaraderie where he'd mock my clothes and I'd mock his. And then we'd go get into trouble mocking other people.

3). Sherlock Holmes, both the modern and Victorian versions. I don't really care what role I played to Sherlock, whether I would end up as a Watson or as an Irene Adler, just the fact that I would get to hang out with him would make my life. As long as he didn't find me boring. I think I would die if Sherlock found me boring. Maybe I could be like his annoying little sister that follows him around and asks him how to teach her how to be awesome. He'd act contemptuous, but secretly, he'd be flattered.

4). Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly. I'd ask them for style and behavior advice, and then I'd beg for a makeover.

5). The Doctor. Doctor Who?
Exactly. No banquet would be complete without a TimeLord. Which incarnation, you ask? Matt Smith or David Tennant?
To which I say, yes.

6). Harry, Ron and Hermione. Because really, they're some of my best friends in my head. I could be like the d'Artagnan to their Three Musketeers. It would be perfect.

7). The entire cast of Downton Abbey.

8). Sarah Vowell and Abe Lincoln, in honor of her book Assassination Vacation, which is possibly my favorite piece of nonfiction.

9). Agatha Christie. Just to shake things up. She was slightly reclusive, but I would grill her about the formula for the perfect murder mystery novel.

10). Donald Duck. I just love it when he sputters, which is all of the time. Plus, I've always kind of had a soft spot for Donald since my first time at Disneyland as a kid of four. I was so thrilled to see him on our last day, and he gave me the biggest hug.

I liked being a kid.

11). Batman. Duh.

12). Alfred Hitchcock. How awesome would that be? Agatha Christie, Sherlock, Conan Doyle, and Hitchcock all conversing in one room? I'm getting shivers of joy just thinking about it. I would learn...so much...

This list can really go on. I can think of presidents, philosophers, actors (Meryl Streep), superheroes (Invite ALL of the Avengers!), historical figures (say what about MLK Jr, Winston Churchill), writers (Sylvia Plath, Jane Austen, Conan Doyle)...but if I wrote all of them down, plus extensive reasons, but this post would be 600 pages long and more like a thesis than an internet frippery.

And, it's officially the last day of school, so my brain is basically dead, and I feel lacking in wit. So, take it away, Oscar.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UxXW6tfl2Y0


And now,

& That's Elementary.

Being Liberal...ISH.

As I've said before, socialist is one of my pretend alter-egos. My great friend Melly and I pretend to be Communist Russians sometimes when we talk to each other, because we are two more-or-less liberals who happen to be members of the LDS church: a church which, for the most part, is made up of conservative members.

Disclaimer: It is NOT a bad thing to be a conservative. I have many conservative friends and I love them deeply, and I respect their views.

Anyway. Melly and I sometimes feel a little out of place. Her dad is an ambassador;  he works for Obama. And, well, as I've said before, I don't HATE Obama at all. Hence, the made-up Russian Communist alter-egos.

(Although, Mels-Bels is more legitimately Russian than I am. She lived there for I don't know how long, and she went to an American school in Moscow. Sometimes I get jealous of her awesomeness).

I feel like I should give a little background on why I ended up the way I am. That is to say, a more or less dark horse anomaly.

I place the majority of the blame on one fact: My maiden name is Forbush.

There are better things for me to place blame on, such as: my dad's an atheist, my family doesn't vote partisan, we have a long history of being moderate but with liberal leanings, etc. etc., I watch the Colbert Report and The Daily Show with the fervor of a teen girl reading Twilight...

But I attended an LDS private school based in Utah for 6th through 7th grade, and almost EVERYONE there had had the opposite upbringing from me. My 7th grade year happened to hit on the 2004 campaign of the Re-Election of President Bush.

With a first name and last name like mine, those *terribly clever* people were bound to pick up on the political joke. Hilary Forbush quickly became Hilary For Bush. Boy, did weeks of that get on my nerves. Especially because my parents never much cared for Bush, and political leanings do tend to rub off on children. So, he wasn't exactly high on my list of Favorite Presidents Ever.

Let the record also show, however, that I was NOT named after Hillary Clinton, although everyone and their dog seems to think that was the case (which was why that political joke was all the more funny...Hilary For Bush is good, but when it becomes Hillary For Bush, people dissolve into hysterical laughter).  I mean, as if the fact that she spells her name differently isn't a good enough indicator, I was actually born BEFORE Clinton took office. And although my parents are slightly liberal, no, they aren't fanatical enough to name me after any political figure. My mom especially wouldn't have stood for it; she dislikes politics and politicians in general.

"It's like Kurt Vonnegut says," is one of her favorite things to say when politics come up, "it's all the party of the wealthy."

I'm a lot like my mom. After watching Inside Job in my Econ class, I was totally tempted to move to Sweden (which is a communist country, but they are the happiest country on record, currently), just because the greed and the lack of concern for people that the government tends to show is really, really disturbing.

I'm not a complete and total leftie. Don't worry, my conservative friends. I like John Huntsman just fine; in fact, I kind of wish he was the one getting the nominee for the Republican Presidential Candidate, and Abraham Lincoln (a Republican) is still my favorite president. But I'm not going to shift or wishy-washy my own beliefs and opinions just because they may not match up entirely with someone else's. I'm not going to apologize for who I am, and I shouldn't have to. No one should.

In fact, if there was a political party of "Love, Peace, and Tolerance" I'd join it. I don't care if it sounds like some kind of hippie pipe dream. I think Christ, who was the most loving person of all by Christian standards, would probably be in favor of that party. That's what politics should be about, right? Love thy neighbor as thyself?

I don't know. I know nothing, but I keep learning. Tanner is the best teacher of tolerance I have ever had. Mostly because he tolerates, respects, and listens to my opinions. He usually contests them (and good for him for standing up for HIS beliefs and opinions!), but he still listens to mine.

I am who I am.

& That's Elementary.

The Fast and the Furry-Ous.

 Open Disclosure: This post is not about rabbits.

A while back, Tanner and I were visiting our neighborhood Blockbuster. I can't remember why I didn't want to go in (I think I may have been either sick, or tired), so I sent him in with the request that he rent Sherlock Holmes: Whatever the first RDJ movie is called. I'm not actually very fond of the first RDJ Sherlock, I feel like it does Conan Doyle's stories a gross injustice by not really staying true to the spirit of Sherlock.

I'm not saying it doesn't have entertainment value. RDJ is funny, and Jude Law, although not Watson, is some straight-up eye candy.

I wanted to watch it on that particular day, though, because Sherlock: Season 2 had not yet been released in the US, and I was going through Sherlock withdrawals. Sometimes, I get this thing where I want to watch movies that I hate because I get into the mood to watch them somehow. And then, after I finish watching them, it's like that morning-after feeling of What did I just DO?


I wouldn't know anything about that feeling, but I imagine that's how it feels. Anyway, I also told Tanner to pick up a movie that he wanted to watch. I know how much he likes the Patriot, so I suggested he get that.

(Mel Gibson scares me. But I love my husband.)

Anyway, a short time later, he returns to the car with two movies, neither of which are Sherlock Holmes #1. One of them was the Patriot, but the other was 2Fast, 2Furious.

I don't even remember how Tanner convinced me to watch the first one. I don't drink, so I don't have alcohol to blame it on, and I don't do drugs, so I can't claim I was high. I remember not being too wildly impressed, but OK, I'll be honest: if Tanner asked me to go to the moon, I'd do it. I will watch anything he wants to, even if it's not my kind of movie.

I have the same feelings about Vin Diesel acting as I do about the Rock acting. That is to say, they shouldn't be doing it. That, and sometime around Fast and Furious #4 (we skipped 3, because Tanner felt it didn't count), I realized something that made watching the movies totally worthwhile.

You can't unsee it.

Vin Diesel's head looks like a potato.

Just give it some eyes and a nose and voila! Vin Diesel.

Right?

If they ever make a live-action Mr. Potatohead movie, Vin Diesel would be perfect for the part. Maybe Mr. Potatohead could be a gangsta, even. That way, Vin Diesel would be able to do what he's best at: shoot at things onscreen.

I did end up watching the second Fast and Furious. I ended up watching all of them. Well, except the fifth one. I got about 10 minutes in, and then I fell asleep. It wasn't my fault, though. I was laying in bed in our hotel in California with Tanner next to me, it was late, we'd had a long day, so bam. Mr. Sandman punched me in the face, and I was out for the whole movie.

(I feel sort of bad for the blonde guy whose real name seems to be irrelevant. I've seen four of the five movies and I still can't remember his name. Well, I can't remember his name in the movie, either...no one seems to do much talking or calling by actual names. Everyone knows Vin Diesel, and he's not even in all of the movies. Blonde guy is in at least 4 of the 5, and no one knows who he is. Well, no one except Fast and Furious fans).

I may not be overly impressed with some of the movies Tanner likes to watch (my dad is a notorious ratings snob. At our house, we would rarely go to see any movie that rated below 3 stars), but I like spending time with my husband more than I care about whether or not I love the movie he picks out. For a while I'd get in a huff when he'd want to watch some obscure movie that rated really poorly, but now I just like watching them with him because I like his reactions. I like it when he giggles at something dumb Adam Sandler says (Adam Sandler is also on my list of no-no actors), I like it when he gets really involved in the storyline (to the extent that he gets irritated if I crack a joke during the movie). I like just falling asleep watching movies with him.

So even though I might prefer the King's Speech to the Fast and the Furious (1, 2, 4, and 5), I'll still watch them if I get to spend time with my husband.

As for the falling asleep during movies thing? I don't feel too bad about it anymore. Tanner fell asleep during the King's Speech.

Which, really? Was so much better than all of the F&F combined.

Colin Firth Forever! 

& That's Elementary.

Mustaches Inspire Great Faith.

Mustaches are so in right now. They have become a form of expression for the hipster generation...people pose with their fingers over their upper lips, they decorate with mustaches, they create memes with mustaches, they have t-shirts with mustaches.

Personally, there have been two mustached men who influenced my life.

1). That little Belgian detective, Hercule Poirot.

Maybe it's because I'm a murder mystery addict, but my fondness for this little man and his famous mustaches rivals my love for Sherlock, Tana French's books, and Bones. And Psych. And The Mentalist. See the pattern, here?

2). My AP US History Teacher, Rob Gardner.

He totally looks like Teddy Roosevelt. Especially with glasses on.

You know that teacher who you will remember for the rest of your life? The one that really taught you, and didn't just lecture at you? Well, Mr. Gardner was that teacher for me. He was definitely not an easy teacher, but he was one of the absolute best teachers I have ever had.

I was completely terrified walking into his classroom during registration junior year. We had to have some sort of necessary pre-class meeting to get the textbook and start reading it a week or so before school started. But, I had survived AP World (with my other favorite teacher, Mr. Bracken), and I figured APUSH wouldn't be too much worse.

But I did have some reason to be afraid. The class was a lot of work (and those textbooks, I swear, are written with the sole intent to either kill the reader through boredom, or to become murder weapons--you could cause some serious damage with one of them if you ever got the urge to bludgeon someone the week before the AP exam), and I'll admit that sometimes I slipped up and got lazy. Well, lazy, or overrun by all the plays I participated in. That stuff can seriously wear you out.

(I still blame the 4 I got on the exam on the fact that I was sick that day. I made up for every instance of laziness.)

(And, I got a 5 on every AP English/Literature exam I took, so it was definitely the sickness. So there.)

I'm not sure when it clicked that Gardner was one of the best teachers I've ever had. Maybe it was when I realized he had a Bush barbie doll a student gave him as a joke (he was a liberal, no mistake). Maybe it was all the artwork he had in his room, everything from Vermeer to modern.

Or, maybe it was when he introduced us to America: The good, the bad, and the ugly. Maybe it was when he got rid of the smokescreen myths about the founding fathers that everyone learns as a kid, and showed them to us as humans. Maybe it was when he taught us about the Battle at Wounded Knee, a relatively forgotten incident in American history, and opened my eyes to the fact that the treatment of Native Americans by the settlers, over time, was like Genocide. Maybe it was when he assigned us to read Upton Sinclair's the Jungle.

Or maybe it was when I cried during the segment on the Holocaust in the WWII unit (even though I've seen pictures of those horribly emaciated bodies millions of times, I always cry), and he graciously asked me if I was ok after class, and said that from then on he would forewarn students.

After the year was over, I felt like I had become friends with Gardner, even though I was a student. I tend to make friends with my teachers easily. I don't know if that makes me a brown-noser, but I just like talking to them. I talked to Bracken endlessly about school and life. I talked to Gardner about history and inequality, and about the plays I was in. I talk to Elree now about art and class material and politics. I talk to my advisor, Georgi, about Medieval Literature and married life. I genuinely like these people.

So I volunteered to TA for Mr. Gardner during a blank spot in my schedule Senior year. It was a bit like taking APUSH all over again, but this time I didn't have to worry about reading all that material. I could just sit back and listen to the rich and flawed tapestry that is the history of our country. I could ponder in more depth the things that had disturbed me so viciously the first time around, like the Battle at Wounded Knee, the Holocaust, and the Bikini Island Nuclear tests. I could cry at man's inhumanity to man with no one noticing, since I sat in the back of the room. And, I could still easily rattle off all of the US presidents up to Obama...and all the 50 States and their capitols. And a few of the dates of events, court cases...

Well, when you drill that information in hard enough for an AP test, it sticks. Not my fault.

I can safely say that I learned more from Mr. Gardner and Mr. Bracken than I did in almost any other high school class. Those two men will always be role models to me, and they continue to inspire me. For a long time, I wanted to write a murder mystery novel with my own mustachioed detective inspired by Mr. Gardner.

I'm really grateful for Mr. Gardner. And for Mr. Bracken. They really made a difference in my life simply by the way they taught. They really do deserve every accolade and teaching award they receive. They are excellent teachers and excellent human beings. If I ever do decide to teach English, I sure hope I can make a difference in the lives of my students just like those two high school teachers did for me. I certainly hope that they still remember me as a good student, because I certainly remember them as great teachers and good friends.

& That's Elementary.

Oscar Wilde has a way with...writing clever books and plays!

This May has been all about Oscar Wilde. Well, at least, for me. Tanner's been watching Great Films for his May Term class. So far, he's been rather unimpressed by most of the movies. He detested Gone with the Wind and 2001: A Space Odyssey was entirely plot-less.

I've loved my Oscar Wilde class, because of the people in it, and of course, my personal favorite professor at Westminster. Elree Harris has a knack for making a class zany as long as people are interested in the subject material. Last semester, in my Survey of Art class (which she taught) I felt like I was the only one who raised my hand to comment or answer questions...at least a good 90% of the time.

Anyway, so the Wilde class is wrapping up, which means (for May, in one of Elree's classes) we do presentations. My group's was on the aesthetic movement, which was relevant because Oscar Wilde was notorious for being a Decadent and an Aesthete. Before he was a writer, he was actually famous for being famous...one of those people who is a celebrity, but no one knows why.

But I would never in a million years compare him to the Kardashians or Paris Hilton. I would truly be surprised if one of that crowd would bust out a play like "The Importance of Being Earnest" or started writing literary criticism. That is the difference between Oscar Wilde and Kim Kardashian; one of them actually has wit and potential for great works of art. I can tell you that "The Kardashians Take New York" or whatever that show is called, is not art. It might deserve to be in a museum someday in the future, but not for good reasons.

(It's hilarious to me, by the way, that my computer spellchecks Kardashian. I'm taking it as a good sign.)

I digress. The highlight of today's class by a long shot was a jeopardy/presentation on the Victorian Obsession with Death done by our wonderful T.A.'s. It took me a long time to stop laughing a the categories "Drownton Abbey," "A Spoonful of Sugar helps the Mercury Go Down," and my personal favorite, "Some Like it Venereal."

(Having just watched "Some Like it Hot" made the last one even more funny.)

One of the scariest Victorian factoids that I learned today in class was that the Victorians used to give their babies "infant calmers," which were some sort of deadly cocktail of opium, cocaine, or morphine (which is an opium derivative, for the record. So when Sherlock asks for his seven per cent solution of morphine, it's really an opiate. Sherlock is the most lovable drug addict in history and literature). Naturally it calmed the babies right down (technically, it made them high, but babies can't talk much) but it would also... you know...kill them.

(And then, if you were the parent, you'd run out with your dead baby and have it photographed, perhaps with your other living children, perhaps alone and posed to look like it's sleeping. And then, you'd hang up that picture in your house. Imagine that as a conversation starter. "Why yes, this is a photograph of my dead child. We had it taken at Harry's studio. We picked the pond motif, because..." The Victorians did some weird crap.)

For the record, I am so glad that I don't live in 1850's England. The medicinal treatments alone are enough to make you run to your doctor and give them a big old hug for not treating your syphilis with mercury (which Oscar was rumored to have died from, but it remains inconclusive), or giving your infant opium.

Or, you know, telling you that your hair is red because you were conceived during menses, and that made you societally repellant. For real.

Not all the questions pertained directly to the Victorian Era. For example, one of them was about the death of literary giant F. Scott Fitzgerald's wife, Zelda. Maybe it's because I married a man who loves him some video games, but every time I remember that that's Fitzgerald's wife's name, it makes me giggle a little on the inside, and I'm tempted to make a really bad joke about Hyrule or the Triforce.

I've really grown to like Oscar Wilde, though. He was absurd, but he was also absurdly smart. How can anyone not like a man with enough wit to declare, "All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does; and that's his." And of course, his apocryphal last words:

"That Wallpaper is hideous. Either it goes, or I do."

"That tombstone is hideous. Either it goes, or I do."
-Elree

People still really love Oscar. He's buried in Paris, and people commute there to cover his tombstone in kisses. If you look closely at the picture, you can see the pink smudges. I think it's nice that people care so much about him, considering that he died prematurely, in ruin, after two years in prison for being a homosexual/bisexual. After all,

"The public is wonderfully tolerant. It forgives everything except genius."

Luckily any stain on his reputation for living the lifestyle he did has faded over time, and people now perform his plays in high schools, community theatres, and on Broadway. And they acknowledge him for his talent, instead of his sexuality: Oscar Wilde: Critic. Playwright. Celebrity. And the most quotable person in the English Language since William Shakespeare.

& That's Elementary.

Stop the Hate, Man...

I realize full well that the title of the post makes me sound like some sort of hippie. I will admit that "hippie" is one of my many pretend alter-egos, like "private detective" and "socialist."

I'm not a socialist, for the record. And, I'm not a hippie either. I've never smoked weed in my life, which, believe me, is an accomplishment considering where I go to school. I probably wouldn't even be able to tell you what it smells like...which again, is an accomplishment. As for the private detective thing, well, I work on that pretty frequently. But that's another story for another time.

I digress. A better name for this post might be "I'm tired," but I think those two words are going to appear plenty of times in this post.

It's Memorial Day, and my thoughts turn to America. And from there, to politics. I truly appreciate America. It's a gorgeous country. We have so many different kinds of climates and breathtaking landscapes, all in one place. What really makes me feel disillusioned, though, is politics.

This is where the liturgical list starts.

I'm tired of the mud-slinging and the back-biting and the name-calling in politics. I'm tired of people flinging words around like "ignorant," "socialism," "communism," "uninformed," "whore." I'm tired of people (including and not limited to myself) losing their cool and, instead of being courteous and logical and cultivated human beings, losing it entirely and flinging out the name-calling. I'm tired of being made to feel like a bad US citizen just because I don't HATE Obama. I am not always impressed by his politics, but some of them, yes, I like. I don't LOVE the man. I just don't HATE him, and the thing that really bothers me is that people seem to forget entirely that he IS the president, and as such, does deserve a level of respect that he just doesn't get.

I'm tired of the disappearance of tolerance and courtesy. Everyone, including myself, is entitled to an opinion. But there is no reason that anyone, including me, has to be rude about their opinions. It's much harder to have a logical discussion than it is to start yelling and calling people bigoted, communists, or any of the terms that people like to fling around. But the logical discussion will get you a lot further than the screaming fits, and if you know what you're talking about, the logical discussions will be easier to win, and even if you don't win, then at least you'll have the opportunity to learn something from someone with other opinions.

I'm tired of people not listening to each other, and just talking over and at each other. I'm tired of people never taking into consideration other people's feelings. Just because someone has a different set of opinions than you doesn't mean they're a bad person or that you need to be rude to them. Try not to shoot them down; if they're being civil, try listening to them, even if you know you're going to disagree. And then answer civilly.

A Democracy is only as successful as long as its citizens are informed. So be informed. I don't care who you are, Republican, Democrat, Liberal, Conservative, or the Green party. There are offenders on every front where this rule is concerned.

Try something for me. Try walking in someone else's shoes before you judge them. Honestly, try it. That is my goal, because in the last few days I've been struggling with not judging people and getting into fights that are unnecessary. It has never been my place to judge anyone, and I don't know the circumstances that have shaped their beliefs, just as they don't know the circumstances that have shaped mine. I don't deserve to be called uninformed or a terrible citizen of the US based on my personal beliefs. I love this country. And, if anything, being married to a conservative has taught me that sometimes I am just as bad at listening to people as the people that drive me up the wall are.

One of the reasons that Tanner and I, as more-or-less opposites on the political spectrum of moderate, make it work is that we're learning to tolerate and listen. We've had some pretty nasty screaming fights about politics in the past, and I'm sure we'll be set for a few more in the future. But we know how to laugh about it now:

As a joke, because I'm sorta liberal, I told him I would put copies of the Communist Manifesto on the tables at our reception. To which he retorted that he would go around and place a lighter next to every book.

You gotta love a man who keeps up with you like that. Even if you'd rather die than burn any book. Even the Manifesto.

I guess what I'm trying to say, is that politics does not have to be a dealbreaker between people. Learn how to listen, respect, tolerate, and love, and maybe, just maybe, we'll get some politicians in office that actually stand for what we as a people feel.

& That's Elementary.

A Series of Serendipitous Events

When we were engaged, my husband and I killed time on the internet and on Netflix, as so many young people are wont to do. We wasted time on iwastesomuchtime, we looked at cats on icanhazcheezburger, and most importantly, my husband introduced me to How I Met Your Mother.

Important, you ask? Well, yes. How do two people like my husband and I manage to come together? How do any two people manage to come together at all? So, as I watched Ted tell his five-year-long story to his kids, it made me think of how I will tell my future kids how I met their father. After all, the odds of a conservative country boy from Nephi, Utah meeting a moderate-liberal city girl from the (comparative) city of Salt Lake at a liberal arts college are pretty slim; however the chances of the said two people falling in love are even more slim. And that's to say nothing of the fact that when we first met, he had a girlfriend and I had a boyfriend. When he first really SAW me, however, his girlfriend was an ex; my boyfriend was still on the scene.  And, what can I say, I kindled his interest. And, though I denied it vehemently, he kindled mine.

So my interest was kindled. But I was not easy to win over.

In fact, I was kind of a pill to him when he first started paying attention to me. I was in what I thought a permanent relationship, and what started off as friendly interest between the two of us became attraction. I didn't want to have to deal with the guilt of being attracted to one man while I was dating another one. 

So, naturally, my knee-jerk reaction was flat-out contempt with, in moments of weakness, sincere and easy conversation. Apparently, I was the only one that never figured on the two of us getting together. But then, ardent Sherlock Holmes obsession notwithstanding, I've never been good at deducing where my future will take me where relationships are concerned. 

But, obviously, his persistence paid off. We started dating in the summer of 2011; in August 2011 he left to serve an LDS mission in McAllen, Texas. He was sent home in October on account of a lung infection, and by November 2011, we were engaged. After a long (for both of us) engagement, we got married in the Salt Lake Temple on St. Patrick's Day 2012. The next two months have been perfect due to their imperfections: He gets cranky as a bear, and I get emotional as only women can (PMDD runs in the family, and it tends to turn me into a complete and sobbing train wreck at the slightest provocation). He puts up with my emotional roller-coaster ride of a brain, and in return, I make him sandwiches. He eats my sub-par cooking, and I edit his papers (which are by no means sub-par, but it's one of the boons and curses of being married to an English major). We argue about menial things for argument's sake--the old favorite being whether or not the RDJ Sherlock movies are actually true to the spirit of Sherlock--I'll let you guess what side I take. 

It isn't easy being married young (one gets a fair amount of criticism, especially at a Liberal Arts college) but we're making it work. And, unsurprisingly, we're outrageously happy. The spats of yesterday become the anecdotes of today (I do a fantastic impression of myself having an emotional breakdown). We really are lucky people, to have found each other. 

& That's Elementary.