THE BINGE

Muffin and her ability to provoke thought and subsequent change . . .

When we purged last week, Muffin left a comment saying that we should instead say what we like rather than what's annoying. I appreciate the sentiment.

The purpose of The Purge is to--at least temporarily--rid the mind of recurring memories of the stuff that's bugging us because I don't see a way to go through life without being irked now and again; and if we can find a place to actually say that our self-righteous sister-in-law is driving us mad or that we can't stand how women with great lives constantly whine to their friends or that gals who wear leggings with mini skirts to church should be told they're actually rather immodest (by LDS standards), I believe that's a good thing.

Of course it doesn't meant that there aren't bits we love and could use a little more of. Thing is, we are so often welcomed and encouraged to talk about those things. Tell me more of what you're loving. What's good about today? Blog after blog asks questions like these in effort to get you to respond with sentiments that end up trite and overwrought. I take no issue with this; each blog's author has an intention and theme of sorts. There just aren't enough blogs asking for the opposite in effort to leave you room to actually remember the things that make you smile. My theme is Truth and As-is, and sometimes the truth of things as they are is that too much is too obnoxious to let lie.

Nevertheless, as some kind of proof that I truly do have bits and moments that induce a spell of glee, here's a touch of what makes my life that much more livable, the stuff I can't get enough of--what I'm happy to binge on:

Bouts of simplicity • throwing things away • teas • my dirty puppy • individually wrapped chocolates • solitude • all-wheel drive • my talents • kind, intelligent coworkers • my husband's utter love to serve me • hours of phone-talk with sister Whitney • twine • Signo Uniball micropoint retractable pens • spellcheck • pipes that aren't frozen any more • dreamless sleeps • throwing more things away • surprising people • our maid service • cocktail rings • to-do lists: done • abnegating obligations • having nothing to do with my mother-in-law • a handful and a half of mini marshmallows in my cocoa • friends like me • clementines • sweaty yoga practices • well-maintained, quaint-looking houses in bad parts of downtown • silence • people who tell the truth about their lives • late breakfasts

And because it's only polite to ask (and voyeuristic that I actually want to know), what are you happy to binge on as of late?

TO OPINE

A comment from Brown-haired Megan (if you read the comments deposited here you know her as Keli'i and Megan) sparked a thought. A consideration.

My opinion on opinions.

Some people aren't highly opinionated. They're oft apathetic or neutral; they're selective in their persuasions. I'm not one of those. And though I'm sure I was already aware of these people, last week Megan reminded me of their existence. She was surprised (but wasn't, but was) that I had opinions on fonts. And I was truly surprised that she did not. That anyone wouldn't.

I have a tough go finding topics that I don't think merit a ruling. There are so many worthy bits on which to opine . . .

Music. I'm not a fan of female singers. Give me men. I can't abide moany woman music, the slit-your-wrists-cause-he-broke-up-with-you kind of tunes. There's a good woman ditty here and there, but 95% of the music on my computer is made of men. I'm no kind of musician, but it doesn't mean that I haven't developed an opinion on the stuff.

Weather. I hate cold winter. (I am using the word hate about cold winters.)

Billboards. It's probably a good idea not to get me started regarding the billboards along I-15 in Utah Valley. See, I worked in advertising in Vegas for a while. (Yup, I was paid to promote the slut and smut of Sin City; now I work in what some deem an equally vile industry promoting things that help folks live longer and healthier.) And during my tenure in that position I learned about outdoor signage. And now I know what good looks like. And what bad looks like. And ugly.

Fonts. But you already knew that.

Health. I am passionate about good health and have a robust opinion or two regarding the modern disregard of health. It's not because I want everyone to wear a size 2; it's because so many people (most people) ignore or disregard their health to immense detriment that they don't care to research, understand, or react to.

Food. Want to have a really, really, really long conversation? Ask me about food.

Probiotics. There are good ones and there are bad ones. The good ones are helpful to your digestive tract. The bad ones are useless. And I could play a starring role in a vigorous conversation on the misleading advertising of the useless ones.

Meat. These opinions are ones I do keep to myself. But they're there. Why I don't eat Bessie, Babe, Nemo, and Mary's little companion: my opinions.

Birth control. Use it. If you neglect it I will outright call you an idiot. Unless you're purposefully seeking pregnancy, in which case I'm more than happy to send you a Target gift card and some handwritten, sincere glad tidings of great joy. Do what's best for your family. But if you aren't seeking or ready for children, use birth control. Otherwise you're irresponsible and stupid.

Child-rearing. Yeah, I've never done it, so I shouldn't be allowed an opinion, right? Wrong. I inhabit a world populated with badly-behaved children and parents who refuse to take responsibility and teach their kids some friggin' respect. Like this: it is unacceptable to stand on chairs and booths in restaurants. Not okay. It's not all right to let your kids run amok in said establishments. Teach 'em to behave or take 'em home. And any parent that says it's impossible to keep control of your children isn't my mother. She had six daughters that were in no way permitted to behave like banshees in public.

Thank-you notes. Write them. By hand. On notebook paper if you've got nothing else. A hand-written thank-you note is real thanks and a withering art.

Sex. It's essential in a healthy marriage. If anyone I know reveals to me that their weddedness is less than blissful, my first question (that I don't expect them to answer, perhaps only to consider) is How's your sex life? Sex helps marriage. No question.

TV. Turn it off. And don't leave it on when you have guests or are trying to hold a conversation. Talk. Or just go read a book.

Exercise. Do it already. There is no reason, excuse, or satisfactory notion why it's not necessary for well-being of all sorts.

And there's more. So much more: Taxes. Art. Blogging. Soymilk. Dogs. Pharmaceuticals. Pharmaceutical ignorance. In-laws. Afghanistan. Yoga. Lake Powell. Abortion. Lake Tahoe. California. Vinyl wall sayings. Your blog (if I read it). Iraq. Weight. American presidents. Conference calls. Births. Family relations. College. Nevada. Slaughterhouses. Hawaii. My phone. Complements. Kiwis (the people and the fruit). Talents. Literature. Homosexuality. Road trips. Curse words. Energy. The West Wing. Entitlement. People. Mirrors. Mini van drivers. Female coworkers. Etiquette. Emails. Plastic surgery. Water. Mac gear.

If I continued typing to exhaustion this list could outdo the Magna Carta. All these these topics elligible for opinion and not a single opinion arbitrary.

Each of the above is a theme I've seen as meriting the consideration necessary to conceive an opinion--a strong and defined position without impulse or haphazardry. An persuasion that's been crafted, weighed, can be very long-winded in explanation, and is informed in that it is born of research and experience. Some opinions are positive. Some of 'em negative. Some compelling to some and some compelling to others. None of them neutral.

Any one of these subject headings and innumerable others may ignite or find themselves the feature of one of my posts, but regardless of whether or not I choose to devote a few Remarks paragraphs to any one, each of the above topics I feel worthy of judgment and know that I'm capable of executing at least 30 minutes of uninterrupted diatribe on each.

And these are so few of so many.

My friend Brown-haired Megan reminded me that not everyone operates this way. Some people don't have an opinion on slaughterhouses or entitlement. They couldn't care less. And I don't understand that. If I encounter something, be it small or significant, I work on figuring out what I think of it. Some people just let the new something wander by without devoting consideration to it. I think that way of being is probably much less fatiguing than my method.

For I'm quite sure that it's not actually necessary that I have an opinion on your blog.

•••

In a response comment to my Rabid-friend a while back I said that I'm fine with other folks having opinions. It is our right. I really believe that. But I think that it's imperative to be able to substantiate one's opinions. Evidence. Reasons. Logic. Having a cause for a thought.

I am fervent about learning and have discovered people of all sorts to be remarkable resources. There have been plenty of occasions that I've listened to an opinion, one that's not random and is well-presented, and have found myself changing my mind, altering my own trained opinion. I cherish those types of dialogues, the ones built of evidence and experience, for they are the kind that have might.

•••

Don't forget that I'm unloading my first iPhone 3G. Head here to enter the giveaway. Get this thing off my desk. Your opportunity kicks the bucket tonight at midnight.

FROM KEYBOARD TO PEN

Wow. I just took a relationship from the blogosphere to the land of the hand-written world.

And I must confess that as I scrawled my return address my brain uttered some kind of prayer that RabidRunner is the pretty lady I've seen a photo of and not some creepy freak who will come and kill me in my sleep. (The Husband has made efforts to instill a hearty paranoia in me and I've taken to it nicely.)

And Rabid, if you are some psycho who doesn't run marathons, have a husband whose heels hurt, or have a couple Yahoos to rear, I refer you to my gun photos posted last week. Break into my house and try to off or harm me and I'll leave a hole where your head used to be. It's within my rights. I researched this.

Anyhow, as I sat at my desk, favorite Wellbutrin XL gel pen in hand and nifty Night Owl card ready for tattooing, to write out a thank-you note to my online friend for her musical celebration of my birthday, I stopped to consider which handwriting to use.

See, I have four different handwriting "fonts" of my own. Similarly to how we alter our register by circumstance when speaking/writing, I put into play my appropriate penmanship per situation/recipient.

• Do I use the distinctive caps mixed with lowercase letters and capital As and Hs that often confuse the heck out of readers? (Is that the Greek letter Delta? Is that a U?)

• As this is a traditional thank-you note, do I use my swirly formal font that takes so much longer to write out than any handwriting should?

• Do I go with my version of Cursive, my day-to-day font: a mix of cursive letters, print letters, desperate swooshes, furious loops and illegibility that is often a hindrance in my own efforts at what-the-heck-does-that-say?

• Or do I use my precise grade-school-esque handwriting which is juvenile yet easy to decipher?

Each font reveals a bit of me and my feelings about my relationship to what I'm writing and who is receiving it:

• The Caps font is hip but precise, and it says that I'm putting the time into this note, but, for your enjoyment, I'm also leaving the stamp of my terribly unique personality.

• The Swirly Formal font is stuffy and pretty, and it tells the recipient that I am taking this note seriously and am issuing a very formal thanks for your kindness. It's the one I use the least often, and to me, when I use it it says that I am treating this particular circumstance as a unique event.

• The Everyday Cursive is grown up in its illegibility and maintains a lot of personality in it's untidiness and flagrant Ys, Ts, and Gs. It states that I dashed off this note pretty quickly, but I felt comfortable enough with you to give you my day-to-day self, letter-dropping scratch and all.

• The Grade School font is a mix of adult/child aesthetics. It reveals that I carefully carved out each letter in the note, encouraging the reader to see me as organized, academic, yet maintaining a sense of humor about myself.

So when writing RabidRunner my first tangible communication, which font did I employ?

Guess, if you wish. Or she can read this and tell you outright. (That is, if Rabid still reads my blog, has received the note (assuming The Husband actually did toss it in the mail as I think he did rather than my other suspicion that I wrote the note, addressed it, and then promptly misplaced it) and I did a good job delineating the unique features of each style so the woman's able to discern which one she ended up with.)

Cheers.

TAD ON TADD

Five sisters. No brothers. But blessed with the best of brother-in-laws that the Good Lord has to offer.

One in particular stands out in my mind today. Or everyday, rather. As a matter of fact, I can't stop thinking of him. I wake in the morning, and to the treadmill I go; each footfall echoes his name: TaddTaddTaddTaddTadd. I microwave popcorn; the Ready! beep has the ring of "Tadd" to it. I listen to music and fill in the words I can't remember with "Tadd." I go to yoga and giggle that mountain pose is called Tad[d]asana. He's everywhere.

Caitlyn's husband is the punctuation of my days.

Please understand that this constant fascination has nothing creepy or romantic to it; Tadd's just the kind of guy that you can't get off your mind. For instance, Whitney and I email quite a bit and the other day we got caught up writing about Tadd and his innumerable qualities (an easy thing to do), and it reminded me that though I think about Tadd every day (all day) I often forget some of the more notable contributions he's made to our family . . .

Here's a snippet from one of Whit's email replies:

Tadd. Where do I even begin? Maybe I could begin with the story of him curing Jack's cancer. It was amazing. My little son had cancer and Tadd cured him. I will never forget that.

Maybe I could also talk about when he carried Ethan up Y Mountain. See Ethan wouldn't be able to hike the whole way because he has been cursed with a pair of bum feet. But Tadd wanted Ethan to see the sunset from Y Mountain. So he hoisted Ethan on his back and like an llama, he hauled Ethan up the mountain. Ethan loved the sunset.

Then there was the time he delivered Van. Yeah, I went into labor while we were all out to dinner at Mi Ranchito. I was freaking out because there was no doctor there to deliver my second born. But Tadd really stepped up to the plate. He ever cut the cord with his teeth. Such a boy scout. He now gets free food at Mi Ranchito for the rest of his life. They even have a special called "Taddow Especial." Beans, rice, fettuccine alfredo and Gatorade.

Tadd. What would we do without Tadd?

I wish I could say that the above is a sufficient snapshot of my brother-in-law Tadd, but words in general aren't good enough. Inadequate, really. He's just so much more than a cancer-curing, Ethan-toting, sunset-loving, Van-delivering hero.

Bottom line: Tadd makes Gandhi and Mother Teresa look like Punch and Judy.

He's that good.

•••

You are very confused now. I know you are. You think I'm creepy and weird. (Or rather creepier and weirder than you already did.) And Caitlyn's pretty concerned that I'm obsessed with her spouse.

In saving you from yourself and your quick and paranoid mind, I offer you the explanation (which, naturally, you don't truly need, because you read this blog regularly and know what a sarcastic, over-the-top little beast I have the propensity to be):

So what do you think, Tadd? Did this post satiate your need to be featured and lauded?

Anyone else out there feeling sad and neglected?

GO ON. LOOK AT YOUR LEFT AND COMPARE.

You asked. So I provide. I'm cool like that (so long as you're not asking to see something of mine; if it's someone else's, no problem. I'll steal for you, Dear Reader).

Viola! My sister, Mal's, phenomenal, prodigious, awesome, marvelous, fantastic, wondrous ring:


Told you it was worthy of "amazing."

Gosh. It's like you always get what you want.

Spoiled brats.

Ring crafted per Mal's dreams and drawings by Andrew The Magician of Beesley Goldsmith • 801.885.0377.