My Birthday!

Today, I turned the big 2-5! I had a fabulous couple of days and decided to share the joy with all of you! The celebration started Sunday, since it's a bit easier to get the family together then. For my birthday dinner, my mom made fettuccine alfredo and homemade breadsticks. There were also yummy green beans that my mom had bottled on an earlier date. We had cheesecake for dessert, which was delicious. My brother, Bret, gave me a Frank Sinatra CD and a box of Oatmeal Cream Pies, which I love (and I super love that he gave me something kind of random). My parents gave me some kitchen stuff: cake pans and stuff as well as flour, sugar, etc. Afterwards, I went to work, which was lame, but what can you do?

Fast forward to Monday, my actual birthday. I started the day by sleeping in (awesome). Around noon-ish, Amanda (one of my BFFs) and I went to LDS Employment Services and ending up doing what we could have done at home online. It was good, though, because we were forced to sit down and complete our profiles on the website. We're hoping that we'll be able to get wonderful new jobs soon. After that visit (and a short wandering around the DI), Amanda and I went to lunch at good old Firehouse. Unfortunately, there was some sort of serving snafu, and we sat for about twenty minutes without seeing a server. I had to get up and go ask the hostess for our server (don't worry; I was very nice about it). Our server still wasn't very attentive, but the food was good and we had a nice time chatting.

Later that day....I went to FHE with the ward. We did some yard work for an elderly couple and I got to wear my so-hideous-they're-fabulous gardening gloves. They have these intense orange and red flowers and lime green elastic cuffs. I pulled grass and weeds out of a flower bed while having a grand time with the girls in my ward and the ward we've joined with for the rest of the summer (incidentally, my old ward). It rained on us for a few minutes, but that only added to the fun. After the yard was done, we gathered at the park next door and enjoyed some delicious homemade ice cream and frozen yogurt. A girl in the ward even got everyone to sing "Happy Birthday" to me and Brad, a guy in my ward who was also celebrating a birthday.

Even later that day....I went to a double party for me and Brad. There was a lovely cake that said "Brad + Michelle = 55". It was beautiful. Afterwards, there was a hockey game on the nearby hockey rink (at the house where the party was, actually) that we all watched and cheered for. A girl there gave me the responsibility of taking pictures with her camera while she played, so I did my best, even though the camera was uber-fancy. Also, a girl who just happens to be my visiting teacher brought cupcakes that spelled out "Happy Bday B & M". I made sure I got to eat my "M" cupcake. It was delicious.

So, to summarize: lots of fun, lots of food, lots of fantastic.

Happy Birthday to me!

I'm a real boy! ...or am I?

So I was doing some price changes at work today, and I noticed that the description on one of the pieces read like so: Faux Girl Pendant. I wondered to myself what the point was of pointing out the fact that the pendant was not an actual girl. Does JCPenney really think that someone will come by the jewelry department, see the pendant and think, "Oh my gosh, there's a very very small girl suspended by a loop of gold inside a palm-sized leatherette box in that case! Pull her out and set her free!", to which the associate will reply, "No, dear customer, that is not a real girl. Try to calm yourself. Get off my counter, you will break the glass!" The helpful jewelry girl will then pull the box out of the case and show the panicking customer the tag. "You see, it is a faux girl. She's not real." Closing their eyes, the customer will sigh with relief. "Oh good, I was so afraid that JCPenney had suddenly become some sort of underground leprechaun slavery operation. I'm so glad that she wasn't real. She looked so realistic!"

Now, friends, I've regarded this charm for several years (since we've had it for as long as I can remember) as the most hideous jewelry piece of my acquaintance. The "faux girl" charm bears absolutely no resemblance to an actual, human girl. First, the girl is made of gold, not enamel or plastic. Also, the facial features are barely recognizable as facial features, and the limbs end in rounded stumps. To top it off (literally) the girl has these ridiculous looking pigtails that look more like two extra harms than a hairstyle.

I'd also like to mention that there was a "faux boy" next to the girl. Imagine the riots that would ensue if JCPenney had not taken the care to spell out that these children are, indeed, not real. Thank you, JCP. Thank you.

Why I Don't Play Sports: A Tale of Humiliation and Woe

Red Rover, Red Rover, send Michelle right over...

Of all the phrases that elementary school students hear, and they hear a lot, no phrase was able to strike fear into my heart in such a way that these eight little words did. Besides the fact that the emphasis was inevitably placed on the wrong syllable of my name, hearing this evil chant was the signal that within a few seconds I would look like the greatest fool in the class. Upon hearing my name, I would run as fast as I possibly could towards the waiting chain of arms on the other side of the field. I don't know why I even bothered to run; I never made it through the wall of hands, arms and torsos. I guess it made me feel less foolish if it looked like I was being a good sport about it. I wasn't, though. I hated it more than anything else. The worst part was that the humiliation was far from over. After becoming part of the opposing team, we continue the game by calling a classmate over. This classmate would, far more often than not, choose me as the weakest link and choose my poor, weak arms to break through in order to avoid the same fate that I had unwillingly succumbed to. You would think this was enough, but no! The very next round (or maybe a few rounds later) I would get called to run at the team that I had started on. I would of course be held from breaking through, and from then on I would be caught in a vicious cycle of running at other teams and having other teams run at me. My arms would be incredibly sore by the time recess/gym class was over and we returned to the safe haven of knowledge and learning that was the classroom.

But Red Rover was not my only schoolyard torture: perhaps you have heard of a little game called dodgeball? Well, I have. The technique for this game was a bit different. Since no one ever saw me as a threat, none of my classmates even attempted to get me out during the heat of the game; instead, each team picked off the strong members of the other team. I was left until the very end, when every other viable player had been placed in the prison and could no longer pose a threat. It was at this point that each player on the opposite team would throw their various foam dodgeballs and air-filled kickballs at me....and then I would be out.

There is, I suppose, a deeper reason for me not liking sports-playing. Apart from the whole being haunted by my past thing, I also tend to avoid situations where there is a chance of me looking like a fool. I'm not really comfortable enough with myself to look downright, ridiculously stupid. Now, those of you who know me may say, "But Michelle, you look like an idiot all the time. You constantly trip on your own shoes, and I've seen your dance moves. You dance like a crazy person!" To you I say, you are absolutely right. I do look like a fool on a regular basis, but this is different. I know, when going into a dancing situation, that I will look dumb. I have accepted that I look dumb, but the main point is that I'm having fun. There is no fun is sports. I hate running, and I hate losing, which always happens when I play sports. I'm not especially competitive, but I only like to play games that I can win. Well, maybe I'm a bit competitive. The point is, I don't play sports, and that is that.

The end.

Just a Little Update

I went to a family party last night and realized, while talking to my cousin Jenny, that I hadn't really circulated a certain bit of news among a good portion of my friends and family. Here is the news: on May 5th, I went to the temple and took out my endowments. I didn't make a big deal out of it for a couple of reasons; first, my cousin was getting married (in the temple) the next week and I was hoping to attend her sealing without her knowing I would be there. Second, and perhaps more importantly, I felt that going to the temple was such a personal and sacred thing that posting it anywhere and everywhere would lessen the magnitude of the event. I finally decided to blog about it because I don't want to seem like I'm hiding it or anything. I'm actually not sharing this particular post on Facebook, but those who follow my blog or check it regularly will see this and be up to date.

I suppose I should throw in a little note as to why I decided to go to the temple at this time. Whenever I told people that I didn't know very well that I was going, they always asked the same three questions: "Are you getting married? (no) Are you going on a mission? (no) So, why are you going?" I've thought about this a lot, and I could give a really long answer or I could just say this: it was time. I truly believe that right now (or rather, last month) is the time for me to take out my endowment, and I'm so glad that I did. It has already been a blessing in my life and I know it will continue to be in the future.

And that's all I have to say about that :) (try to read that in a Forrest Gump voice)

You Don't Mess Around with Jim or, in this case, Journey

Since the beginning of time, people have been doing song covers (How's that for a ridiculous essay opener? Somewhere, my former English professors are feeling the urge to scream and they don't know why). Even back in medieval times, bards and minstrels put their own spins on the songs that were part of the oral tradition of the time. In the days of Frank Sinatra and Rosemary Clooney, it seemed like everyone sang the same songs in their own way. Sometimes, the best way for an artist to get started is to cover songs, and there are even bands that only perform covers of songs, some dedicated to one single band or artist.

Of course, there are rules in the world of song covering. These rules are in place to protect the hallowed halls of the musical canon, and to avoid a serious backlash for the ambitious artists. One of these rules is to tread very, very lightly when dealing with the sort of song that has become a legend. The kind of song that has the power to unite the entire world, party, or just the group in a car in the cause of singing the beloved words at the top of their lungs in an everlasting salute to the musical geniuses that brought forth the beauty flowing forth from the speakers. You know what I mean?

One such song is "Don't Stop Believin' " by Journey. Perhaps you've heard of it, as it is only one of the greatest songs of all time. As such, it's understandable that any and all musicians may want to play it. Within the first few notes, the audience in attendance will inevitably start cheering with excitement. Here's the catch, though. The song needs to be performed pretty dang close to the original arrangement. I'm not saying that it needs to be exactly the same; that wouldn't really be fair to creative musicians all over the world. All I ask is that it stays pretty close to the original spirit of the song.

What I take issue with (wait, was that a quote from "Sherlock Holmes"?) is the blatant re-creation of this cherished song into something that barely resembles the original masterpiece. This train wreck was, rather forcefully, introduced to me via the music played at my place of employment, the JCP. I heard the intro and thought "Hey! They're playing one of the greatest songs of all time!", but I quickly realized how very, very wrong I was. Shortly after realizing that the music itself was quite different, I heard a voice (although at this moment, memory clouded by my annoyance and outrage, I can't recall whether I heard the whiny boy or whiny girl first) that was certainly not Steve Perry, no not even close. It was....the voice of a Glee cast member.

Now, I should probably take a moment to explain that I have no hard feelings towards Glee and their various cover songs. Although I have never seen the show, I plan to and I'm sure I'll really love it. In fact, I may even enjoy their version of this practically sacred song, but that will only be within the confines of that episode. The thing is, Glee has invaded the radio waves of JCP! I swear that we play like four or five different songs from that show and it's driving me crazy! Recently I've taken to, upon hearing a suspicious cover of a song, calling my dear friend Becca, down in the men's department to find out if the song is from Glee, and it always is. Tonight, I actually just yelled out her name after we had closed because I didn't know where she was. She yelled back that we were, indeed, listening to Glee. You may, at this point, imagine me saying "Glee" with the same amount of distaste that Jerry Seinfeld employed when saying "Newman!"

Why, JCP, why???

Danger and Adventure, in My Own Backyard

Imagine, if you will, a lovely Sunday afternoon. The sky was clear, the air was warm, and I had just begun my annual summer reading of my favorite book, Pride and Prejudice, on a swing in my backyard. After some time had been passed, basking in the witty banter of Elizabeth Bennett and Mr Darcy, I felt something crawling on my foot. I looked down, assuming it was an ant or other bug that could be swept away. To my horror, however, I saw that there was a wasp on my foot! I have a horrible, horrible fear of wasps and all other related, stinging insects. I've been stung several times in my life and have no wish to be stung again. I tried to remain calm, hoping that the beast would eventually bore of its perch and take flight, but that did not appear to be the wasp's plan. It stayed, and stayed, and, you guessed it, stayed. I moved my foot closer to the grass in an attempt to entice the wasp towards the lush greenery, but alas! my efforts were in vain.

After several more paralyzingly frightening moments, in which the wasp continued to reposition its many legs and move around its thorax (an action which I was certain meant the insect was preparing to sting me), my mind caught hold upon the thought that my brother, Bret, was just inside and could surely come to my rescue. I picked up my phone and called him. The call went a bit like this:
Bret: Hello? (In a questioning tone, wondering why his sister was calling him from outside)
Me: Are you home? (I was afraid that he had left while I was outside)
Bret: Yes.
Me: You have to come save me. There's a wasp on my foot. (I was whispering because I was afraid that excess noise would provoke the monster)
Bret: Ok, I'll be right out.

Moments later, Bret emerged from the house, wearing a straw cowboy hat and wielding a BB gun. I was pretty sure that he did not intend to shoot me, but he did have a gun... My foot began to tremble and I tried to control it, certain that movement would enrage the creature into a violent show of self defense. Bret walked toward me, cocking the gun as he crossed the grassy expanse. I wondered if maybe he planned to poke the wasp off my foot. That concerned me because it seemed likely that such a poke would only anger the wasp and end with me being stung. Bret pointed the gun at my foot and pulled the trigger. The puff of air that came out of the empty barrel shot the wasp off my foot and out of sight. Afraid that the wasp would make a swift and vengeful return, I screamed, gathered my belongings, and ran into the house. My legs were shaking too badly to support my weight, and I had to take a seat, gasping to regain a regular breathing pattern. Bret came in and laid his weapon and hat down. I told him he was my hero, because it was true.

Bret saved my life that day.

"We Are Men of the Hood"

This blog post is dedicated to the latest movie based on the legend of Robin Hood. I hope that you, lovely readers, will allow me a moment of unprofessionalism (seeings as how I'm not an actual film reviewer) to say how very much I loved, loved, loved this movie. This movie filled my little closet romantic-history minor-medieval studies heart with joy and brought many a chuckle to my throat (okay, they were girlish giggles. Don't judge me.) I loved this movie for many reasons.

1. Russell Crowe: The only movie I have ever seen Russell Crowe in was "A Beautiful Mind" which, while fabulous, did not exactly feature a hero character in the legendary way that Robin Hood is. He played this part fabulously with clever wit, a fabulous accent, and an impressive musculature. I would be lying if I said that I wasn't forced to field multiple temptations to swoon, especially during a particularly romantic scene that was one of my favorite parts of the movie.

2. Cate Blanchett: Perfect for this role. I really loved the enhanced character of Marian in this movie; especially the fact that she actually had a back story more than being a damsel in distress waiting for Robin to save her. I really enjoyed watching the relationship grow between the two of them.

3. Friar Tuck (the character, although the actor was great): Medieval friars were men who had taken vows of poverty and lived among the people. Stereotypical friars in medieval and early modern literature (Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, for example) show friars as lecherous sots who were a mockery of the Catholic church. Some of the Robin Hood tales that involve Friar Tuck actually depict the character in this light. I was really glad to see just a tiny bit of that in Friar Tuck in this movie.

4. Matthew Macfadyen: I have to admit that I was shocked and repulsed when I first saw the man who personified one of the most beloved literary characters of all time playing the low and much-despised Sheriff of Nottingham. Why, I wondered, would this wonderfully handsome gentleman stoop to such a part? (for those who wish to swoon further under this man's influence, check out this recitation of Shakespeare's 29th sonnet.) As the film continued, however, I grew to appreciate the way that Macfadyen played the so often utterly disgusting man. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I really loved the new aspect that was brought to the character.

5. Historical Accuracy: Of course, I am not proposing that this film was one hundred percent historically accurate. That would be a foolish assumption. I would, however, like to point out a couple of things that I noticed and enjoyed. First, the plot involving Richard the Lion-Hearted. Most Robin Hood movies end with Richard returning from the Crusades and saving everyone from the evil Prince John. That's.....not how it happened. Nicely tucked aside from the plots of other movies are the facts that Richard dies and that John actually inherits the crown. Second, the incorporation of the Magna Carta, or at least the road to the historical document. If I go into more detail about this aspect it will probably ruin part of the ending for some of you, so I'll stop there.

So there you have it: my review of "Robin Hood". I hope you enjoyed it. If you didn't, I at least had fun writing it.