In Which The Local Elders Are Inspired By The Book of Mormon Musical

As I was sitting on the train on Friday, an operatic tenor behind me started to sing loudly,

"Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah!
Roma-Roma-ma-ah!
Ga-ga-ooh-la-la!
Want your bad romance"

It reminded me of when the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sang "La Bamba." The voice kept distracting me and I couldn't carry on a conversation. He paused and I hoped that Bad Romance was the only number, but then heard, "Look at this stuff. Isn't it neat? Wouldn't you think my collection's complete?" My friend remarked, "American people are so weird. They are just singing on the subway and doing a weird dance." I turned around to see the offender and beheld Mormon missionaries. I shook my head and said, "Of course."

Elder Placido continued his act with "Can You Feel the Love Tonight?," "A Whole New World" and "Paparazzi" as the Chinese woman next to him looked on, in horror and disbelief. His companion stonily stared forward, willing himself back to happier times (Timpview High School Senior Prom 2010: Starry Night, gazing into the eyes of a girl wearing a bridesmaid dress from Allyse's Bridal). He probably enjoyed this serenade all day, every day.

Recap of What I Am Doing Instead of Making Major Life Decisions, Part One

First, thanks for all of the texts and e-mails that I have received regarding the aforementioned Dr. Seuss incident. Except for when my friend brought up Son of Sam last night right before I got on the subway, I have recovered well.

As some of you know, I don't know what to do with my life, so I am delaying any decision making until August 1 (tomorrow). My friend told me to post a poll on my blog, but I don't know if I am ready to leave my fate in the hands of what Google Analytics tells me are primarily BYU students (no offense). If you are interested in what someone in my position does with her time, here is a short rundown.

MY WEEK

Movies:
Sarah's Key-Holocaust movie, like twenty percent of any movies that come out.
Life, Above All-This is about social pressure and AIDS in South Africa. A+
Snowflower and the Secret Fan-Decent, but after this condescending guy berated me for liking The Tourist, I realized that I liked almost anything set in a foreign country.
The Fighter-Every character in this movie would look at home in my neighborhood. Due to colloquial language, this movie
would be about five minutes long from Clean Flicks, so don't try. But I liked it.
True Grit-I only saw half of this because I rented it on iTunes (gift card) and I didn't realize that you had to watch it in 24 hours. This does not work when you usually watch movies twenty minutes at a time, while putting on makeup. My little brother was named after a Louis L'amour character, so of course I like westerns.
Winter's Bone-This one might be my favorite and I kind of want to go to the Ozarks to see if people really live like that. We drove through them when I was nine, but I did not have an anthropological interest at the time.

I am kind of ashamed/proud that I watched so many movies in one week. And it is not my parent's fault that I watch rated R, but at least take into account the this list does not contain movies like "The Hangover."

Museum:
The Natural History Museum-Ok, I every time I go to a science museum I wonder why people enjoy staring at sedimentary rocks, but I'm glad that there is an audience for that. My science teacher friend is visiting from Honduras and I think that she felt a little bad that I was staring into space, reminiscing about happier times instead of looking at a stuffed bobcat. I did like the floor with the cultural exhibits.

Play:
This is my third summer in New York, but I have never been to Shakespeare in the Park. The line starts forming at 6:00 a.m. and I had to leave my house at 4:15, because Brooklyn trains are crazy at that hour. I was still a little bit late. They start handing out tickets at 1:00 p.m., so it is kind of a time consuming process, but if there is one thing that I definitely have, it is time. And it is free.

The good thing was that I could get wireless, so we could watch movies/youtube videos. The bad thing was that we were sitting between a couple who looked like they had sprung from a crack house and an effeminate, loquacious dad and son. The crack house lady got up in my grill and tried to start arguing with me about something, which made me wonder why someone who was incapable of conjugating "to be" properly was so keen on Shakespeare tickets. Her male companion had a woeful lack of teeth and was a haggard doppelganger for my least favorite celebrity, Flava Flav. As she played Mario Brothers on her DS with the sound cranked up, I realized that I was witnessing entrepreneurship-I typed "Shakespeare" into Craigslist and saw them selling for $50 a piece.

As we were waiting, a young woman approached and introduced herself. She said that she was working for a new television quiz show that combined a scavenger hunt through the streets of New York and a trivia quiz. She asked if we were interested in participating and I said, "No way," and gestured to my friend, who has probably been on every television show that regularly films in New York. My friend told her that she would be out of town on the dates of filming. Her enthusiasm was not dampened, however, and she started to ask us random trivia questions. Homegirl totally knew my weakness. I started getting into it and she said enticingly, "I will ask you more questions if you agree to be screened for casting."
"You can ask more questions," I responded.
"Do you agree to be on the show?"
"No." She had a camera and if she thought that she was going to use it to capture my unkempt image in workout clothes and a ponytail, she was too optimistic to live here. It was the second time that I have refused to be on t.v. in the recent past (see the post about Sesame Street), I think that I can safely state that I have no aspirations for stardom.

TO BE CONTINUED

The Exorcism of Dr. Seuss Clothes

Do not read this if you are my mother or my friend's mother.

I went to Shakespeare in the Park tonight and it kept raining, so it didn't end until after eleven. That is not close to my house. I got off to transfer trains in Brooklyn and a man on the platform was wearing this shirt:



He turned around and stared at me with the creepiest face of loathing I have ever seen. As we don't know each other, I thought that maybe he was looking at someone behind me. The train came and I walked to another subway car and sat down. I started reading and when I looked up, the man was standing on the other side of the car, still glaring at me. I still thought that I was imagining it at that point and closed my eyes. When I opened them, he was sitting in the seat across from me. He then said something indiscernible and repeatedly did what I now know is called a chin rake (obscene gesture). He did it several times and growled at me. The only other people in the car were peacefully sleeping Chinese men.

I stood up to get off, even though it wasn't my stop. He did too. I sat back down. He did too. His eyes were doing something odd and he looked up to the ceiling, just as we came to a stop. I took advantage of his wandering gaze and ran out of the car, into the next one. At the next stop, he exited his car and stood on the platform. Unfortunately, he saw me and extended his finger and snarled. Still pointing, he started to approach the car, but then backed off. That was the end. I can't decide if this kind of behavior is reflective of satanic possession or drugs, but I'm still creeped out, which is why I am writing this at 1:31 a.m.

In Which Emulating Miss Jill Makes All of Your Romantic Dreams/Nightmares Come True

Ok, so my long time readers know that everything that I draw happens. Some of you have me to thank for your significant other (who is not addicted to pornography-I make sure to specify that). Maybe some of you immigrated to the United States after I drew you in a plane. And mom, you know that I saved the family name through my artistry. Ok, I have made a few errors, but that usually happens when I go against my instinct and draw something unrealistic that someone wants.

This is probably bad, but I am gaining disciples. My friend had texted a guy and he didn't respond and she got really frustrated. Out of desperation, she drew a picture of him texting her on the current date. She waited and waited and eventually gave up hope. Then, he texted her at 11:50.

Ok this is a little inappropriate. You have been warned. I drew my friend with tons of money and at first it seemed to be working. He had some new job opportunities and thanked me. However, a few weeks later he called me and said that we needed to talk. He sounded distraught. A man at work approached him and offered to get him an apartment and pay all of his expenses if they could be together. The problem is that my friend is not gay. He said that right after it happened, he yelled, "This was Jill's fault!" Of course, this ended up in Human Resources.

In Which Beggars Can Be Choosers

In a city with so many potential benefactors, I guess the homeless people can afford to be picky. Once my friend offered a homeless guy a bacon cheeseburger and he rejected it, on account of the bacon. All I could think of was that we were in Harlem, which is a Nation of Islam stronghold.

Yesterday on the A train, a group of three girls brought a boombox on the train and did a choreographed robot dance. They were really good and about 80 percent of the car started waving around dollars. The last time I had seen this happen was in early 2009 when a young man recited a poem about Obama bringing the country out of darkness. The train was pretty far uptown, so the crowd was very appreciative.

After their performance, a homeless man in a wheelchair started whining, "Please help me! I haven't eaten for days and I am starving. Please, does anyone have food or money?" If any of you have seen the Mexican movie, La Misma Luna/Under the Same Moon, the guy looked exactly like the blond junkie who tried to sell poor Carlitos into slavery on a street full of prostitutes. That scene annoys me so much, because otherwise, it is a really school appropriate movie. Everyone was kind of unenthusiastic about him, because utilizing whining is unusual on New York subways-usually beggars have a little more dignity than that and share a preprepared, respectful speech. And ten seconds earlier, they had given a lot of money to the dancers.

I felt kind of bad for him, so I offered him half of a burrito that was leftover from lunch. He sneered at me with disdain and said, "Sorry, I only accept prepackaged food from strangers with a hermetically* sealed wrapper. I absolutely cannot take that. Do you have something else that I could have? A granola bar?" I actually did have a Clif bar, but he had fallen out of my good graces. I started to doubt the veracity of his claims. Did he really need that wheelchair?

The lady sitting across from me started laughing really loudly and said, "Boy, if you really be hungry, you be taking that food. You is lying! A hungry person don't reject no food."

I said, "I agree. I might even take that if someone offered it to me. It was pretty good."

The woman continued loudly laughing and he started to roll away in shame. Another girl said, "Do you think she is carrying around a poisoned burrito, waiting patiently for someone to ask for it?"

Unable to withstand the accusations, he quickly rolled away. In ignominy.

* Ok, he didn't say the word hermetic, but I thought it would be funnier if he did. He actually just said, "sealed."

C-List Celebrity Sighting Number 4,152

I guess if I want lurkers to come out of the woodwork and comment, I have to write about controversial Mormon issues. But I think that enough people are doing that already, better than I could. Dumb stories are my calling in life. Yesterday my friend Stef from the previous story and I went to a Starbucks in Manhattan and the air conditioner was at about 35 degrees Fahrenheit. Stef got really cold and whispered, "I am going to go outside for a minute. Check your phone, I will text you about a celebrity sighting."

A few minutes later, I received a text that said:

"The girl with dark curly hair is the Pepsi girl! When she was little, w the dimples, remember?"

I googled, "Pepsi girl" and there she was:



When I was looking for this picture, I noticed that a lot of people think that she is scary in the same way that clowns are scary-one blogger opined that she was as scary as Black Swan.

Stef came back in and I said, "I'm not so sure about that." I discreetly angled my computer so that she could not see that her image was all over my screen and we tried to compare. Stef asserted that she was positive that it was her and as she has been a movie extra multiple times and dated someone from a cell phone commercial, I will trust her expert opinion. The biggest celebrity I have seen was from the Mormon temple movie.

We forgot about it until the Pepsi girl stood up, paused in front of our table to make out with a blond guy, and left. We lamented that she was not a bigger star, because that would have been a good photo to sell to the paparazzi.

In Which My Friend Stef Successfully Channels Matilda

The other day my friend Stef and I met at Barnes and Noble to work on some projects and we wanted to sit at a table in the cafe, because we had computers. That is not always a realistic desire in Manhattan-everything is always crowded, at every point of the day. We stood in the middle for a minute, looking around, hoping that someone would get up. In spite of the fact that I constantly do this myself, I was irritated that so many people were sitting solo at tables. I guess that feeling was reflected in my expression, because one of the lone men started packing up his stuff.

We started celebrating and I asked him if he were leaving.
"Yes," he answered in an Irish brogue. "I can't handle your withering glare."
"Uhhhh.... that is just my face at rest (lie)."
"Well, I can't deal with it, so I'm leaving."
"Sorry, that look was more directed towards the entire room."

This exchange sounds acrimonious, but it wasn't at all. There was laughing involved, but I can't remember if it was just on our side. As he started to walk away, Stef said, "Thanks Jay!"

Jay looked a little shaken up and responded, "How did you know my name?"
"I read it on your cup."
"Oh, I thought maybe it was because I was reading this." He showed us a book entitled something like, "Using The Power of the Mind." He rushed away, unnerved.

An Afternoon Picnic With the PLO

A high percentage of the rich people in Honduras as transplanted Arabs, who strangely enough are called "Turcos" by everyone. Honduras is not the safest country on earth, especially for rich people with questionable sources of income. Quite a few of the kids had personal bodyguards, which I think were necessary. I remember one of my students once said to me, "I love the summer, because we always go to Palestina. It is so fun to go somewhere where I can walk around outside on the street and feel safe." You know you have security issues if you daydream about your idyllic summers in the West Bank.

I was reminded of this, because I have a Honduran coworker who comes to New York every summer and I saw her yesterday. The first time she came to New York, we went to Barnes and Noble and then I suggested that we go to Union Square Park for a minute. She quickly became uncomfortable and asked, "Are you playing some kind of joke on me?" I was confused and denied it. Then she said, "Ok, I want to leave. This isn't funny. Why are you taking me to this place with so many crazy people?" Because I was living in Harlem at the time, I think that I was a little too inured to crack pipes and didn't notice that anything was amiss. So I've been wondering if my strange journey through life has permanently altered my perception of the world. I don't know if I even think anything/anyone is weird anymore. And I can't talk to a boring person for more than five minutes, which is social suicide at church sometimes. Like some people worry about financial ruin or the Apocalypse, I am terrified of having 50 years of insipid conversations ahead of me. Ok, this is not an introspective blog, so the end.

Several hours later... hmmm... I decided that was kind of mean. Not that I am the most interesting person alive-I just can't handle boring convos about shampoo or something

In Which Miss Jill Exploits a Teen's Encyclopedic Knowledge of Harry Potter for Entertainment Purposes

Ok, this is a reprint in honor of Harry Potter 7.5.

One day I casually picked up my anonymous relative, "Amy's" copy of Harry Potter and The Sorcerer’s Stone and noticed that the inside cover was filled with tally marks. I asked her what they stood for and she replied, “Oh, I make a mark every time I finish reading it.” I discretely counted them. 87.

I opened up to a random page. I read, “A letter?”

Amy replied, “repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall.”

Miss Jill: Harry learnt that…

Amy: There were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World cup match in 1473.

Miss Jill: Ronald Weasley…

Amy: Who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them.

In spite of the fact that my grandpa had recently chastised us all for knowing Harry Potter better than the Book of Mormon, I stared at Amy in humble awe. It seemed like something that should be capitalized on, so I took her to a Harry Potter trivia contest at the local Borders. As we walked through the discount book tables, I eyed the competition. Fifty percent of the participants were children. The other fifty percent were graying Woodstock alumni, which made me a little apprehensive. I looked down at Amy to see if she was also feeling pre-match jitters, but she was eyeing her rivals with condescending confidence.

After several rounds of intense questioning, only Amy and a sextegenarian donning a crocheted sweater vest over a tie-dyed t-shirt remained. The Borders employee’s braces gleamed playfully as she asked the Grandma, “How many Knuts are in a Sickle?”

Her eyes dashed back and forth in panic and in desperation, she looked to her silver pony tailed companion for inspiration. He shrugged dejectedly. Expelliarmus. Amy’s face lit up. Twenty-nine,” she shrieked triumphantly.

Homecoming Hardships

Don't get mad at me Utahns, but I really hated living in Provo. One fall my sister and I were so depressed to be back that my dad paid for us to stay in a hotel in Salt Lake for a night before the semester started. Now I look back on that time more fondly, because college is an extrovert's paradise-I will probably never have that much friend density again.

Even though I have always liked New York, it also usually takes a few days after a trip for me to readjust. For example, last week I was somewhere like this:



And now I am here:



A few memorable homecomings:

* I flew into Newark from Chicago in January on a very overcast day. As I waited for the train to come, I melodramatically looked out onto the barren wastelands of New Jersey, pondering the futility of my life. Some of you probably remember that my apartment in Washington Heights never had heat/hot water, a resident was stabbed to death outside and I was prematurely the mother of a teen model. Things looked grim. When I entered my apartment, I was semi-surprised to see a raw chicken breast and iceberg lettuce on the kitchen floor. Someone on a low-carb diet had been there. I texted my roommate,"I am not excited to see raw meat on the kitchen floor. What is going on?" She replied, "Oh, sorry girl, going to Jamaica with Squeeze (40+ paramour and baby daddy of 4). Didn't have time to clean up. Luv ya."

* I flew into JFK after spring break this year and my usual ride was doing jello shots in Atlantic City, so I walked out to the airport train. I usually like to be 100 percent sure that I am on the right train, so I verified with an employee. Said employee replied, "Do you not expletive deleted know how to read?" Rude. The blow was softened, however, when some Euro girls walked by and gave me their unused Metrocards.

* A few days ago I came in from Idaho and I had used a Russian car service to get there at 5:00 before and it was good and I was really sick, so I called again. Bad move. It took forever and I won't explain the situation because it is boring, but they did all this annoying stuff and tried to cheat me out of money. The fanny-packed driver insisted that I call dispatch to complain. Don't judge me for this, because I had a migraine, had been sitting on the runway for more than an hour and hadn't slept a full night in three weeks (from a deadly combo of dogs, babies and weird life events). I started heatedly arguing with the dispatch guy and it escalated to the point that I said I was going to file a Better Business Bureau complaint on him (although I am just as likely to go clubbing).
I asked, "What is your name?"
He replied in a very heavy Russian accent, "George."
"What is your last name?"
"George?"
"What is your LAST name?"
"George."
"Your last name is not George."
"It is Smith."
Then I started laughing and hung up. His last name was as likely to be Smith as my first name is likely to be "Jong-il."

Kanine* Karma

I am probably not the first person that you will see at a dog show, but I would probably never cause harm to someone's pet. That is the best way to describe my feelings concerning animals. A few years ago, I received a friend request from my cousin's dog, Erpan. If I know who the person is, I generally accept (sorry, shirtless Honduran men of dubious origin). I had met Erpan, so it seemed innocuous enough.



I wrote a few friendly comments on the wall and forgot all about it-until Erpan mysteriously appeared in my "People You Might Know" bar. I clicked and was shocked to discover that I had been defriended. I thought that some terrible mistake had occurred, but let it slide for several years, until I was in Idaho this week. Sometimes it is kind of awkward to bring up a defriending, but it had been weighing on my mind for years, so I decided to confront my cousin. He told me, "You were making fun of him too much. He had to." Then he backpedaled and said, "Uhh... lots of people have that password. I don't know."

I was a little bitter about the incident until I was chatting with my mother on Facebook today and she randomly said, "I am defriending Erpan. He kept stealing my food and gave me a scratch on my arm." Doesn't feel so good, does it, Erpan?

* This spelling is intended to annoy someone. You know who you are.

In Which the Friend* Must Be Celebrating April Fool's Day

All I will say is please note that the protagonist of this story is FOUR YEARS OLD.

Hannah’s New Dress

By: I don't want to say because she is probably a nice, well-meaning grandma or something.

Four-year-old Hannah’s eyes popped open. Today was zoo day! She jumped out of bed.

“I’m ready,” she called.

“Ready for what?” Mom asked.

“Ready for the zoo!”

“Go look in the kitchen first,” Mom said.

Hannah hurried to the kitchen. There was an empty bowl on the table. Then Hannah remembered. Breakfast came before the zoo.

After Hannah ate, she handed Mom her bowl. “I’m ready now.”

“I don’t think so,” Mom said. “Go look in the mirror.”

Hannah ran to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Her hair was tangled, and she had a big white milk mustache. Hannah grabbed a cloth and washed her face. Then she brushed her teeth and combed her hair.

“Now I’m ready,” she called.

“Not yet,” Mom said. “Look in your bedroom for something Grandma sent you!”

Hannah ran to her room. A new dress was on her bed. It was white with red cherries on it. Red was her favorite color. But Hannah frowned.

“It doesn’t have any sleeves,” she said.

Mom went to Hannah’s closet. She pulled out a bright red T-shirt that matched the bright red cherries.

“You can wear this under the dress,” Mom said. “Then it will be modest.”

Hannah quickly put the T-shirt on and then the dress.

“Now I am ready to go to the zoo!”

“Yes,” Mom said and smiled. “Now you are ready.”

* Mormon children's magazine

I Never Thought That I Would Dedicate Two Blog Posts to "Mall Cop"

Ok, I know all of you are on the edge of your seats wondering what transpired with the "Mall Cop" wager. After secretly watching it to train, I was pretty confident that I could get through it without laughing. And I could, but there was some controversy. My sister and I decided that we would use our winnings to get facials, so she joined in.

As background, my dad is a macho jock who nicknamed his biceps "Death" and "Destruction." As soon as "Mall Cop" began, he stood up and started prancing around like a ballerina. Then, every time something stupid happened (90 % of movie), he started laughing uncontrollably, while rolling on the floor and crying. Whenever Kevin James crashed into something, my 82-year-old grandpa (the one who has Facebook) erupted into the fakest laugh ever, mocking everyone involved. I lost in five minutes.

My sister was much more stoic. She successfully held this facial expression for almost two hours:



She attributed her success to alternating between the images of children dying and Kevin James without a shirt. She only broke when my dad got desperate and started doing a Leprechaun jig. Now we are trapped at an interminable impasse: we think we deserve the money because we never actually laughed AT the movie and he claims that the deal covered any laughing that occurred WHILE the movie was on. My sister just read this and argues, "The whole premise of the bet was that "Mall Cop" is the funniest movie ever, not that Dad has awkward dance moves. We won."

Tomorrow my dad is planning to take the entire family to "Zookeeper." I seem to be prematurely living in the level of Hell reserved for people with pretentious taste in movies.

In Which B Comedy Movies Drive My Mormon Family to Gambling

My dad: I like a lot of great movies-The Count of Monte Cristo, The Sound of Music, Scaramouche, El Cid, Ben Hur, Mall Cop. So at some point my parents decided that Mall Cop was one of the best movies of all time. My mother even watched it twice in one day. Although I have not seen it, I remember seeing the preview and thinking, "NEVER!"

I don't know how anyone could resist making fun of their parents for being enamored of Mall Cop, so I did. But my father's ardor transcended any sense of shame. As I was ridiculing him, he looked at me defiantly and said, "I will give you $100.00 cash if you can watch Mall Cop without smiling or laughing." Then we shook on it. He conned my grandpa into buying a copy for $1.99. I am downloading it right now, to train myself secretly-I don't want anything to take me by surprise. We are going to be in a rural cabin all week, without internet, so I am pretty sure no one in my family will read about my evil plan until it is too late.

In Which the Delta Passengers Could Learn a Thing or Two From Sesame Street

When I boarded the airplane this morning at JFK, I held a boarding pass that said "31A." For that reason, I confidently walked to 31A and expected to actually sit there. It was occupied by a Russian man in Harley Davidson getup.

Miss Jill: Excuse me, I think you are in my seat.
Russian Biker (looks confused): My son and I have two seats in this row.
Miss Jill: Which ones?
Russian Biker (looks at tickets): Ummm B & C.

There was an aging Long Islander in C, who had already crammed the seat pocket with at least twenty periodicals and set up a buffet of snacks on the tray. Everyone stared at her.

Aging Long Islander (looking guilty): Uhhh, maybe I'm in the wrong seat.
Miss Jill (no nonsense): Could you please check your ticket?
Aging Long Islander (does not look at ticket): Oh, uh, I guess I'm supposed to be in D.

A line was developing, so I looked at D to see if it were a viable option. As soon as I saw a morbidly obese couple with a crying baby in E & F, I realized why it was so difficult for the Aging Long Islander to read the seat number on her ticket.

Miss Jill: I'm sorry, but I am not sitting there.

Ed. Note: Ok, maybe I sound mean, but my seat was A and I was already making a concession by sitting in C. And I am about to spend several days with:



**

Aging Long Islander: Maybe some people do not like babies (glares at me), but I do!
Miss Jill: Great, then you can sit with one.
Aging Long Islander (hesitantly): Fine, let me move all of my stuff.
Miss Jill: Ok.
Flight Attendant: Is there a problem here? Are people in the wrong seat?
Aging Long Islander: No/Miss Jill: Yes

Aging Long Islander then very slowly packed up all of her loot and huffily moved to D. She said loudly to her new seat partners, "I really wish that you could have this seat empty next to you, but you know." Then she scowled at me again.

I could have been upset, but then the mom started changing a smelly diaper just inches from her arm.

** The fact that my sister could have three kids in three years keeps me from stressing about my waning childbearing years.