Another Death Request

My mother just revealed to me that my sister was planning to etch, "I never said that it was easy, I only said that it was worth it" on my tombstone. Even though we have already established that she will predecease me, I am writing this as a precaution. That is on the level of throwing a "Footprints" bookmark into my casket and I assure you that the result will be "Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark" worthy. You know you that you had nightmares from those in 1989.

Also, I get a lot of complaints about the commenting not working-try using Firefox. Or posting as Anonymous.

In Which Miss Jill Is Glad That None of This Was Funded By Loans

Disclaimer: The content of this post is not applicable to students who also have demanding jobs and children.

There is no group with a greater disparity between perceived busyness and real busyness than college students. They are high intensity stressed a few days a month when they attempt to write a thirty page paper in one night, but the rest of their schedule is filled with what they were doing instead of the paper. And most of those things are completely pointless. BYU was a million times less stressful than my high school and I am about to tell you why.

STUPID WAYS THAT I SPENT MY TIME IN COLLEGE

* During my first month of college, I made up a fake email address: byuhonorcode@hotmail.com. I immediately started e-mailing fraudulent letters, chastising my friends for their violations.

Example:
Dear Sister So and So,
We have recently been informed that you were seen wearing unapproved booty shorts at a local Target on September 7, 1999. We are forced to remind you that you represent the university and its values, both on and off the campus. We will give you this opportunity to repent before action is taken. Please review the Strength of the Youth pamphlet. We love you, sister, and hope that you will overcome this challenge. Please report to ASB 153 on Monday. Insert irrelevant scripture reference.

Love,
The Honor Code Office

I sent lots of them and girls freaked out about the omniscience of the Honor Code office, until they noticed the "hotmail." Well, they actually didn't notice the hotmail-I was so proud of myself that I couldn't keep it a secret.

* I got in an argument with another girl in the dorms over "pantsed," vs. "depantsed," so we called every number in the ward directory in a futile attempt to settle the dispute. A few short years later, in a fit of insanity, I depantsed my friend Bethany in the Santo Domingo International Airport. The Dominicans were confused.

* One of my professors had a sad life, so my friend Tiff and I made him cookies and a card with his picture on it from the faculty website. Then we looked up his address in the phone book and ding dong ditched him. He answered too quickly and Tiff had to hide behind a car until he went back inside. In retrospect, those were the scariest 3 minutes of my life. If my students did that, I would call the police.

* Supersoaking people's goodbye kiss on the dorm steps. Ok, lie, I was laughing in the background.

* Patiently memorized the Spanish lyrics of every Shakira song. I seriously sat around, singing them over and over until I perfected them. If I were more carefree and fun, I would take that talent to a karaoke bar.

* Gave countless interviews to student Daily Universe reporters-I even wrote an outraged letter to the editor after my cousin's interview with the governor was rejected for the front page in favor of an article about fish hatcheries. That letter was stupid enough that I just found it online and refuse to share it, but in my defense, I knew it was lame as I was writing it. I have since moved away from the genre "Mormon sacrament talk humor."

I have no idea what this is about, but it seems to support my thesis:


To be continued...

In Which My Hatred of Smiley Face Emoticons is Avenged

I just wrote an outline for a good blog at Institute, but I am going to bed, so look for it tomorrow afternoon.

I kind of take pride in the fact that for better or for worse, my personality doesn't really change according to the circumstances. When a woman I know opined that everyone has two faces, I just stared at her blankly. As I was passing that judgment, I forgot that I do sort of have a cheesy teacher alter ego-sometimes my syrupy voice annoys myself (but it is NOT the Relief Society voice). I was really surprised when my former co-workers kept describing me as calm, because I don't see myself like that at all. Teens just bring out weird, Disney Princess type qualities in me. I was surprised today about what transpired when a student approached my desk because he hadn't completed his test. I told him that he could come in during Study Hall to finish it and asked him who his teacher was. He thought for a minute and said, "Ummmm... I don't remember her name. She is the other happy teacher."

God's Avenging Angel of the Playground

A common thread that has run through every job that I have had until now is that employees do not seem to have a vested interest in the success of the institution. People would always roll their eyes and say, "Only at fill in the blank with the workplace" or, "Classicfill in the blank with the workplace." People even did that at my job in Utah, which I really liked. I have not heard one comment like that at Catholic school, which is really motivating. I haven't even heard a kid say that the school sucks.

I am pretty careful about what I write about work on here, because my school from Honduras was less than enthusiastic about my coverage of the laxity of their hiring processes-let's just say that they once employed someone who appeared on America's Most Wanted. I still will be, but I think that now I can write a little more openly about the extraordinary saga that was the Turkish school. If you are curious, I would implore you to click on this link (the link is the word "this"-in spite of good advice, I can't figure out how to change the link's color). So here's a quick story.

There were very diverse opinions about work ethic amongst the staff and the five or six teachers who regularly attended school had to substitute constantly. I would be surprised if I went a week without substituting. I substituted sixth grade once and took them to the neighborhood park. For some reason, in spite of the fact that school was not yet over, some high schoolers were hanging out there without an adult. One of the students was throwing water on everyone, which invoked the ire of his tough Bosnian classmate. The subsequent beat down lasted about thirty seconds, while some neighborhood kids gathered footage. I may or may not be on youtube somewhere, encouraging them to stop. The defeated party was so embarrassed by the ease of his annihilation that he ran away, while yelling, "I will expletive deleted you up!"

After I took the sixth graders back to school, I went straight to the office and recounted the violent events for the principal. He thought about it for a moment and said, "Sometimes in life, God uses other people to send you a message. In this beating, the message that He was sending was, 'You are annoying.'"

Abrupt subject change

Yesterday I received my new drivers license and was excited to see that instead of showing my birthday as February 11, it said December 11. It feels so good to be in my twenties again, even if it is only in the eyes of the Commonwealth of Virginia. In 2011 I have had licenses in Illinois, New York and Virginia. The state of Illinois is so disorganized that my voter registration from 1999 is still valid, in spite of the fact that I have been concurrently registered to vote in Utah, New York and now Virginia and have not lived there in twelve years. I discovered this in 2008 when I was at my parent's house in November and decided to try voting. You're welcome, Obama. They don't ask for identification, so someone could have come and pretended to be my sister (who lives in Texas), because she was on the list too.

Miss Jill's Lexicon of Slang

This first comment is irrelevant to the rest of the post, but today I was teaching sixth period and my contact unexpectedly flew out of my right eye. A student in the front row got excited and shouted, "She's blind. Everybody run!"

Because I spent four years teaching non-native English speakers, I have picked up the habit of constantly over enunciating (I originally spelled this "annunciate"-too much Catholic School, I guess). I never noticed it, but an actress pointed it out and she was right. For that reason, I think it is really funny to use slang once in a while, because it sounds so unnatural coming out of my mouth. Kind of like Cousin Mitt inexplicably saying "Who let the dogs out?" on Martin Luther King Day (but not as offensive):



Listen carefully-his tone of voice doesn't change at all.

I am quick to ask for a definition every time that I hear a new word and the kids are often incredulous at the paucity of my vocabulary. I learned my lesson about pretending to know things in seventh grade, when a girl said, "I love Alice Cooper" and I replied, "Me too. She is great!"

Alice Cooper:



I teach this special class about developing social skills every Wednesday and that is a good vocabulary opportunity. After I asked for a few definitions in a row, a girl warned, "Stop! She will know too much!" I don't want to keep this knowledge to myself, so I am going to share a few vernacular nuggets. I have received some help from urbandictionary.com in my studies.

Bougie- Someone who aspires to a higher economic status or anything perceived as upscale from a working class point of view. Derived from "bourgeoisie." I like to use this to describe my social justice friends when they have a sweet ride and live in luxury condos.

O.D. (New York)- To overdo or exaggerate. If your teacher gives you 200 math problems for homework, that's o.d.

Jonin (DC)- It means to bother or tease someone. How I learned it, "Miss, those other kids are jonin me!" Me: I need a definition of "jonin" before I can help you with this issue.

Tight- This usage depends where you are. I think it is usually positive, as in, "Your new car is TIGHT!" Or "that new student is really tight. I wonder if he would date me." However, in New York the kids always used it to make fun of people. For example, if you raised your hand and said something weird and the teacher said you were incorrect, "You tight!" If your girlfriend breaks up with you, "You tight!" If you stepped on a ketchup packet and it squirted onto your pants, "You tight!"

Abuse Case (New York, I think)- Someone who does a lot of embarrassing stuff, like hooking up with tons of different guys, which forces everyone to talk about them in a negative manner.

I am falling asleep, to be continued.

Identify Yourself, Purveyor of Urban Legends

Ok, I talked to someone recently who adamantly insisted that Magic Johnson cured himself of AIDS by having doctors do so many blood transfusions that it was completely eradicated from his body. I was dubious, but forgot to google it until right now. Who were you and how do you support your claims? I have too many weird conversations in a typical month to remember. You may contact me by text or e-mail to save face.

R.I.P. Miss Jill

First-I have shared this with a few people, but want to make it public knowledge that through some malicious clerical error/I don't pay enough attention when filling out forms, I am listed on my Virginia license as a non-organ donor. That is a mistake. I have felt strongly about this topic since my second grade teacher, Ms. Turnquist, was the recipient of a liver in the late eighties. If my wishes are contested, please print this blog entry as proof. I also feel like I should share my express wishes regarding my funeral.

My Funeral Plans

* Classical music or hymns only (but nothing upbeat about sunshine or mentioning Kolob). If a teen performs a breathy rendition of an EFY/Mormon pop song, don't be surprised if the coffin flies open and something freaky goes down. There will be the same result if my hair is styled with bangs, a butch 'do or I am put in a t-shirt or a fashion scarf.

* Serving ham to mourners after my funeral would be blatantly disrespecting my memory. Ham grosses me out and when someone was eating it on the subway, I was forced to switch cars. It is also highly likely that some Muslims will be present. Vegan desserts are also prohibited.It would be more appropriate to serve something I actually eat regularly, like a green smoothie buffet. Or let's make it easy and get Thai food catered.

* Don't feel like you have to hold back your grief as a testament to your religious convictions. If you feel it necessary to drop to your knees to scream, "NOOOOO!!!!!!!," please do. It is not the time for restraint.

* If you are not that nice to me or you think that I am the eccentric spinster relative, please do not front like you are the chief mourner. You may come if you show remorse for what you have done. I have already assigned some people to regulate that.

* No boring talks from religious leaders who don't know me. If anyone contests my wishes, please change the venue. Any spiritual messages must directly reference Jesus.

* The first thirty minutes will be dedicated to testimonials about how my picture drawing wrought miracles in their lives. The next hour will be someone with a midwestern accent reading excerpts from my blog. I would assign my sister, Jr., but I think that I will outlive her. Three children under three cannot increase a person's longevity and I have taken fish oil every day for four years. The last thirty minutes will consist of a world capitals geography contest. The winner will receive all of my books (hope you like to read about foreign countries and mental diseases). The loser will receive my international doll collection.

* Feel free to photoshop any pictures of me in the slideshow tribute. Actually, please just put my head on Kim Kardashian's body.

The executor of these requests will be my oldest living sibling. I am glad that my wishes are now known, but this is making me sad, so the end.

Jump, Little Hobbit: Asia Edition

I'm pretty sure that I have previously written that my baby brother places items out of my reach and jeers, "Jump, little hobbit!" Life has its difficulties when you experience it from a sixth-grade altitude, but when I lived in Honduras, this issue all but disappeared. I remember being in a room at church once and realizing with glee that I was the tallest person in the room (5'1"). I also always thought of nail salons as a similar sanctuary from a cruel world filled with overgrown beasts. I was wrong. Last week, I went to get a pedicure and as she was working, the technician looked at my sandals and scowled. "What is this? Very small shoe. Very small shoe. For child." Whenever the adult six 6 is too big and there is nothing lower, I have fantasized about the shoe stores of Ho Chi Minh City-they had to have a great selection of miniature shoes. Maybe not. A dream died as she laboriously scraped my heel.

You Would Enjoy Driving In DC If...

The first few days that I drove here left me with the lingering sensation of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder-it seriously took me about a half an hour to calm down. The low point was when I had to call a friend from some random industrial park in McLean to beg her to look up where I was and how to get to her without getting back on the freeway. In my defense, I haven't really driven for years and there was a monsoon all last week.

* You want to constantly relive that dazed feeling you got in the corn maze as a BYU coed.
* Your turn signal is broken and you can't afford to fix it. Not necessary.
* You turn on your emergency lights and slowly cruise for miles... just because.
* Your x-ray vision can see through the trees hanging over street signs.
* You drive a city bus and see no need to check your blind spot.
* You quickly glide across four lanes of traffic blindfolded, hoping for the best.
* You like taking three different freeways to get to another suburb ten miles away.
* You enjoy circling the block, quietly praying that a parking spot will materialize. Actually, the situation here is much better than in Brooklyn (try finding parking on Friday night after sundown), but people complain about it.

All the praying that I do while driving has taken me to a whole new level of spirituality.

The Mubarak/Eagle Scout Connection

I think that it stems from too many years spent in honors classes, but I secretly harbor some warm feelings towards hacktivists.* I am curious, but did anyone else have the experience that in A.P. classes, most of the girls were socially mainstream, but you wouldn't be surprised if half of the guys harnessed their precocious knowledge of chemistry towards some nefarious end? As I don't really care if people are socially mainstream, please do not interpret this as an insult-those are the kinds of people who end up inventing Facebook or something.

I started reading about Anonymous, a collective of hacktivists, when I was doing research on Scientology. Since I have to ask teenagers to help me whenever I want to make Facebook changes (one reason it was useful to live with the NYOM), I can't really explain what exactly they do, but a component of it is called denial-of-service attacks. In support of Wikileaks, they took down both the Visa and Mastercard websites for a day. Some other targets have been the Sony Playstation Network, oppressive Arab regimes and the governments of Turkey, Brazil, Zimbabwe and Australia. In short, they are a pretty awe-inspiring coalition of nerds. This isn't meant to be a treatise on the virtues of their cause, but you get the idea. Mostly I am just impressed with their hacking skills. And maybe the government shouldn't be doing so much stuff that they need to hide.

So I was doing some light reading on the topic the other day and came across another victim of Anonymous. He is a California teen named McKay Hatch, who is the founder of an organization called "The No Cussing Club."

You might enjoy a short clip of his work:



Ok, I know my people when I see them and it was easy to confirm that little McKay was Mormon. He is just following in the proud tradition of sending a petition to your local department store teeming with immodest clothing/studios who make R-rated movies, writing a press release and then making sure that the New Era finds out about your enormous courage. Incidentally, I have so much clothes that if they made more modest clothing, I would probably have to rent a storage unit. I have never even worn anything skanky over a white t-shirt.

So Anonymous hacked the dad's e-mail and found out that they were charging $1500 per No Cussing Club speaking engagement and hoped to earn $2.5 million from the enterprise. I have worked in enough high schools to know how well this would be received in an assembly. Then they leaked their home address, which resulted in profanity laced hate mail and dozens of pizza and Playboy deliveries. It is sad that a teen got pulled into this, but come on, why are you trying to get rich off your child's social suicide?

Source: http://en.wikinews.org/wiki/Internet_group_Anonymous_hacks_No_Cussing_Club's_website,_owner's_e-mail_account

* Per Wikipedia- Hacktivism (a portmanteau of hack and activism) is the use of computers and computer networks as a means of protest to promote political ends. Much as hacking can mean both constructive and destructive activitites, activism similarly includes both explicitly non-violent action (from the models of Martin Luther King and Mahatma Gandhi) and violent revolutionary activities (Che Guevara). If hacking as "illegally breaking into computers" is assumed, then hacktivism could be defined as "the nonviolent use of illegal or legally ambiguous digital tools in pursuit of political ends".*

In Which I Am Not An Activist, But Play One In My Social LIfe

When I resigned from College Republicans leadership in 2001, I vowed to never become politically active again. There were too many annoying herbs* with Messiah complexes who thought that urging people to vote Republican in Utah was shaking up the political landscape. For the last few years, I have liked to think of myself as a mild mannered school teacher, living a quiet teen-filled life, unhampered by party alliances. A productive cog in the wheel of American society, if you will. My job has kind of been how I rationalize that I am fulfilling the social justice requirements of Christian belief and things have been pretty peaceful. A cursory reading of the Economist every week/The Daily Show is as much as I really want to think about it.

However, I seem to have fallen in with an activist crowd as of late. You know, the people who taped their mouths closed in front of BYU and never seemed to graduate? Yeah. So on Friday, I went to an anarchist meeting out of curiosity. Some highlights:

* We were 30+ years under the median age of the attendees. Great feeling. It reminded me that my parents were too young to have been hippies, because even they would have felt young there, in spite of qualifying for AARP.

* A glance around the room revealed that I wear too much makeup to be an activist and I'm pretty sure that I was the only person present rocking business casual. I'm sorry, but I will never think that an anti-nuclear proliferation t-shirt (or any t-shirt) constitutes an outfit.

* The speaker was a former nun who married a former priest and went to prison for three years for dismantling weapons. During the Q & A, someone asked a question about war tax resistance and she said that she had never really had any taxable income to worry about. There are some perks to living on a commune, I suppose.

* The basic idea behind war tax resistance is that people don't want to pay taxes to a government that will then use the money to fund a war. I get that. Once I paid tithing and wrote on the form, "For the express purpose of heating this building," because it was always freezing. If you have a job that takes out income tax, that can be difficult. What they do is claim a dozen dependents so that they will not get a refund. Then, when April comes around, they write a letter to the IRS explaining why they refuse to pay. One of the men said, "I said that I had 13 children -who knows, I might have that many around the world." My friend audibly booed. This seems to be risky, because a few participants announced the dates of their impending trials and implored the group to pray for them.

* Something must have resonated with me, because my friend's husband kept referencing, "the point in time when Jill was nodding vigorously."

I will say that I have started wondering at what point it starts becoming immoral to not oppose your corrupt government, especially when the actions of said government impact the entire world.

* Herb: Nerd; dork; geek; generally uncool person. Originated in early 1980s Burger King ad campaign in which a nerd named HERB was featured. The term was subsequently embraced by the hip hop generation.

Guy 1: Yo, I saw Melvin in the bathroom crying because he got a 93 on the math test!

Guy 2: Word? That kid is a total HERB!

From urbandictionary.com

In Which The Dog Ate Much More Than Homework

Ok, I have a lot of things to catch up on now that I'm not living on the couches of benevolent friends/living in the Hilton (my dad felt sorry for me). My new job is pretty fun. On the first day of school, shortly after the beginning of sixth period, I was introducing myself when one of the students yelled, "The ground is shaking!" Maybe you are from California and think that you are really bad a, but I became scared, mostly because I missed orientation, did not know the emergency procedures (or the kids) and mid-adolescents are not renowned for keeping cool in a crisis. Although there were some broken windows and a lot of hyperventilating, we pulled through. I must be more aware of my own mortality at age 30 than I was at 25, because I was in an earthquake with kids when I taught in Honduras and I just started laughing.

One of my Bosnian students at Turkish school gave me an engraved pen with my birthstone in it and I let one of my students borrow it. I told him that it was important to me and that he had to make sure to give it back to me before he left. He asked, "What if there is another earthquake and I have to run for it?" I replied, "Throw it behind you as you run away." I got distracted when class ended and he absconded with my pen. I can't judge this, as I still have a pair of slippers that belong to the Mesa, Arizona temple. The next day I inquired about the location of my pen and he said, "It is gone. On the way home from school, I got attacked by a pit bull. I threw all of my belongings on the ground and ran."
"Were there any witnesses?"
"The pit bull."
I conceded.