An American in Paris

When it's 1:00 am and you're sitting on top of your luggage in the Charles de Gaulle Airport because you're far too cheap to pay for a hostel that you'd really only be using for about 7 hours, and you have resigned yourself to staying up all night because you don't trust what might happen should you close your eyes for 2 minutes...

...you watch My Big Redneck Wedding, a CMT gem that conveniently offers one free episode on iTunes.

Nothing says charm like a marriage in a mud bog, under a beer can arch.  And nothing says class like watching this show in Paris. This is how you feel truly American. No shame at all.

Lines...

...should be the determining factor in whether or not a country is considered "first world." The ability to create a civilized queue.  To honor order.  To respect personal space. Lines.

I wait in a line
Suffocation, no breathing
Spooning with Asians

If there's one thing that really pushes my buttons--gets my panties in a twist--shivers me timbers--it is people who don't know how to form lines. And when those same people get all up in my grill, completely ignorant of personal space, as if that is going to make the line go faster. Especially after 32 hours of trains, planes and airports, I have no tolerance for such people.

In line for passport control at LAX, home girl was seriously pushing her luck. There were veritable acres of free space around us. Room enough to do a set of 10 cartwheels. She could have stood anywhere.  But some neanderthal, barbaric instinct in her made her stand right up against me. I would inch up. She would follow. This went on for a couple minutes until I couldn't handle it anymore and started inching backwards, backing up into her. I still don't think she got the point.

Below, the white dotted line designates my personal bubble. IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK??? AM I REALLY THAT DEMANDING??? 

On the Olympics

Thoughts and observations during the first week of the 2012 Summer Olympic Games.

-Roger Federer has beautiful hair.

-The position of middle ball girl/boy on the back wall of the tennis court should be an Olympic sport of its own.

-The underwater cams used in Men's Water Polo are disturbing and completely unnecessary.

-To my dismay and severe disappointment, the one broadcasting company in Romania that covers the Olympics for some reason hates beach volleyball and loves fencing. Kind of depressing.

-Swimmers are always forced to present themselves on the podium and be praised and applauded directly after exiting the pool, looking often like wet rats.

-Nevertheless, this wet-rat syndrome doesn't seem to affect the men of Team USA, who are clearly carrying genes of demi-gods.

-No matter they just accomplished one of the greatest feats of athleticism, the fame of Olympic athletes is solidified the moment they are tweeted about by Justin Bieber or Lady Gaga.

-Women weightlifters are not actually women.

-Rowing events would be a million times more exciting if they were being chased by man-eating sharks.

-China definitely traffics child slaves to win medals. Their ages are more and more dubious each Olympics. 

 "I root for anyone who is playing against a North Korean. 
Mean, I know, but I just hate that horrible regime and
don't want any glory for that country and it's current despot.
I'm not crazy about China either as I just don't trust them." -My Mom

Happy Sunday: The Work Goes Forth

This week's Happy Sunday post is devoted simply to this darling couple and the work on which they are about to embark, as well as to the other stalwart members of the Church here in Romania.

Brother and Sister Radu are Romania's first senior couple to serve a mission.  They have been called to serve in the Bern, Switzerland LDS Temple for 2 years, starting tomorrow.

My heart is so full of joy, seeing this sweet couple dedicate their time, money, and energy to serving the Lord and His children. They are a tremendous example to the other members here in Romania, and evidence that the Church truly has grown and developed since entering these borders in 1990.

There are so many wonderful, faithful members in this country.  The Radus, I'm sure, are the first of many senior couples from Romania who will go forth to share the gospel as represents of the Lord Jesus Christ.

And this is Andreei, a young man from Ploiești who was here in Cluj a couple weeks ago for a joint Cluj-Ploiești youth activity.  At the activity, he showed off his own "I'm a Mormon" video that he made himself.  This video alone speaks volumes to the incredible faith and strength of the youth here. Andreei is currently waiting for his mission call and undoubtedly will serve with all his heart, might, mind, and soul wherever he is called.




And ye shall go forth in the power of my Spirit, preaching my gospel, two by two, in my name, lifting up your voices as with the sound of a trump, declaring my word like unto angels of God. (D&C 42:6)

Happy Sunday: We Seek After These Things

In the LDS Church we have what are called the 13 Articles of Faith.  These articles were written by the prophet Joseph Smith in a letter to Chicago Democrat editor John Wentworth, as a response to his question: "What do Mormons believe?"

I'd like to devote a few inches of blog space to the 13th Article of Faith, which reads as follows:

We believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, and in doing good to all men; indeed, we may say that we follow the admonition of Paul--We believe all things, we hope all things, we have endured many things, and we hope to be able to endure all things. If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report, we seek after these things. 

Ok yeah, so I saw Magic Mike last night, which basically violates every word of the 13th Article of Faith. Don't get me wrong, Channing Tatum.  You are lovely. But you are as far from virtuous as Tug O' War is from being an Olympic sport (oh wait...).  My naivete strikes again! Next time I see that a movie is about male strippers, I won't assume the best and fancy the idea that perhaps it is about male strippers finding Jesus  or male strippers teaching blind children to play the piano. I'll just accept that it is about male strippers...stripping.

By means of repentance I tried to extract any shred of moral goodness that could possibly be found in this movie.  That failed.  So I nursed my bruised conscience by reciting the 13th Article of Faith in my head.  It really is a good one. And perhaps the easiest to forget.  How often can our entertainment, topics of conversation, etc. be constituted as praiseworthy and virtuous?  I'll throw out a completely fabricated statistic and say about 30% of the time, or less.

Little children are far better at living the 13th than anyone else. They are so pure and think and act so purely. I mean, look at these kids!  They're brilliant and angelic in so many ways.  Watch this. And then consider your personal devotion to seeking after honest, virtuous, lovely, chaste things.

Oh, and Happy Sunday.

...aaaand we're BACK!

...by popular demand!

My 15 minutes of fame spread from regional to national, as I made an appearance on TVR1, Romania's national news station.  Apparently they liked what they saw on Transylvanian news a couple weeks ago and wanted in on the fun.

Again, I really don't understand the fascination.  There really is nothing of interest to report on.  No one cares that the Romanian government collapsed and that President Basescu is suspended from office.  And the "luxury" sex trafficking of young girls to government officials is no biggie. Nor is the fact that there are daily protests against the new socialist prime minister.

Nah. None of that is nearly as captivating as the fact that there are a group of foreigners living in Cluj, learning Romanian for the summer.  We had them at "foreigners."

My colleague, Daniel, and I were invited to be interviewed live by one of the anchors at TVR1 last week.  A 30 min. special all about us. The hot lights and cameras in our faces.  The anchorman desk with bar stools.  The commercial breaks.  I've lived one hour away from Hollywood for the majority of my life and yet I had to come all the way to post-Commie, 2nd-world Romania to make it on the big screen.  

The show isn't on-line, but they're sending me a copy of it in the mail, so I'll see what I can do about getting it up here so you can all see me look like a silly fool.  Some stupid language mistakes but it wasn't entirely horrendous. The best part was that the anchorwoman was definitely not dressed in the typical sold-colored blazer that we're used to seeing sported by our media figures in America.  Oooh no!  Why should she be constrained by codes of professionalism and class, when she can look this this! 

European Nightlife, Part II

You got a taste of the Cluj scene in Part I.

Now it's time to introduce you to the nightlife in Romanian villages.  And when I say village, I mean so far away from urban civilization that the horses far outnumber the cars and the streets are stained with dung instead of oil leaks.

Welcome to Ieud (Yeh-ood). Say it out loud.  This village embodies its name.

Upon our arrival in Ieud, we were greeted by open-mouthed stares on behalf of the villagers. I've never felt like such a novelty, and that's a lot coming from a short, blonde, fair-skinned Mormon girl in Romania. It was a Saturday night, so obviously we were dying to experience the Ieud party scene.  This is how it works:


After a 3-course mama-made meal of ciorbă, sarmale, mămăligă, papanași, and backyard-brewed țuică (those of you who know what these are also know that I didn't drink the țuică, but I can tell you it smells like nail polish remover), you go to your room in the quaint, traditionally-decorated farmhouse and let the vegetable oil settle for an hour or so.  Then, you make your way past the giant wooden gate that came straight from Middle Earth.  You head out on the town (which consists of one road, about a mile long, lined with more farmhouses) in the pitch black, by light of cell phone, being careful to avoid any piles of manure or bails of hay that may obstruct your course. 


You anxiously scan the horizon, squinting your eyes in search of any fleck of light that might signal a form of life.  You find something about a 1/2-mile down the road.  Romanian pop covers filled with plenty of accordion and electronica beats can be heard. This is it!  Ieud's one and only pub/club/social gathering hot spot that isn't a church. 


You enter through the veil of smoke that is signature of any public establishment in Romania.  All eyes turn to you.  All 10 of them. It doesn't take long to number the 5 people sitting round the tables inside.  All are men. You order a beer if you're Dutch, a Fanta if you're South African (both of which were cheaper than the water), and nothing if you're an American who never uses vegetable oil, let alone eats an entire bowl of it for dinner. You take your seat at a table and look on as the 19-year-old in charge of the tunes practices his DJ-ing skills and seeks your approval as he proudly plays one horrendous cover after the other. Some more locals will show up, after they were undoubtedly called up by their friends to come on down and see the foreigners.  One of said locals will wink at you if you're Dutch.  You will get uncomfortable because you're male and so is the winker.  Then you go home. 


In the morning, if the 5 a.m. roosters don't wake you up, the 7 a.m. church bells will.  And then you will be sent on your merry way after a breakfast of milk straight from the cow and eggs freshly popped out of the hen. 

Click to enlarge