Recurring Dreams

When I was around 6 I started having this recurring nightmare where my entire family sat on a couch together, Simpsons style, staring out this glass door that led to the back porch. Tweedledee and Tweedledum from the animated Disney version of Alice in Wonderland would dance just behind the glass while we all watched. My whole family would be laughing.

All of that was bad enough. Disney films from that era--whatever that era is--were indistinguishable from horror films of today.

Looking at you, Fantasia.

Door-to-Door

Today, my story from our most recent Strangerville Live. Check it out on Strangerville--written version below:

This time in Strangerville, a discussion about “Oh, The Places You’ll Go.” Then Eli takes the Strangerville Live stage to talk about the time he called 911 on a door-to-door salesman.

Story

Door-to-Door, by Eli McCann

Production by Eli McCann & Meg Walter

Neck Pillow

I don't travel well. Truly.

I'm talking about the actual act of traveling. Not being in a different place. I like that part, mostly. Depending on the place. And how old I feel. And how much I'm liking my own bed at the moment.

But the act of getting myself from one place to the next = not a thing I do well.

Whenever we have to fly somewhere Skylar bribes me with treats and compliments in a usually fruitless effort to keep me from becoming, as he calls it, "Mr. Cranky Pants" by the time we land at our destination.

Flying just takes a lot out of me. The hauling of bags. The being eyed suspiciously by people who are paid to weed out terrorists. The airport energy, which can only be described as "fatigued panic." The waiting. The climbing into a confined space that can fly for a reason that literally no one in the world understands and science can't explain. The arm-to-arm contact with a stranger who is transmitting a personal dose of fatigued panic. The sitting for sometimes many hours. The recycled air. The looming fear that at any given moment we could all be dead and there's literally nothing any of us can do about it. The waiting on a hot plane for the fatigued panicky masses to unload.

AND THEN YOU AREN'T EVEN AT YOUR DESTINATION because you still have to navigate another airport and whatever chaos surrounds your airport transportation.

To Be Seen

I kept myself busy throughout my life as a coping mechanism. If I was too busy to stop and think, I would be too busy to be afraid. If I was too busy to stop and think, I would be too busy to suffocate from my cognitive dissonance. If I was too busy to stop and think, I would be too busy to have to grapple with being gay.

So I absorbed myself in dozens of hobbies and I signed up for everything. In high school I ran cross country and track & field, I sang (badly) in the school choir, I went to every school activity, and I packed my life with social events--as many as I could find.

In college I took a full class load and worked sometimes as many as three jobs at once. "I like being busy," I would tell people when they asked me how I had the energy to do everything I was doing.

The truth was I didn't like being that busy. I didn't like having a plate so full of tasks, many I didn't really enjoy doing, that I constantly felt overwhelmed. I didn't like not sleeping. It was stressful. But I was terrified of the alternative.

I would watch my friends guard their free time and I would feel jealous of them. Then I'd watch them get married and slip away. So I would make myself even busier, busy enough that I wouldn't have time to think about what my future looked like.

REAMS.

There's a grocery store chain in Utah called REAMS, and this place is a trip.

First of all, this is what it looks like on the outside:

No, that picture is not from the early 80s. That is what REAMS and the cars currently parked in front of it look like today.

At REAMS, it is always Utah in 1983.

There was a REAMS down the street from my house when I was growing up. It was our go-to store. Why wouldn't it be? In one single stop you could buy cantaloupe, one of those giant rainbow jawbreakers, and jeans.

A Night of Rage

Clint Betts runs The Beehive so he's basically our big scary boss. We made him tell a story at Strangerville Live, and this might be the funniest thing to ever come out of Spanish Fork Utah. Please enjoy.

This episode also includes some only slightly depressing discussion from me and Meg, prompted partly by a beautiful thing she wrote last week. Take a look, if you haven't already.

This time in Strangerville, a conversation about how to deal with depressing news. Also, a man takes the Strangerville Live stage to talk about a night his small Utah town will never forget.

Story:

A Night of Rage, by Clint Betts

Production by Eli McCann & Meg Walter

Engagement Photos

My very talented soon-to-be brother-in-law, Brady, visited us last month. Skylar's sisters and their children came as well. For a full week, somewhere around 84 people were staying in my house. The fact that we didn't all contract meningitis was a true Pioneer Day miracle.

Brady is a photographer, and since he heard that Utah didn't have any of those, he decided to bring his camera on the trip so he could find out in person how completely unphotogenic I am.

I'm not kidding about this. It's a true curse. I should be compensated for it somehow. They should let me board planes first and skip the line at Disneyland.

It doesn't matter how I'm looking or how well-rested I am or how many times I've had the stomach flu in the last month, the moment a camera gets pointed at me I transform into Sloth from The Goonies.

Basically I'm trying to tell all of you who have never seen me in real life that I'm incredibly hot. You would totally faint if you saw me. Srsly.

Skylar doesn't understand my problem. You could snap a picture of him from a moving vehicle just after he passed out in a pool of his own vomit and it will somehow look like he's getting ready to walk the red carpet at the Oscars.

Science Fair

After a couple of weeks off, we are back with more Strangerville. And in happy news, the Strangerville Podcast is now a part of The Beehive. Pretty much all that means is we've sold our souls and Meg and I are now paid $1,000,000 per episode. That, and we have re-branded.

Please enjoy a truly exceptional story from our most recent Strangerville Live (written version below).

This time in Strangerville, simultaneously the best and worst karaoke to ever travel the seas. Also, a woman takes the Strangerville Live stage to talk about a science fair mishap.

Story:

Time Machine, by Alisa Van Langeveld

Production by Eli McCann, Meg Walter, & The Beehive

Pictures from my Phone & Weekly Distractions

I'm getting yelled at right now because I just admitted to Skylar that the reason Duncan got up in the middle of the night last night and wanted to play was because I woke up first had to give him so much tickles. So I better go. But anyway, enjoy some Pictures & Distractions:

They took our photos for The Beehive. Sorry if my hair broke your computer.