When William Joseph met The Slasher

I recently drove 167 miles to go to a concert.

(Well, I was supposed to drive, but once my intended passenger discovered my car doesn't have an air conditioner, I became the passenger and we drove her car, but that's beside the point…)

When your hometown offers a free concert by William Joseph (read: FREE and WILLIAM JOSEPH), it's worth driving 334 miles to attend. Some things just have to be done.

I first fell in love with William Joseph way, waaaaaay back when I was in my "I'm going to marry Josh Groban" phase. William Joseph is a pianist who signed with David Foster and subsequently opened for Josh on tour. Josh must've written about William on his website, and if Josh was a fan, I was a fan.

A few years later, I got to see William Joseph perform at Women's Conference at BYU and was blown away. (Have you ever seen a pianist's fingers move so fast that they turn into a solid blur? I have…)

But my favorite William Joseph memory doesn’t involve William Joseph at all.

No, my favorite memory involves a pageant and a girl my family lovingly calls "The Slasher."

*I shan't tell who The Slasher is (I mean, I could, but I won't), so you'll have to be content with just the story.*

A couple of years ago I was competing at the Miss Utah pageant. Pageants are a funny business. Contestants may say they want to be friends and that they don't care about the title, but the second you put a sparkly crown in front of them, they'll start fighting like… well… girls.

Basically that means they'll start trying to undermine each other's confidence.

One of the best examples of this (which I didn't see, fortunately) happened a few years before I got involved in pageants. A girl decided that the best way to scare the other girls was to show off her perfect bikini-ready body. Naturally, the most convenient way to do this was to walk around naked.

Girls will do things like exaggerate their accomplishments, claim credit for passing laws in the legislature, get into fundraising wars, and (my favorite) brag about their shoe size during getting-to-know-you games.

Me: "What's something we have in common? Oh! What size of shoe do you wear?"

Girl: "Haha. We definitely won't have the same shoe size."

Me: "What's yours?"

Girl: "I wear a three in children's shoes."

Me: "What size is that in adult?"

Girl: "Five"

Me: "Huh. Me too. Sign the paper."

(True story. And she was ticked.)

Anyway, The Slasher was a master at the intimidation game. She would stalk around like a black widow, pretending to be nice, but secretly eating girls when nobody else was looking.

(Okay, slight exaggeration.)

This year, though, The Slasher decided that the best way to intimidate the other girls was to claim that she had personally written her talent number. The Slasher played the piano, and she spent ages bragging about how amazing her piece was. When her talent rehearsal day came, everyone in the audience waited, ready to be stunned by the astonishing, mind-blowing music she had written all by herself.

(Disclaimer: I WISH I could remember for sure what song it was. I couldn't find my Miss Utah DVD to double check, but I'm 99% positive I've got it right… Just pretend it's the right song, because it probably is.)

She sat down to play, and this is what I heard:

This is what I did:

"Hey, wait a minute."

See, I knew that song. I knew who wrote the particular arrangement. And I knew it wasn't The Slasher.

What's a girl to do with knowledge like that? Hmmmm…

After The Slasher ran through her talent number and went to sit in the audience in order to soak up the praise from her many admirers ("I can't believe you wrote that! It was amazing!"), I might've…  maybe...  purposely worked my way to her side and said this rather loudly:

Me: "That was a William Joseph piece, wasn't it? From his Within album? He's an amazing pianist."

*crickets*

The Slasher: "Um…well… But… I mean… I reworked it a lot… I had to cut it down…"

Me: "Riiiiiight… Well, see you later!"

BAM. 

INTIMIDATION WAR WON

Thanks William.

Soul mates

So I have this theory — because I have theories on everything — that people are attracted to certain characteristics for a reason.

This theory has been carefully developed from a mix of silly romantic fancies about true love and soul mates, and the (probably) heretical doctrine of the Mormon cult classic, "Saturday's Warrior." 

And now… to engage in a little tongue-in-cheekery… 

I have this idea that we're here on earth looking for the one — the right one, the special one, the one who completes you — and I also have this twisted idea that we know who that person is. This (in my mind) explains why we are attracted to certain traits that other people might not find
attractive. Why else would I be attracted to certain types of noses? Why would Shannen be attracted to certain types of bone structure? Why do other people look at teeth, or eyes, or dimples, or body type first? There must be a reason for our preferences, right?

I'm telling you, this theory totally makes sense. The answer is soul mates. We're looking for the person we instinctively know we're supposed to be with.

And since now I’m an ancient 25-year-old, I've decided it's time to start looking for that dang soul mate. Therefore, I've put together a brilliant way to identify what he will look like, which will naturally make the hunt much easier. 

So, to start, we'll begin with Mark Hildreth's structure. He's both delicate and manly; strong, but not lineman-ish. I approve.

Then, since I’m attracted to noses (I hate mine, so I simply MUST marry a handsome nose), my soul mate will need to have the perfect nose. This means throwing in a little Rupert Evans.

Obviously my guy will need eyes, so I think we'll go with Henry Cavill eyes — blue or thereabouts. I always favor lighter over darker.

In terms of hair, I like it longish and dark. My brothers bemoan my adoration of "1995 hair," but that's how it is. If more boys at BYU would ditch the missionary haircuts and let their hair grow a little (a la Riley Nelson) more of them would graduate with a wife.

Hmmm. That was a smidge off-topic… 

Let's go with Zachary Levi hair. Dark, curly or straight, and lovely. A little like Josh Groban, only less homeless looking.

And finally, my future husband is going to need lips. For this, I'll have to go with the cheeky, roguish grin and dimples of a certain Ewan McGregor.

Let's see…

I think that's all…

Yep, let's mix it up a little…

Hmmm….

There.

Drumroll, please

This is my future husband, based 100% on my theory of natural attraction: 

Gee. I'd better get hunting...

Or… 

I'd gladly take the perfection of James Purefoy and skip the hunting part altogether. Beautiful, charismatic, and pretty much awesome.

Oh yes.

In which my obsessions make me look like a weirdy

I  measure my life by obsessions. 

That may not be the proper word, actually. It might be more truthful to say that I go through "phases." I can trace my entire life history through a diverse mix of fixations, or hobbies, or passions, or whatever you want to call them. While I'd like to say that periods of obsession make me a better person, the truth is, they really just make me look like a freak.

But a well-rounded freak, all the same...

The first identifiable period of obsession started when I was five or six. I became fixated with the idea of having long, dark hair. Since I'm naturally a blonde, that was a problem. I also sported a pixie/Peter Pan-type hairstyle when I was little, which made long dark hair even more of a problem. Impossibilities never stopped me though. I remember taking long pieces of dark fabric and clipping them to my hair. I tried to style my crushed velvet "hair" like Princess Jasmine and I pretended I was Tina from that old TV show "Ghostwriter." 

The hair dream naturally segued me into my next period of obsession... Mighty Morphin Power Rangers. Trini had long, dark hair, see? It makes sense. I actually revisited this obsession back in 2009, which was pretty hilarious. The 1993 obsession meant that I spent my childhood doing a lot of karate kicks, convincing my brothers to "play Power Rangers" and having save-the-world delusions of grandeur. The 2009  obsession meant that I watched all the episodes on YouTube and made the theme song my ringtone. Ah, how times change...

Other obsessions followed, but those were the biggies for my early years. I went through a Bobbsey Twins phase, and then a Sweet Valley twins obsession. I was convinced for a while that my best friend and I were twins who had been separated at birth. (What? It made sense to a second grader — her birthday was four days before mine. It could have been a really, really prolonged labor, right?) I never could quite work out whose parents were lying about the situation, though, so eventually I gave up on that theory. I read all the Baby-sitter's Club books and all of the Boxcar Children books too, which I guess could count as an obsession.

Third grade might have been the most significant year of my life, because that was when my love of history became truly solidified. I blame third grade for my almost-useless bachelor's degree. Most third graders didn't obsess about pioneers and Indians, but I did. 

Utah history was the best thing ever. I made my brothers dress up like pioneers for Halloween. I read all of the Laura Ingalls Wilder books repeatedly. I wore pioneer dresses and stood outside in the weeds, because that was the sort of thing pioneers did. I wrote plays about pioneers and Indians and tried to get my dad to build me a pioneer playhouse. My favorite American Girl was Kirsten the pioneer — until I realized her name was Kirsten and not KRisten. K-ear-sten? Gross.

Many of my obsessions were built around books. "Ella Enchanted" launched a brief (but ecstatic) castle/prince/princess phase. The "Prelude to Glory" series taught me more about the American Revolution than any (and all) of my history classes combined. My American Revolution phase is why I'm naming one of my future sons Ethan. The Green Mountain Boys rock. General Arthur St. Claire became my buddy, James Madison my hero, and Friedrich Wilhelm Augustus von Steuben my Prussian rock star. A book about Anastasia launched my sixth grade czar obsession. Another book about the Titanic led to massive amounts of Titanic research.

When "The Phantom Menace" came out, I went on a hardcore Star Wars binge. I collected all the action figures, learned the names of every Jedi who ever saw even a second of screen time, and attempted to send George Lucas costume sketches for Queen Amidala. (Did you know you need zip codes to send stuff? Huh.) Since I was deeply against the Amidala/Anakin romance (it was an age difference thing) I formulated my own storyline where there wasn't a gross age gap. (What do they call Cougars in outer space anyway?) My Star Wars phase prompted me to write my first book, for which I'll always be grateful. Once I realized the new movies were terrible, I turned to the originals and learned everything from Wedge's backstory to Mon Mothma's name. (Let's face it — who else knows that?) While everyone else swooned over Hayden Christensen's uber-dull Anakin, I became an Adi Gallia fan. Super nerd alert.

My 9th/10th grade obsession was Josh Groban. My friends will remember this period — it was a doozy. I stalked him obsessively online, recorded his website sample songs from the speakers of my computer, perused his fan boards for news of his doings, pretended to like dark chocolate (like him) and began to claim that the type of car he drove was my favorite type too. (It's not, although it is one of the few types of cars I can now identify.) Josh was my first concert, which is supposedly a big milestone in a person's life. I still think he's got amazing talent, but now I'm not too blinded by his loveliness to ignore the fact that his vibrato is a tad annoying. If I ever ran into him on the street, I like to think that I'd tell him that instead of asking for an autograph...But it's totally not true...

When I went to college my roommates got sucked into my whirlwind obsessions. They endured the extended musical theater period (courtesy of a certain missionary — you know who you are). They joined me for the junior year Beatles phase, which included multiple viewings of the odd-yet-amusing "Help!" and "A Hard Day's Night." I'll never be able to hear the song, "And Your Bird Can Sing" without giggling hysterically, thanks to an outtake from the Anthology 2 album.

The roommates just laughed at me through the Tom Clancy period, but they laughed at me even more for the Kennedy period — not JFK, but RFK. I read biographies for fun and watched "Thirteen Days" repeatedly. Naturally, that led to a Stephen Culp phase, where I searched online for the few episodes of JAG where his character appeared. I emerged from this whole period with a big appreciation for Robert Kennedy, but he's the only one...

And finally, thanks to my roommate, I joined the Doctor Whoniverse right before finals on my second-to-last semester in college. It was terrible timing, but David Tennant was worth every stressful second.

There's really no rhyme or reason to the madness. One day I'll see something that tickles my fancy, and then it's all downhill from there. I'll run the obsession ragged until there's nothing left for it give, and then I'll move on. Since January of this year I've gone through a Regency England period, complete with the BBC movies, the proper music, and new book purchases. From there it swung abruptly into a "Firefly" period, where I ended up with the DVD set and spent hours watching YouTube cast appearances at nerd conventions. From there it morphed into a Disney Channel stint (shameful, I know.) (Not "Hannah Montana" or anything, but "Jonas" and "Hatching Pete" do have their charms.)

And finally, for the time being, I've landed on the movie "Taking 5" and, courtesy of the film, the band "The Click Five." The old group, not the new one so much.

Eric Dill or Joey Zehr, next time we visit my grandparents and then go to Cedar Point, consider yourselves invited to come along.

Unless, of course, I'm obsessing about something else at that point... And the odds are not in your favor.

Addendum: Silly me, I completely forgot to mention my Care Bears phase (lots of eBay purchases) my Lord of the Rings phase (a full Galadriel costume, anyone?) my Doris Day phase (which naturally led to a Gordon MacRae phase) and my multiple Scarlet Pimpernel phases (They seek him here, They seek him there...)