COWBOYS, RATS AND RANTS: THE LOST ART OF LOVING ALWAYS

So this past August I went up to Montana for my annual off-the-grid escape and stayed with a friend. As usual, she opened her home to many, and we had a bonfire to catch up with old friends and get to know new ones.

One of her friends was very nice, but a little strange. He began talking about how much he loved animals, so much so that he couldn't bear to feed live rats to his pet snakes. He eventually sold his snakes after one escaped and 'murdered' one of the now 'pet' rats.

You know what they say—when the snake’s away, the rats will play/procreate! And so they did.

Before he knew it, his basement was crawling with 'pets'. He had more than a hundred at one time, and knew them all by name. But sadly, they only had a life span of three years, and it was heartbreaking for him to watch them die.

Um...what?

All I could picture was this. 

Willard, the heartwarming film about hundreds of unlikely friends finding common ground and murdering people.

I knew that if I looked up at that moment, I would undoubtedly stare right into the eyes of the one person I knew thought this guy was as nuts as I did. And if that happened, I would burst into laughter and would look like a total a-hole...so I just stared into the fire trying to keep a neutral facial expression as I muttered niceties like, "Oh, nice," or "Huh, wow."

But as he talked further, I heard about his battle with drug addiction, and how several painful back surgeries had led to his abuse of oxycodone. His 'rat king' phase happened during the height of this addiction, and then things became a little more clear.

The more I listened to him, the more I realized what a kind soul he was and that more than anything, he needed understanding. I felt a little bad for branding him a weirdo right off the bat. Granted, the rat fetish was a little creepy, but turns out he actually wasn't.

I've been thinking a lot lately about how I view people, and how I ought to view them. Some people are just easier to be kind and understanding with than others, but that doesn't mean I should choose who gets the best side of me. 

I thought back to another Montana moment from a few years back (apparently Montana is the mothership of life lessons). We were up at our family ranch when Sunday rolled around. We all piled in the ranch van (the kind that’s like a sofa on wheels) and made our way to Church.

Montana, where big skies, amazing people watching and valuable life lessons are plentiful.  

For those of you who aren’t familiar with the Mormon church, the first Sunday of every month is called Fast and Testimony meeting. It’s where people are invited to get up in front of everyone and share their testimony about God, Christ, the gospel, or whatever spiritually-minded thoughts they feel merit sharing. Occasionally (usually) this leads to over-sharing, uncontrollable sobbing, or really dumb stories that have nothing to do with religion or spirituality in any way.

I'm sure this guy had great things to say, but all I could think was, "Yay! The David Bowie lookalike is in our ward!" And then I snapped this photo, mid-sacrament meeting, like an idiot.

But sometimes you have a gem of a Sunday where people offer true, sincere , lovely thoughts that make you ponder the greater things in life. This particular Sunday was no exception.

As we settled into the pew, one by one people filed up to share their thoughts. Soon an older gentleman got up to share his.

He started by announcing it had been years since he’d been to church, and that it felt good to be back. He called people out in the audience and told them how good it was to see them. This soon, however, morphed into calling people out on a more personal level.

The bishop (the head of the congregation) was the town attorney, who this guy apparently had beef with, because he suddenly started ranting about how he’d been cheated by the bishop over alimony money.

Things got real weird, real fast.

Soon he pulled a tape recorder out of his pocket and declared he had their whole conversation on tape, where he insisted the bishop had lied to and cheated him.

Men from the congregation got up and asked him to sit down if he didn’t have a testimony of spiritual matters to share, as this was not the time or place to try and defame the bishop.

He argued that he WAS sharing his testimony of Christ, and also his testimony that “that man is a LIAR!” as he firmly pointed in the Bishop’s direction.

Several men surrounded the podium, and one gently grabbed his arm to escort him back down to the seats. This threw him into a rage of f-bombs and flailing.

The men panicked and grabbed him, so he grabbed the podium mic and continued screaming. He refused to let go of the mic, and instead ripped it right out of the podium. That’s when they tackled him to the ground, and as he screamed profanities, dragged him out into the hall and then outside, his screams fading as the distance grew.

*Crickets*

I looked around in shock, not knowing how to feel, looking to others in hopes their reactions would offer some direction. I heard snickers from some of my siblings, and in attempt to ease the awkwardness, I joined in (I tend to laugh in general when things get uncomfortable).

I turned to my dad mid-snicker assuming he’d be doing the same, but was shocked to find him wiping away tears. My condescending chuckles came to an abrupt halt.

Insta-shame washed over me. While I’d sat there mocking this man, my dad had felt pure empathy for him and his pain, his feelings of betrayal and abandonment, and his desire to be understood and heard. He saw past the ‘crazy’ and into the heart of this man, and felt love for him.

I was incredibly moved by this, and never forgot that quiet, powerful lesson my dad taught me that day, that in spite of what we see on the surface, people are always worthy of our love, concern and understanding.

So maybe we all just take a second to remember that this holiday season. After all, it’s a time of year when people feel either totally and completely surrounded by love or utterly ostracized by it. So I vote that we put aside our fear of rejection, disappointment, worries about appearance or whatever and just love first, think later. Who knows how what positive change it could bring about.

Now that's a kind face. Thanks Dad for always reminding me how to be better to those around me.

Be Bold. Be You. And Avoid Sex Parlors.

I heard the greatest sound byte from designer George Lois the other day. It went as follows:

"If you're a cautious creative, your'e dead in the water."

I liked this so much that maybe I took it a little too far in New York last week, when I threw caution to the wind and decided a massage in China Town sounded like a good idea.

As I walked down the astro-turf alley to the entrance of the place, I heard a customer complaining at the counter.

Customer: “Those weren't the kind of noises I heard.”

Massage Parlor Lady: “Oh yes, we've had other complaints, but you see, the person getting the massage was ticklish, and those were the noises you were hearing.”

Customer: “Those were NOT tickle noises.”

A normal person would have turned around and walked out.

I, however, decided that these complaints meant I was in for a legit, therapeutic, Chinese massage, during which my 'massage therapist' would hopefully not offer the 'happy ending' option. Also, it was only $40/hour, and those who know me know I cannot turn down a bargain. It's literally impossible.

During the first 30 minutes of my massage, it became apparent that the person over the half-wall was either incredibly ticklish or having sex.

Every time a 'tickle noise' would arise, I jerked my head up to look at my portly little therapist (Tony, as he liked to be called), who was conducting reflexology on my feet. He would smile, shrug his shoulders as if to say, “Kids! Am I right?!” Then go back to work.

As he continued to dig into my feet, the pain increased so much that I squealed at one point. Hoping others wouldn't assume I, too, was making 'tickle noises,' I quickly asked, “What is that connected to?” (Supposedly every part of the foot is connected to different parts of the body.)

“Shoulder,” he said.

I got excited because I had indeed experienced extreme shoulder pain on my left side, on and off for years. It made sense that the 'shoulder' part of my foot would be so painful. I decided then that this was in fact legit, and it was worth sitting through some tickle noises, which had since died off anyway.

Pretty soon, he was working on a different part of the foot that hurt even worse than the shoulder part.

“What's that connected to?”

He thought for a moment, using hand gestures as if to coax the broken English from his mouth.

“Baby house,” he said.

My brow furrowed as I pointed to my ovaries.

“These?”

He nodded with a smile.

“Does that mean there's something wrong with them?” I asked.

Still smiling, he nodded and said, “Yes,” as calmly and enthusiastically as though I'd asked him if he liked ice cream.

I couldn't help but burst into laughter, which then made Tony laugh. It's always nice to share a laugh with a stranger over your probable inability to have children.

Anyway, my point is, the massage adventure turned out to be the most therapeutic of my life (at one point i'm pretty sure he sucked bad juju out of my body through a portal in my stomach) and made for an afternoon of laughs. Wouldn't have changed a thing about it.

I know it's a stretch to compare Lois's amazing creative advice to a sketchy jaunt through China town, but the whole theme of my New York stint seemed to be this: Take Risks.

And often times, doing the thing that feels most true to you seems like the biggest risk. That's usually when you start to second guess yourself, your talent, or wonder if anyone besides you will like the idea. But upon catching up with my good friend, NYC-Based Photographer Jeff Bark, I was reminded that the only person I need approval from is myself.

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As you can see from the photos I snapped at his latest NYC show, Jeff is one of the most creative people I know. But like any truly talented artist, he's had his share of ups and downs with his work. For a long time, not many were interested in what he had to offer—they wanted a tamed-down version of it. But he stuck to his guns, and now people can't get enough. His work adorns the covers of magazines, and he's sought out by many high-end fashion brands. In a nutshell, he finally made it, and he did it his way.

So naturally I respect the hell out of this man, and he said something that fell in line with the George Lois quote—JUST ASK. Meaning, whatever your ideas are, it never hurts to seek out the people, artists, bands, etc. you admire and just ask—can we collaborate? Here's an idea, what do you think? Can we work together and make this happen?

And really, what's the worse that could happen? They say no? Big deal. At least you tried.

I liked this advice, and that night, I took it to heart and just asked. A couple hours later I was shooting with a new band in an NYC venue. Boom.

I met with several other photographers while in the city, all of whom I'd never met. I reached out, asked if I could pick their brain, and they all said yes. In return I got so many valuable insights, ideas, and tons of inspiration.

So for any creatives out there floundering the way I sometimes do, take Jeff's advice and JUST ASK / APPROACH / INSTIGATE / PURSUE whatever it is you want. A little talent and a lot of proactivity goes a very, very long way.  

Don't get mad, get fake!

They say laughter is the best medicine, but what if you don't feel like laughing? Or even smiling, for that matter? Turns out fake laughs are the real best medicine.

According to Dr. Madan Kataria,  the founder of Laughter Yoga (yes that's really a thing), it's just the act of laughing that gets endorphins going. In other words, even if you feel crappy, just going through the motions will naturally bring feel-good vibes.

I gotta say, there's no way I could do what these people do and not actually laugh. If not just from sheer embarrassment alone. Check out this short piece CNN did on the increasingly popular fad, and you'll see what I mean:

Honestly, I think they're on to something. And while I don't plan on making an idiot of myself in public like these people any time soon, it occurred to me that I have an entire collection of fake-laugh photos with my friends. So really, I do make an idiot of myself in public--regularly. Why? Because every time we pose for these, it makes us laugh. A lot.  Every single time. And then when you look back on them, it makes you laugh even more.

Here are some gems from fake laughs of yesteryear:

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So laugh it up, people. Maybe give it a try today at work. I seriously want to know how it goes when you walk up to your co-worker and start fake-laughing in her face. Better yet, document it and post it below.

Happy (fake laugh) Hump Day!

You've never seen moves like these

If watching this doesn’t make your Friday, I don’t know what will. This is a new favorite band of mine, Future Islands, performing the song ‘Seasons’ off their new album ‘Singles'. I promise you three things: you’ve never seen a more animated front man than Samuel Herring; you will definitely crack up; and you will love their new tunes. 

When these guys opened for Phantogram in SLC last fall, I got the chance to joke around with them (and my camera) post-show in the creepy basement of the Depot. Not only are they the nicest guys, but they are freakin’ hilarious. The photos kind of speak for themselves I think...

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Click below to give the new album a listen...it'll be a great way to kick off your weekend!

And just for good measure, he's my all time favorite Future Islands song, and it's guaranteed to make you feel good.

Cuddle Monger: Does a Body Good

So, here’s a mind-blowing fact for you. I heard on the radio the other day that, according to science, cuddling triggers the chemical release of oxytocin in the brain, which in turn reduces depression. 

Ok, doi. Who doesn’t know that. What person isn’t happier when they’re physically wrapped up in someone else? Cold nights warm up; mornings are brighter; and sitting through a Michael Bay movie seems almost tolerable.

Naturally I started thinking about all the people in the world who perhaps, had they just been cuddled more, could have done right. 

Could it be that Hitler just needed a nuzzle? Perhaps Al Capone just wanted some hair play? If Miley had just been spooned more, would she have gone off the deep end (and scarred us all in the process)? Is it possible the Jazz would stop choking in the last, vital moments of games if players exchanged back tickles instead of butt slaps before each face off?

Beats me. But here’s the thing--there’s actually a massive, cuddle-hungry subculture growing among us. In fact, there are so many people craving cuddles that professional cuddling services have popped up everywhere from Portland to London. That’s right, people who don’t have a cuddle buddy are paying for one. 

Legal? Totally. And a couple of said professional cuddlers comment on the ins and outs of their newly-developed trade here in a recent Huffington Post interview.

A pro snuggler makes upwards of $80/hr.

But for those who can’t afford regular cuddle sessions with a live person, here are several disturbing alternatives. First up, The Boyfriend Pillow.

Sad, but apparently a hot item on Amazon. It even comes in a ‘roided-out version:

And don’t worry, it's available in both his and hers. 

Lets take this bizarre pillow fetish to the next level, with what I like to call, ‘The Lady Lap’--emphasis on the word ‘lap’ because it’s reminiscent of a stripper, and that mini skirt is definitely screamin’ lap dance. Perfect for the creepier, older gentleman.  

And then there’s this.

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Thought we'd already crossed the inanimate-object-cuddling line? Think again. I call this one ‘bad dream,’ because it’s what nightmares are made of. Can you imagine waking up to this thing in the middle of the night? Also, good luck explaining it to visitors. I'm pretty sure every demographic would rate this as a 9 on the creepy scale, second only to that guy in Silence of the Lambs who wears lady skins for fun.

Thankfully, most people I know don’t have to resort to flesh-colored people pillows. And to those people I say, cuddle what you got! Take advantage of those health benefits, and bond with your person while you’re at it. It’s a win win! I bet if you committed to cuddling for a good half hour with your significant other at least 3 times a week, you’d see some great things happen. Why not give it a whirl?

For those like me who don’t have a special someone to cuddle with, I say this: Netflix is the new cuddling, guys! It relaxes, entertains, and lulls you to sleep. Problem solved! 

JK people! (Sort of!) There’s no real substitute for physical touch. And in an effort to make up for putting the terrifying images of stuffed boyfriends in your head, I present to you the cutest baby-animal snuggle collage in existence. 

Happy Spring Snuggling!