Tom Phillips Speaks. Kind of.

Regular readers (hi, mom!) know that in the last few weeks we've written once or twice about the fraud charges brought against LDS President Thomas S. Monson in the UK by one Thomas Phillips, a British chappy widely known for being quite unhappy...with Mormonism. Well, in an outcome literally nobody predicted, the charges have been dismissed as being (and I paraphrase) "utterly and completely without any merit whatsoever. I mean, really? REALLY? Take up knitting or something, you insufferable boor." Awkward, right? Anyway, what our aforementioned readers (hi, mom!) might not know is that the esteemed Mr Phillips actually deigned to comment on an earlier post. In response to Brett he wrote,

Thank you for your "expert" analysis. If I had come to you for legal advice I could have saved myself a lot of time and money that could have been spent on more worthwhile pursuits.
I also think comments about a 'half brained' judge extremely unsettling when aimed at a very experienced district judge sitting at the pre-eminent Magistrates Court in England and Wales.
Maybe the 'half brained' remark should be reserved for anonymous internet posters who pontificate on a matter they know nothing about.
See you at trial.

Pictured: Tom Phillips, I assume

Tribute to Meridian Magazine (a Flowchart)

Lately, as periodically happens in the Mormon blogo-world (someone should think of a catchy nickname for that, like "blogference" or something. Like, blog conference. Get it?)...anyway, lately the venerable Meridian Magazine has been a topic of discussion in some circles. The online independent LDS magazine has recently produced, among other things, a...fascinating...attempt to harmonize a literal Genesis flood account with modern science, a fawning paean to...err...men, and a scathing attack on the Ordain Women Movement and its secular media enablers. However, I've noticed that some people seem to miss the point of articles like this when discussing them. Therefore, as a community service I produced this thoroughly researched yet immediately accessible visual aid demonstrating Meridian's manifest value to the online LDS community, which in many ways goes to the very core of our religious identity. Enjoy.

Tom Phillips Vindicated: Shocking New Revelations on Mormon Leaders' Nefarious Schemes

In light of the recent lawsuit filed against LDS President Thomas S. Monson by disaffected Mormon Thomas Phillips, owner of Mormonthink.com, Expert Textperts has elected to released the following, which was transcribed from a secret recording device in an undisclosed location in Church headquarters. For legal reasons the exact date of the recording and its participants will not be disclosed.

Voice 1: Thank you for stopping by today.

Voice 2: Good to see you, <redacted>

Voice 3: How are you?

V2: Good, good.

V3: Well, let’s get down to business. Shall we start with a prayer?

(sound of all three chuckling)

Valentine's Day in Five Stages (of Grief)

I have never liked Valentine's day.

Okay, maybe that's a lie. When I was a kid, I loved that there was a day on which every other kid in my class was required to love me and give me a small token proving it. I put all my creativity and effort into creating an adorable "mail" box into which all my tokens of love would enter.

Okay, so mine were never this good, but they were still pretty good.

I remember in second grade when Matt*, the only boy in class who was taller than me, gave me a valentine. I thought I would die of happiness then and there (never mind that this token of his affections was essentially an assignment). He had included a chocolate Hershey's Kiss, and I knew then and there that it was meant to be. He never actually spoke to me, but, really, I knew his affection for me ran just so deep that he just couldn't bring himself to talk to me for fear of dying of pure elation. I would go out during recess knowing that despite his outgoing, bubbly personality with everyone else in the school, he was just being coy with me, trying to heighten my excitement.

Alas, when the end of the school year rolled around and I asked him to sign my yearbook (yes, they gave us little yearbooks in elementary school), all he wrote was something along the lines of "Have a good summer." Have a good summer? How could I?! He didn't even leave me his phone number. I was heartbroken. Sure, there was next year, but at the rate I was growing, there was no chance he'd still be taller than me come fall. So, for the second time in my young life, I accepted that the boy I adored did not adore me and moved on.

Other heartbreaks came and went. Usually they followed a similar path; I noticed a boy, he never noticed me, school year ended.

In high school, it suddenly became apparent that the all-inclusive Valentine's days of elementary school were long gone. I would carry a bag of Hershey's Hugs to school and hand them out to my friends, few of which ever had something to give me in return.

And so, I entered the first stage of grief: Denial and Isolation. I realized that not everyone appreciated me the way I thought they did or should and instead, I started to wear all black and, once I got to college, skip school on the dreaded V-day. I often made myself an entire cake and admired it all day before demolishing it, occasionally sharing only with my other, Singles Awareness Day (SAD) celebrating friends.

Enter Anger.

2006 and 2007 were particularly bad years. In 2006, my perfect red velvet cake complete with sprinkles was whisked away by a roommate who claimed she desperately needed it for a dinner, and swore she would save me a piece or two. She did not. In 2007, I received one nice text message from a boy I had gone on a few dates with before returning to college for the winter semester. The rest of the day was shattered by the only migraine headache I have had in my life, the worst person in the world dragging me to what I thought was a hang-out but was a double date (who tricks a girl into going on a date? On Valentine's Day while she is dressed in all black?), and a few other mishaps.

The years 2008-2009 were spent in a foreign country that does not celebrate Valentine's. Usually I call this period of time  my mission, but today, we can call it a nice break from grieving my loss of childhood romantic hope.

After I returned from my mission, Bargaining began. I begged God to make future Valentine's days less terrible, but 2010 was the year of Depression. I found out the day before Valentine's day that my boyfriend had been lying to me about some very large problems, and even worse, I found out via facebook chat. I spent that day in my blackest blacks, pondering my terrible dark romance-free future.

Late in 2010 I married Casey (the fantastic creator of this blog) and I started to have hope again. As we approached the dreaded day in 2011, I realized that Valentine's was not the big, romantic holiday I had built it up to be. I finally moved into Acceptance. I came to terms with the fact that he would not know my whole, dirty Valentine's history telepathically and would need some direction. I wrote a post detailing ideas for the day, and was only slightly disappointed compared to previous years**.

Perhaps I have not entirely gotten over my childhood loss, but I have at least moved on to enjoy a day on which I can make a nice dinner, write a sweet note to my husband, and expect nothing. At least if I have no expectations, there's no room for disappointment**. I moved from an all black wardrobe to black with some deep red, and hopefully this holiday will mean less and less to me every year.

__________________________________
*Names have not been changed due to their extremely common occurrence.
**I'm exaggerating the disappointment for the purpose of humor, which is likely falling flat. My only true disappointment today is the fact that this holiday still exists.

On Thomas S. Monson's Court Date

The Mormon Internet, as glimpsed through the lens of my Facebook feed, has erupted recently with news that a British judge has issued a summons to none other than Thomas S. Monson. As can be expected, this has been accompanied by a flurry of opinions expressed via electronic invectives. I quickly found that I, too, had opinions on this matter; however, rather than express them on Facebook like a mouth-breathing plebeian (hi Facebook friends who might be reading this!), I'm going to put them on a blog. Like a sir.

"I believe I shall use the word 'Plebeian!' Jolly good!"

Tacitus the Unwitting Apostle

As part of my ongoing effort to sound more impressive when beginning blog posts, I was recently reading Tacitus' The Annals, where he lays out the history of Rome encapsulated in the reigns of Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius, and Nero, respectively the second, third, fourth, and fifth Roman emperors.

As recorded by Tacitus, during the reign of the emperor Nero there was a six-day-long fire that devastated Rome.  You may have heard of this particular fire: it's the one during which, supposedly, Nero played the fiddle.

Nero, Emperor of Rome

In the aftermath of the conflagration, public opinion of Nero was abysmal.  A popular rumor went so far as to suggest that he started the fire himself, possibly to make room for a luxurious palace he had been wanting.  Desperate to find a culprit that was not him, he announced that the true cause of the fire were members of this weird foreign mystery cult--you know, Christians.

Dulcinea: On Dreaming and Ally McBeal

I hate packing. I hate deciding what to take and what to leave behind. I hate figuring out how to arrange everything in the suitcase(s) to optimize space so I can fit all of the things I finally decided to take into a limited space. And I hate that after successfully optimizing said space to fit all those things, that I have to take everything out and rearrange those items because I did so well that my suitcase is now overweight or too fat to fit into the approved carry-on dimensions. I hate packing.

So when packing, I try to do everything I can to distract myself from this tedious and agonizing first world problem of a task. Sometimes this allows me to catch up on podcasts I've fallen behind on. However, I usually want to defer that option to the actual time of travel, when I'm on the plane and whatnot. So more often than not, while packing, I turn to the altar of Netflix. I have taken such recourse at other times of similar tedium and frustration. Once when I constructed a bookcase from IKEA, I made it through nearly half of Matt Smith's first season as the Doctor. My second time through Battlestar Galactica started with a desire to have the comforting presence and leadership of President Laura Roslin while I worked on my taxes. Recently, I've ironed my way through various mad cap hijinks the NPH pursued on How I Met Your Mother.

Mormon History #1: The First Vision (As Told Through Twitter)

I've always believed that my responsibilities as a blogger are not only to myself, my readers, and the world at large, but also to posterity. To that end my ultimate goal is to one day see this humble blog join the likes of Wikipedia and the library of Alexandria as one of mankind's greatest treasures of knowledge and wisdom. Indeed, we're already part way there: I have learned in the course of events that Expert Textperts is known to some as "that blog that does posts with GIFs." And while I embrace that lofty title, I am not satisfied with it.

And so, I present to you our latest work: the tale of Mormonism itself, beginning with its 19th century inception and eventually continuing in future installments to the present day, or until I get distracted or bored. It is a tale of miracles and heavenly visitations, yet I also seek to maintain a dialogue with the latest scholarship and address historical problems in order to present the reader, insofar as I am capable, with all available facts. So enjoy this first of an indeterminate number of posts on Mormon History...as told through Twitter.

Poor Edith

As December 2013 draws to a close and January 2014 approaches on the horizon, I think we all know what will soon be upon us. What will haunt us all every Sunday night with its melodic opening sequence; its increasingly melodramatic and (dare I say) tedious plots; its ever valiant dowager. Kept in the dark recesses of some twisted Anglophilic prison made possible through contributions from viewers like you, Laura Linney shall be unleashed to cheerfully welcome American viewers back to Downton Abbey.

  Welcome to Masterpiece Theatre. I'm Laura Linney ... And y'all will not believe the shit that's gonna go down this season. The Crawley bitches and that tiny one downstairs in the kitchen go absolutely cray-cray.

On Pants

This morning, I woke up undecided.

Last year, I couldn't do it. I didn't have the guts to put on a pair of pants to church. No reason why. I've never been told I couldn't; I just accepted that skirts and dresses were the normal thing to wear to church.

I showered, sent my husband off to Utah alone for the last time before our move, and stared into my closet. Which pants would I even wear? Did I have anything purple to at least show some solidarity with my Pants Day ladies? Nope, my only purple shirt did not survive our move here.