You might think I am joking, but I am SO NOT.

Meat Loaf is the gatekeeper to all things awesome.

This post has been percolating in my mind for the past few weeks, but when Kelsy posted an eerily similar post about the magic of Steve Buscemi, I knew it was time for action. It is beautiful to have the kind of friends who can shout with me, with a glorious mixture of shock and joy, "SO-AND-SO IS IN THIS?!?"

Here is the thing. If Meat Loaf is in a movie, it is either awesome to begin with or it becomes awesome because he is in it. Let's start with the most obvious example.

Robert Paulson in Fight Club.

Not only was this an amazing film, Meat Loaf rocked this particular character by playing him with both affection and a lack of vanity. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, this movie is actually a little bit better than the book, and the book was pretty good.

If you know me, you know this is the highest compliment I can give a film.

Eddie in the Rocky Horror Picture Show

I went to one of those midnight showings of the Rocky Horror Picture Show about a year ago with some friends, which provided me with enough material for the rest of my blogging life, should I ever choose to share it. One of the nice details of the much-celebrated "audience participation" bit was when Meat Loaf's character is (spoiler alert!) revealed to be dead, everyone in the audience chants in unison, "His name was Robert Paulson, his name was Robert Paulson."

Get it?

The song that Eddie performs in this movie sounds exactly like every Meat Loaf song, ever, which doesn't say much for his artistic range, but does say a lot for the credo, "find something that works for you and do it over and over."

Speaking of this credo, Meat Loaf likes to drive buses.

Hoover in Leap of Faith

Even harnessing the power of the Internet, it was hard to find a photo of this role ... I think the film is out of print? But IMDB had one, albeit untagged. Can you find Meat Loaf in this photo?

You found him! Yay!

Have you seen this movie? It's pretty charming. Manages to poke fun at religion without being entirely cynical. Meat Loaf plays the (inexplicably named) bus driver/keyboard player Hoover. He's by no means a central character, but he is a great ensemble member. Note: Steve Martin was way better when he was playing lovable idiots and jerks, not dads.

Dennis in Spice World

Why yes, I watched this movie again on Netflix in order to get

a screenshot of this role. And I was happy to do it.

OK, before you scoff at the fact that I have even SEEN this movie, I ask you, HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MOVIE? It is awesome. Hilarious. You don't even have to be a Spice Girls fan to enjoy it (but it's cool 'cause I am one).

Still not convinced? What about this?

Tiny in Wayne's World

Thanks Nostomanic for the perfect prelabeled picture.

Also thanks to Google Image Search for leading me to it.

I repeat. Meat Loaf has a brief cameo in Wayne's World, one of the best things to come out of the 90s.

Quod erat demonstrandum.

Poll Results.

The poll is closed, and the results are in. I am disappointed that so many of you dishonest doofuses claimed to be my mother. I only have one. Sheesh.

In accordance with the people, the picture stays the same. This will save me time and effort, so thanks.

xoxoxxoxox

ek

The Seven Deadly Sins, Day 1: Greed

I haven't decided exactly what I want to do with this week's theme--if it should be a reflection on a specific example or a list, or just a free-write. So, in the seat-of-my-pants spirit that birthed blogging back in the '90s, I am just going to start writing and see what comes of it.

I think I am about as greedy as the average American. I don't care as much about having nice things as some people, but I would like, for example, an iPhone. I don't even know why. Wait! Yes I do! Because of the Google Maps app. Anyway, I also buy clothes at thrift stores even when I probably shouldn't.

Right now I cannot afford to be greedy because I have lots and lots of medical bills. However, that did not stop me from buying a six-dollar book today. I shan't tell you what book it was.

Greedy also has a non-acquisition connotation, I suppose. Of all the Deadly Sins, Greed is the only one that relates directly to coveting, which is one of the Ten Commandments. Or rather, NOT coveting is one of the Ten Commandments. That makes sense because if you want something but don't want to earn it for yourself, that might cause you to break other commandments like "Thou Shalt Not Kill" or "Thou Shalt Not Use Credit Cards."

Wait a second! Coveting is more related to envy than greed, isn't it? Eh, it's kind of a toss-up.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I am PISSED that I no longer have access to the OED through the BYU library. That should have been a lifelong perk, for crying out loud! Was that a greedy thing to say? Shut up.

Anyway, the markedly inferior Merriam-Webster dictionary defines Greed thusly:

"A selfish desire for more of something than is needed."

That makes sense. So if I want an iPhone, that's not greed, but rather coveting, but if I want TWO iPhones for some strange reason, that's greed.

I don't want two iPhones, so I guess I'm solid. Next.

Just kidding! I don't know if I have anything else to say about Greed, though. Except I didn't know it was a backformation from the adjective "greedy." I thought it was the other way around. Who knows if the stupid Merriam-Websters even know what they're talking about, though. I SERIOUSLY CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT THE OED.

I think the only thing that I genuinely want more of than I need is food. Which we'll save for Day Five.

OK, done. I'm not even going to edit this.

Ugly animals that I for some reason love, continued.

"In experiments, I noticed that earthworms frequently clustered and formed

a compact patch when they were out of the soil," Zirbes told the BBC.

I spent like fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to capitalize the title sentence before giving up.

So I doubt anyone thinks of earthworms as social or intelligent creatures, because they are ugly and drown in puddles more frequently than other creatures, but I still really like them.

So does Lara Zirbes at the University of Liege in Belgium. For her PhD dissertation, she conducted a series of studies to determine whether earthworms demonstrate herd behavior. She rigged up a bunch of mazes and sent earthworms through them, and it turns out that they do! Apparently earthworms communicate through touch and prefer to travel in groups.

When placed in a chamber together, worms will follow the same path. Unlike ants and other social insects, worms communicate using direct physical contact rather than pheromone trails. Which means they try to touch each other with as much of their bodies as possible to mazimize communication.

I'm not sure why exactly but to me that is so beautiful.

On Curious George.

The day the Nazis invaded France, hours before the soldiers arrived, Margret and H.A. Rey fled the country on bicycles.

That is so punk rock.

Are you aware that when I upload a lot of pictures I actually write the blog entry BACKWARDS?

I used to want to be an editor. I like marking up papers and being right, and it's the only thing one can do with a Bachelor's in English Linguistics without going to graduate school or learning how to program computers. It was pretty much my only chance to be employable, so I went with it. Then I took an editing class where we practiced editing real material, and I hated it more than I have ever hated anything in my life.

I think it's because people can be real idiots, and I have no patience for it. If you can't write, why are you writing a book? No, your writing is terrible. YOU shut up. My career as an editor would have been short-lived. Or I would have become an agent within a matter of weeks.

Seemingly unrelated tangent!

Have you ever heard of the infant literacy program Your Baby Can Read? It's like the poor man's Baby Einstein. Although unlike Baby Einstein, YBCR hasn't been sued for false advertising ... yet.

Basically it's a really expensive set of videos and books that you show to your baby in an effort to jumpstart his or her reading abilities. You're supposed to show your baby this video EVERY SINGLE COTTON-PICKING DAY and supplement the little angel's intellectual development with the books and flashcards (not included). In both the video and the books, they show a word, then a picture of what the word represents. That's it. Also, the program is much more expensive than a gross of post-its.

Your Baby Can Read was developed by Robert C. Titzer, Ph.D., who is an infant researcher and most likely a super guy. I applaud his chutzpah in convincing helicopter parents to invest that kind of money in anything. But seriously, the program is a crock. It's not gonna hurt anyone, but it's not gonna turn your baby smart, either. You might as well be showing the kids "Days of Our Lives." That's on every day, too.

Here's the thing. Your baby CAN'T read. Humans don't develop the focus ability and brain matter to read until around age three. If you show your kid a video EVERY FREAKING DAY, of course he or she will memorize the symbols and associate them with the images that accompany them. But that's not reading, that's symbol recognition. Infants can't grasp phonics or any of the other complex mental processes that reading requires. Any parents within the sound of my voice: don't waste your money.

One caveat. I suppose someone could argue that showing your kid this video every day is technically better than plunking him or her in front of "As the World Turns" for forty minutes every day. I mean, at least he's being quiet and not subjected to any inappropriate material, right?

Point taken. But here's the thing. If you sit a child under the age of three in front of television, you must acknowledge what you are doing. You are trying to keep that child occupied. And that's OK! Kids are exhausting and it's hard to get stuff done when they are constantly underfoot. But don't try to convince yourself that your child is benefiting from any really expensive video more than he would benefit or not benefit from a Disney video or even a string of commercials. Kids like TV because it's flashy and keeps up with their attention span. It doesn't make kids smarter. The End.

Also, I totally use Curious George as leverage for good behavior with D so I have half an hour to make her dinner. See? But like I said, I own that. I know that's what I'm doing.

The Your Baby Can Read series, besides being obviously fraudulent, is entertaining in other ways as well. For one, the video was made on a minuscule budget, using youtube-quality clips of what are obviously the author's own children and the author's own home. The budget may have been blown on a three-minute piece of computer animation that accompanies "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." One can't say for sure.

The books are also unintentionally funny. Observe. Each page has a word, as shown.

When one lifts the flap with the word written on it, one finds an image defining what the letters stand for.

Not all of the images are this creepy, but you get the idea.

So the kicker is, while the good folks at Your Baby Can Read were putting these books together, it was obvious that they weren't really going for a sense of cohesion. For one thing, the words come in no discernible order. They aren't ordered by subject matter or difficulty or phonetics or anything. Each book gets, in a very unquantifiable way, progressively "harder," but within the books the words seem sort of tossed in without any rhyme or reason.

Since each word has another random word facing it on the opposite page, this leads to some interesting two-page spreads.

Some of them create a mental image that seems logical.

Or charming.

Or sorta funny.

Or REALLY funny.

PFTTHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

(This is only funny if you are eight years old)

(Which I am)

The above one is good, but I do believe this one is my favorite.

Literally speaking.

Some of them sound like exotic diseases.

I'm picturing Joseph Merrick in dental form. Ouch.

This one can't be comfortable, either.

Or perhaps an ancient, obscure martial arts move.

Hi-YA! Chimpanzee kick!!!

Others just sound like playground insults.

Ouch.

Hey, four eyes!!

Shut up, cat toes!!!!!

Some of them seem even a little sinister.

Thinly-veiled subliminal racism, anyone?

Does this seem like a fat joke, or am I being hypersensitive?

P.S. Hi, Dr. Titzer! Google yourself much? Rest assured this is all in good fun.

P.P.S. But seriously, food for thought, right? Did this occur to your editor(s) at all?

P.P.P.S. Your daughters are adorable. I wish you and your family all the best.

In the past three years

I have twice dreamt about being mauled by a bear. In both of these dreams, the bear ripped my stomach open and I lay there, dying while holding my insides in with my hands. The first time I had this dream I believe I was alone, the second I was with some friends--the same friends with whom I had gone backpacking a few months prior. They expressed sadness that I had been mauled by a bear, and I took comfort in their friendship in my last moments. I mentioned these dreams offhand to my father a few days ago, and he expressed concern about my psychic balance. But he's kind of a paranoid guy who believes in astrology, so let's disregard his opinion for now and consult Dr. Google.

According to the VERY legit-seeming website dreammoods.com, my dream signifies change and a need to be more open with others.

"To see a bear in your dream, symbolizes independence, the cycle of life, death and renewal. It may signal of period of introspection and thinking. The dream may also be a pun on 'bare'. Perhaps you need to bare your soul and let everything out into the open.To dream that you are being pursued or attacked by a bear, denotes aggression, overwhelming obstacles and competition. You may find yourself in a threatening situation."

Baring my soul. Intriguing. Let's see what other experts have to say.

dreaminterpretationsguide.com warns (note: grammatical errors direct from the originals):

"Bear is significant of overwhelming competition in pursuits of every kind. To kill a bear, portends extrication from former entanglements. A young woman who dreams of a bear will have a threatening rival or some misfortune."

A young woman? Oh no!! That's me! Misfortune, eh? Yes, being mauled by a bear is quite unfortunate. That's the connection. The Internet knows my heart.

thecuriousdreamer.com opines that dreaming about a bear represents

"Power, or a power imbalance. The use of power, such as in aggression or protection. Dreaming of this animal can represent:

• Having too much of one of these qualities, or that you could benefit by being less this way
• Not having enough of one of these qualities, or that you could benefit by being more like this
• Someone or something in your real life with whom you associate one of these qualities (an event, situation, threat, etc.)"

This one, however, is by far my favorite. From dreamota.com:

"Because they hibernate, bears can symbolize cycles; birth death awakening motif; power or overpowering (the big as bear); your own cyclic activity or abilities. Is it time for your to awaken into activity, or to hibernate and renew your energy? [Note: yes, definitely!] Mythologically, bears represent mothering, the archetype of the Great Bear. In Greek mythology the bear is associated with Artemis (Roman, Diana) goddess of the moon and woods (fertility and the unconscious), and was associated with the Virgin Mary in medieval writings. Bearskins have protective and magical power, hence the fearless Nordic warriors, were originally known as 'bearsarks' because of their bearskin shirts.

What bearish aspect of yourself do you need to recognize? As pun, it can refer to something that is 'hard to bear'; an overbearing person; a need to bare yourself of your soul (truth/lies)? See also: other animals, naked/ being naked."

The last line there was my absolute favorite. Of course anything I would dream about would eventually end up relating to being naked.

Don't worry, paranormality.com is a harmless little website, which states that

"Bear is significant of overwhelming competition in pursuits of every kind. To kill a bear, portends extrication from former entanglements. A young woman who dreams of a bear will have a threatening rival or some misfortune."

Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Doesn't that sound familiar? INTERNET DREAM DICTIONARY PLAGIARISM!!!!! Is nothing sacred????

From sleeps.com, this jewel of wisdom.

"If a bear is pursuing you in your dream this is a sign that you will experience some financial losses in business. A bear also represents a rival you may have for your loved one, if the bear is seen to be climbing, then the outcome will be in your favor."

As far as I can recall, that bear didn't do no climbing. Just mauling. Of me.

And lastly, dream-analysis.com chimes in that a dream about a bear portends an issue with the "Digestive system, colon."

And those are just the results from the first page! There were over 2.5 million hits in all!! Think of what I could learn about myself if I had that kind of time!!!

To review, I should prepare for the following misfortunes:

1. A generically threatening situation and/or generalized misfortune.
2. A threatening rival, particularly for a loved one.
3. Financial losses.
4. Issues with my colon.

Also, I should consider:

1. Being more introspective.
2. Baring my soul/letting everything out in the open.
3. Whether I need to be either more or less aggressive in my life.
4. Hibernating? Oh, I am so in.
5. Buying this pill to make my nightly dreaming even more interesting. Although couldn't I do that with drugs, for free? Oh who am I kidding. Drugs aren't free!
6. How I might be similar to a bear and how that aspect of myself is "tearing me apart."

Making this clip from the cinematic masterpiece "The Room" even more relevant to my life.

If you squint with your ears, it sounds just like my name.

In short, I have decided I have no need to ever see a therapist, ever. Dr. Google is all I will ever need.

Additionally, if I ever do get attacked by a bear, let's hope it's by this little darling.

Holy adorableness, Batman. You can rip me open with those precious little claws any old day.

On Secrets, or, Look! Words Again!

Please note, it didn't take that long for me to return to the medium with which I am the most comfortable. Which is writing, in case that wasn't clear. However, sharing links of other people's writing is another one of my talents, as you can see below.

Here is what I have been thinking about lately. It has always cracked me up a little bit how alarmist humans can be about new technologies. Every time we come up with a new medium of self-expression, someone out there will insist that THIS will be the downfall of educated communication, that it will overload the human brain to the point of non-functioning. They said that Instant Messaging would ruin our ability to spell (LOL!), they said that the Internet would make us all hyper-reliant on Google, eventually making any and all information retention impossible. I scoff at this. We all scoff at this. Folks in the Middle Ages worried that the printing press would make us stupid, and I think we can all agree that its invention arguably made us all smarter. Do I say this because I love books? I really do love books.

Perhaps it is because of this article in the most recent Ensign that I am pondering this. I agree with what the article says about personal revelation, for the record. I just don't think technology should be solely to blame for that fact that lots of people don't know how to listen anymore. Another reason why this is on my mind, perhaps, is this article which prematurely mourns the fact that as we transition from bound books to electronic books such as found on the Kindle and iPad (worst product name ever!!!!!) we will lose the ability to glance into someone's heart and soul by noting the books on their bookshelves. I do enjoy doing that, but I'm sure we will find different ways to make voyeuristic assumptions about people as times change, so never fear.

This has led me to ponder on the idea of secrets. I like the fact that people can look on my bookshelves and learn quite a bit about me, but only in certain sections of my shelves. I have the requisite classics and poetry books, a lot of books about social justice, art, vegetarianism, politics, etc. Which is all well and good. However, I also have embarrassing YA novels from my teen years and an alarming collection of baby name books. I keep the latter in a box underneath my bed, where normal people hide porn.

That was a secret, and yet I just shared it with the Internet! Here is one of the strangest things about living in the times that we do, in my opinion: fewer secrets. I was talking to the Pearce sisters (whom I love and adore, BTW) about this the other night: because of my personality and the nature of the friendships I usually have (I tend to have several extremely close friends and a wider circle of much more minor acquaintances) I don't think there is anything in my life, any thought or neurosis or experience, that I haven't shared with at least one person, no matter how awkward or humiliating. I think this is healthy, for the record, but also sort of strange. Because of social networking, blogging, texting, email, gchat, et al. if I have something to share, it is highly likely that I will share it somewhere.

What, then, if I have something to get off my chest that I don't want to (or am afraid to) share with anyone? The options are limited: protected file on computer. Old fashioned diary with lock (which are, incidentally, dumbfoundingly easy to pick). Anonymous website, this being one of my favorites, although I don't think I am impish enough to write anything similar. Or you can send a postcard into this ongoing project. Other than that, you got nothing. Oddly enough though, part of me feels that sharing a secret in a forum where I know it will never be connected with me feels like it still wouldn't get it off my chest. Why is that, do you think?

Did you only finish reading this blog entry because you thought I was going to share my secret at the very end? Well, I'm not. Sucker.

You. Are. Compute.

The Manchester Mark 1 was one of the earliest electronic computers, operational in April 1949, when my mom was 3 years old. The researchers who built the machine pioneered the use of index registers, which were apparently crucial to the eventual development of the vastly comprehensive computer memory you and I all enjoy today. This is the information I determined to be the most important when I beefed up on computer history in thirty seconds before I started writing this.

(The part about my mom being three years old when it became operational wasn't part of my research. I used my powers of deduction.)

Not because Valentine's Day is imminent, but rather because love, and nerdiness, and ESPECIALLY nerdy love (or lovely nerdiness) ought to be celebrated every weekend of the year, I wish to inform you that in 1952 a brilliant man named Christopher Strackey developed a computer program called "Loveletters" that operates on the internet to this very day, in its original form.

I didn't pay too much attention when Dr. Mark Davies tried to teach his 293 class about computational linguistics, but I am pretty sure the computer program taps a corpus of love letters (whether they are real ones or manufactured ones I can't say) and generates random permutations of the pieces it finds, splicing them together every time you refresh the page. Hours of fun! Here are a few of my favorites:

LOVE DEAR
YOU ARE MY AVID CHARM: MY BURNING WISH. MY ARDOUR ARDENTLY ADORES YOUR LITTLE ARDOUR. MY IMPATIENT ARDOUR DESIRES YOUR DESIRE. YOU ARE MY DEAR LIKING.
YOURS ANXIOUSLY
M. U. C.

SWEETHEART DEAR
MY FONDNESS COVETOUSLY CLINGS TO YOUR LOVABLE WISH. YOU ARE MY CRAVING TENDERNESS. MY FANCY LIKES YOUR LOVE. YOU ARE MY FOND FANCY: MY KEEN HEART.
YOURS FONDLY
M. U. C.

LOVE DUCK
MY LOVING ADORATION ARDENTLY TREASURES YOUR HUNGER. YOU ARE MY PRECIOUS HUNGER. MY YEARNING ATTRACTS YOUR WISH. YOU ARE MY WISTFUL DESIRE. MY FONDNESS ADORES YOUR DEVOTION.
YOURS ANXIOUSLY
M. U. C.

HONEY JEWEL
YOU ARE MY CURIOUS WISH. MY AFFECTION LUSTS FOR YOUR PASSION. YOU ARE MY ADORABLE DEVOTION: MY WINNING PASSION. MY LOVESICK AFFECTION AVIDLY ADORES YOUR FANCY.
YOURS ARDENTLY
M. U. C.

DEAR MOPPET
MY BURNING FONDNESS BREATHLESSLY LOVES YOUR TENDER ARDOUR. MY ENCHANTMENT BEAUTIFULLY CLINGS TO YOUR CRAVING RAPTURE. MY ADORATION BEAUTIFULLY PINES FOR YOUR YEARNING. YOU ARE MY AMOROUS APPETITE: MY PRECIOUS FERVOUR.
YOURS IMPATIENTLY
M. U. C.

Now if only I had paid enough attention in CHUM 250 (or rather, shown up to class) perhaps I would be able to create a computer program that would pull from those five little beauties above and create my ULTIMATE LOVE LETTER.

That would be a dangerous, dangerous tool, fatal in the wrong hands.

Never mind.

Two lists.

Rice Krispy treats? Check.
Tonic water? Check.
Smeared eye make-up from rubbing my eyes so often? Check.
Disney Princess fruit snacks? Check.
Staying up all night to write a paper? PRICELESS.

I am normally a pretty good student. I promise. I also get quite a healthy amount of sleep, for a college student. Especially considering how many credits I am taking this semester. However, I don't like literary criticism. Never have. This is why I changed my major from English to Linguistics. Anywway, I have been putting off this 15-page paper for my Shakespeare class for days now, even though I thought I had a decent topic. Wrong! I spent hours trying to write today and I could barely squeeze out one paragraph. If I don't feel like writing about something, I simply cannot write about it.

I think this is why my grades in college do not really reflect my intelligence. I hate writing about things that do not interest me.

So anyway, I'm writing my paper about rock music now. It's a gamble, because my teacher might not like it. But a good 15-page paper that Dr. Fullmer hates is better than a 15-page paper of crappy lit crit, right? Certainly it's better than no paper at all.

More throughout the evening as the story (and the paper) develops. This may well be my first all-nighter since my sophomore year.

Red vines? Check.

Me, Katharine, and Isabel

My whole family puts a lot of bloody stock in horoscopes. My Dad, even as a member of the church, frequently laughs at me and my "typical scorpio ways." For those of you who don't know what that entails, it means I'm prideful, passionate, suspicious, obsessive, and overly defensive. Yeah, whatever, stars.

I have always considered a lot of that "personality stuff" like the color test, blood type personalities, and whatnot to be a modern sort of voodoo, and worth about as much respect. Not to mention I have always believed that people identify with what they are conditioned to identify with, so if you see a horoscope that says something vague and universal like, "you feel strongly about the things you feel strongly about" of course you're going to think "OH MY GOSH! THAT"S SO ME!" before thinking hey, doesn't everybody feel that way? Then I moved in with Celia, whose boyfriend has more faith in this MBTI than I have in gravity, climbing equipment, and the innate goodness of mankind. Possibly combined.

From Wikipedia:

"The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) assessment is a psychometric questionnaire designed to measure psychological preferences in how people perceive the world and make decisions. [...] The original developers of the personality inventory were Katharine Cook Briggs and her daughter, Isabel Briggs Myers. They began creating the indicator during World War II, believing that a knowledge of personality preferences would help women who were entering the industrial workforce for the first time identify the sort of war-time jobs where they would be 'most comfortable and effective'."

On one hand, it does my heart good to know the MBTI was made by women, ostensibly to help women. I inherently trust female psychologists more, both because I am also a woman and because I tend to assume women know what they're talking about when it comes to feelings (leaving myself as the obvious exception).

So I'm preconditioned to want to believe in this stuff, but at the same time, Nathan's investment in it kinda freaks me out. I mean, you can't honestly base a decision like who to live with or who to marry on a four-letter permutation, can you?

Let's dig a little deeper, shall we.

The other day I met another one of Cel's friends who is invested in MBTI to the point of writing a book about it. Possibly his doctoral thesis. I'm fuzzy on the details. I don't remember how this came up, but Cel at some point turned to him and asked, about me, "So what is she?" What ensued was easily one of the most awkward, yet coolest conversations of my life. After 24 hours, Alex looked into my eyes (sounds weird, but apparently that was a dealbreaker/dealmaker of some sort) and pronounced me an INFP.

Initially, I was pissed that this dude I had just met was making all these crazy assumptions about who I am and what my priorities in life are. But for someone who had just met me, he was pretty spot-on. He kept tricking me, the devil. For example, one point of the conversation went something like this:

Me: I tested 100% on the J .
A: That means you want to be a J. But you're really a P.
Me: (feel momentarily stupid, then indignant) What are you talking about? You don't know me!
A: Ha! Ps don't like to be labeled.
Me: (foiled again ... silent)

Apparently my new friend is a local celebrity of sorts, and lots of people (well, let's face it, lots of women ... a contributing factor could be that this guy is pretty easy on the eyes) look to him as a sort of guru for relationships. That would annoy the heck out of me (I can barely handle my roommates' drama, let alone the drama of every chick in Provo), but he doesn't seem to mind being hounded by people with questions about whether an introverted feeler would work with an extroverted thinker jingle jangle. He really wants to help. It blows my mind. But I think the big reason behind the investment people make in this, and Alex's rock-star status, is that the MBTI is pretty convincing. I am, partially mind you, but still, convinced that it has merit.

According to this fairly legit-seeming website, an INFP has the following characteristics:

--quiet (by nature, yes. in practice, no.)
--creative (I like to think so)
--sensitive (sometimes to my detriment)
--perceptive (it even says so in my patriarchal blessing!)
--often seem shy (why I have so few second dates)
--deeply committed to causes and relationships (ask my mom about my picketing phase)
--guide their behavior by their value system (yeah, OK)
--deeply religious (once I found the right religion)
--like privacy (yup)
--a perfectionist (ask my mission president ... poor man)
--unduly preoccupied with finding a soulmate (I don't want to talk about it)

OK. I identify with all of that. Especially the part about balancing privacy with wanting a deep, committed relationship. And the part about seeming shy. But to make my research a little more effective, I decided to look up my opposite: the ESTJ. And here is what we found:

--tend to do things out of a sense of duty (I am terrible at that ... which is reason number 5678 why BYU is so hard for me)
--good memory (I do have that)
--natural leader (not really)
--can be manipulative (I don't think I'm like that)
--good at strategy, often win at games (I only win at Candyland, which is based on luck or, in my case, cheating)
--law-abiding (again with the rules thing. I suck at rules. Which is why I am a stellar cougar. And why I always cheat at Candyland.)
--loyal (I do identify with that)
--bad listener (nope)
--"Would make a great military commander" (Pfttt hahahahahaha)
--Have difficulty forgiving people (hmmm ... yeah)

In summary, there must be some merit to this test because unlike a horoscope, I don't identify with each one based on my mood. Supposedly, my "perfect match" is an ENFJ, an guy not as shy as me and whose head isn't as far in the clouds. I can see that. Maybe I will try and find one of those this time around, instead of the type I've been going for lately: JERKs. Those just don't jive with me! I'm sorry! It could never work!

In case you didn't catch that, I was making fun of Nathan. All in good fun. I'm going to have to keep thinking about this, though. I couldn't make this the foundation of my life without some real thought. And reading the Book of Mormon. Wait, what?

Words are really ... good

When I was in the MTC (the training center where Mormon missionaries are prepared to be representatives of the Church before they go out to their assignment ... also, where foreign missionaries attempt to learn the language they will be speaking) I felt bored and unappreciated most of the time. I wanted some intellectual stimulation. That kind of stuff makes me feel happy. That my life is worthwhile. So I started the Old Testament at the beginning. It felt like an indulgence to me at the time because much content of the Old Testament is far removed from my life, as well as the basic things I was preparing to teach in the mission field. Perhaps because it felt like an intellectual break instead of a chore, I enjoyed it immensely. I love the Old Testament. I still do. I love how ugly and realistic so many of the characters are: afflicted by lust, jealousy, carelessness, and general human stupidity. There were some parts that left me completely in the dark as to the point, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.

So while I was reading, I came across lots of words I didn't know. The scriptures the LDS church uses has a dictionary in the back with common words contained therein, but it is by no means all-inclusive. I came across many words I wanted to know the definition of, but since I was a missionary, I had no access to the Oxford English Dictionary.

But now I do. Here are some of those words, and what I have learned now that
I know their definitions. I'll try to make it interesting.

BUCKLER. A small round shield, "used not so much for a shield as for a warder to catch the blow of an adversary." (Fairholt) It's figurative definition is also "a means of defense." or "a protector."

"The word of the Lord is tried: he is a buckler to all those that trust in him." Psalms 18: 30

"His (God's) truth shall be thy shield and buckler." Psalms 91:4

Per my limited understanding of weaponry, a shield is meant to protect someone from receiving hits from an enemy. You hold it up in front of you so the other guy won't be able to get to you. God can be like that in our lives. When we trust in Him and lives our lives in harmony with His will, sometimes He protects us from danger or hardship. Sometimes. But not always.

In Sunday School today we re-visited the concept of why bad things happen to good people. We reached the conclusion so often reached before, that we have to have hardships in our lives to appreciate how good the good things are. To quote Mandy Moore in A Walk to Remember, without suffering there would be no compassion.

So to say that God is not just our shield but our buckler: a buckler is meant not to protect yourself from contact with your enemy, but to lessen the negative effects of being hit. So you still get hit, but the buckler keeps it from chopping your arm off. You aren't shielded completely, but you survive. I fell like God has really been a buckler for me lately.

PYGARG. From the Latin meaning "white-rump," a word applied to both of kind of antelope and an eagle-like bird of prey. It's listed in Jewish dietary law as a beast OK to eat, along with the hart, roebuck, and fallow deer, leading me to believe it's probably being used as the first definition in the Old Testament.

CHAMOIS. A capriform antelope, the only wild antelope in Europe. And if you catch one, hey, go ahead and eat it. Deuteronomy says it's OK.

HOAR. Your mom. Or rather, what she was yelling all last night.

Just kidding! It's an adjective meaning "grey with age" or "white from frost." Usually refers to someone with grey hair, who is old and thus venerable.

DISCOMFIT. Either to throw down in battle, or to to throw into complete confusion or sadness. Like ten hundred times worse than discomfort.

CLEAVE. To cling or hold fast to, to remain attached, devoted or faithful to. In the scriptures, we are told to cleave unto God, to cleave to our spouse, and to cleave to every good thing. We are also warned that if we cleave to false Gods, we will be in a really bad spot.

To me, the word cleave is inseparably connected with loyalty, which is what God expects from us and what we should expect from our spouses, if we are smart. Obeying the commandments isn't enough if we aren't willing to defend the truth when its appropriate. Even loving God, although that is very, very important, doesn't mean anything if we turn on Him when things go wrong. Same thing in a marriage. What I want more than anything in the world is a husband who respects me, is completely loyal to me and honorable in everything else he does. But especially with me. I want to be cleaved to. Not just loved. Love can turn on you in a moment's notice. Loyalty, that's the real stuff.

FIREBRAND. Someone or something who kindles strife or mischief, inflames the passions, etc. Also, one who deserves to burn in hell.

I used to think this word was a compliment. Nope.

GUILE. Stratagem, deceit, or treachery. So when someone is said to be "without guile" as often used in the scriptures, that sounds to me like someone without ulterior motives. Who just says what they say and should be taken at face value.

Proportions of the human body (possible tmi warning here)

So tonight I rented and watched the 1990 film "Pretty Woman," a movie I have always wanted to see, have now seen, and will most likely never see again. I found it formulaic yet interesting enough, but certainly not the romantic classic I've heard it lauded as. Maybe I just couldn't get over the prostitute thing. I don't know.

But the point here is that Julia Roberts' character, throughout the movie, spits out random facts about the proportion of the human body. Things like: the length of your foot is the same as the length from your wrist to your elbow. Stuff like that. But in one scene -- one of the few romantic scenes that I actually liked -- Julia and Richard Gere are in the bathtub together and she wraps her legs around him from behind. Then she says, "My leg is 44 inches from hip to toe. You now have 88 inches of therapy wrapped around you, all for the bargain price of three thousand dollars." If you've seen the movie that line will make sense. The point here is the numbers.

I started thinking, 44 inches huh? Julia Roberts, I think, is really tall. I wonder how long my leg is? So I rummaged around until I found my measuring tape and measured my leg from where my hip is (I estimated) to my toe (pointed). Assuming that is what the writer meant by hip to toe. Anyway, my leg measured 41 inches. Not bad, considering my height.

Then, as a lark, I measured my bust around my back to the front of my breasts. That was in fact 44 inches. Julia Roberts' Leg, if you will. I thought to myself, wait a second. Is it normal to have your bust circumference be a larger number than the length of your leg?

I immediately texted a friend of mine, who will remain anonymous just in case something like this would embarrass her. I made her get out of bed and measure herself. We are about the same height, but her measurement was 38 inches from hip to heel (adding a few inches for the foot would most likely make around 41 inches, same as me, possibly a bit longer) and her bust was 36. That sounds much more normal to me.

Making me, what, some sort of Amazon Hobbit?

Girls, measure yourselves. I need to know if I'm normal here.

I think too much.

Sometimes I start thinking about something so long that I come to a conclusion I wish I had never reached in the first place. At that point I wish I had never started down the road of thinking about said subject, because once I've reached a solid conclusion about something, I can't pretend I never reached it. Even I have more integrity than that.

Example of the day: I love Diet Coke. Oh how I love Diet Coke. I come from a long line of alcoholics, and I am proud to say I am not one, nor was I ever. With my limited understand of my personality, I know that were I not a practicing member of the Mormon Church, I would be a straight-up raging lush of an alcoholic. It's all there. I'm Irish-Catholic by blood. I come from a long line of heavy drinkers. I have an obsessive, routine-driven personality. I'm also a poet. All the makings of a classic dipsomaniac.

So the good news is, I don't drink alcohol. The bad news is, the role that alcohol would play in my life if I weren't so straight-laced and puritan is played by Diet Coke. I get a Homer Simpson-esque orgasmic expression on my face when I even think about Diet Coke. This is only sometimes accompanied by drooling.

I drink Diet Coke socially, at restaurants with my friends or when someone brings a case to a get-together. I drink it on dates, especially when I'm nervous. I crave it when I'm sad or angry. When I'm upset and feel like doing something self-destructive, I buy a 2-liter bottle and down the whole thing while walking haphazardly down the street and crying. No lie. Happened a few weeks ago.

See? I'm a cokeaholic. I've spent most of my life so proud of myself for not being addicted to booze that I haven't given much thought to any other addictions I might have. About a year before my mission I noticed that I sometimes got the shakes when I needed a Diet Coke, or after drinking too much, so I cut down. But since returning from my mission I've pretty much fallen back into old habits.

Here's where the part of my thinking too much comes in. Tonight I was sitting my with roommate after a long day, taking swigs from a 2-liter Diet Coke and talking. I mentioned to her that I like the bitter taste of Coke, and she picked up on the "progeny of alcoholics" thing right there. Then I started telling her about how I will, naturally, stop drinking Diet Coke when I am pregnant. You know, I can quit any time I want. We googled "Caffeine and fetal health" and found evidence that Caffeine can lead to low-birthweight babies. Well duh. If something isn't good for people it can't possibly be good for tiny people growing inside you.

Here's the rub. I don't care enough about myself to give up Diet Coke for me. I would give it up for my future unborn child, because I would swim through a sea of thumbtacks for any of the kids I nanny for and they aren't even mine. But this raises a few questions:

1. What does it mean that I won't give up a destructive habit that I enjoy? OK, obviously Diet Coke is different from alcohol because it won't significantly shorten my life. Nor does it impair judgment or tear apart families. To my knowledge. But it's not good for my body. Unlike chocolate or ice cream, it's apparently not even good for you in reasonable doses. Does my Diet Coke addiction indicate a lack of self-love? Not that I care. Here's the question I really care about:
2. Does my Diet Coke addiction bother God? Allow me to show you a chart I found on the internet. I'm actually going to just copy down the numbers that interest me.

Column A is a certain beverage. Column B is the milligrams of caffeine in 8 liquid ounces.

A B
Red Bull 80.00
Diet Coke 45.6
Dr Pepper 41.0
Nestea Iced 26.5
Drip Coffee 115-175
Brewed Coffee 80-135
Espresso 100
Black Tea 40
Green Tea 15
Hot Cocoa 14

For those unfamiliar, the LDS health code forbids coffee in all forms (including decaf), black tea, green tea, and white tea. Neither God Himself nor any of His representative have ever offered definitive word on the subject, but many speculate that those items are forbidden because addiction is evil, caffeine is addictive, and the aforementioned items contain caffeine. It's a simple syllogism. However: we have been counseled that whether or not to consume caffeinated soft drinks is an individual decision. Note that Diet Coke has more caffeine than all forms of tea. Even hot cocoa, the Mormon hot drink mainstay, has almost the same amount of caffeine as the forbidden green tea.

God is omniscient. He knows exactly how many freaking milligrams of caffeine is in every beverage in the universe. If His real concern were caffeine, he would have gotten with the times and forbidden caffeinated soft drinks, and possibly Swiss Miss decades ago. But that's not the issue, apparently. What is it? I don't know.

I could easily use these findings to justify my continued consumption of Diet Coke. But that's not where my thoughts are leading me at all. It's leading me to wonder, is there another reason why Diet Coke is bad for me that I don't see? It makes me think I should give it up just in case caffeine is the real issue, or because there might be some other poison in it that could kill me. or that would disappoint my Heavenly Father.

That's not even the conclusion I was leading myself to when I started this entry. My head is spinning.