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.

A post about Dating or, allow me to bitch at you for a few hundred words.

Today is February 18th. For those of you who really live in the moment, four days ago was Valentine's Day. I have never been a huge fan of said holiday, even as a kid, especially not since Spencer Bolton put a Valentine in my fourth grade mailbox that said, "You're stupid." I tattled on him, so I got my vengeance. But still. Not cool.

Don't worry, this post isn't about that overwrought fictional holiday. It's about what I did that night. And a decision I've made that I may or may not stick to.

So seeing as V-Day (or VD for even shorter) fell on a Monday eve this year, church folks put together a massive all-Seattle-metro Family Home Evening, so that all the sad single Mormons between 18 and 35ish could get together and flirt and potentially heal themselves of their tragic, crippling loneliness. It was to be a potluck/open mike night, which is a totally awesome idea. And the food, to get my positive thoughts out of the way from the start, was delicious.

Although large-scale activities are not always my thing, I was excited about this one. Lots and lots of people, and because Seattle attracts awesome people, a majority of them were bound to be cool, right?

If you are attempting to predict what I am about to say, you're probably wrong. I'm not going to complain that I felt too old to be there (silly you, that was the Sweet Meet). I am not going to complain that there were no cute guys there (there were lots). And I am not going to complain that there were lots of cute guys there but none of them paid attention to me (eh, not really applicable).

So what was my problem, then? It was threefold. All of them fall under the general umbrella of "actually, even in Seattle, a lot of Mormons my age are assholes."

Grievance the first. The first act at the open mike was a sweet girl from my ward who dressed up and did a monologue. It was ADORABLE. And she was GOOD. Also, she has balls the size of watermelons (figuratively) because doing a monologue in front of a couple hundred people is SCARY. Unfortunately, the thing about insecure people is that they like to undermine people who do things they are too puss to do. So, not only did approximately three quarters of the people keep talking while this girl was performing, a whole lot of them made snarky comments about it.

What's worse, for the rest of the open mike event, hardly anyone shut their damn mouth-hole. That pissed me off, maybe more than it should have. But seriously, if someone took the time to prepare something for an FHE, the least you can do is shut up and listen to it. That is literally the least you can do. Anything else is dehumanizing and disrespectful.

Grievance the second, and yeah, they are all this petty. After this extremely well-attended event was over, there were still lots of people milling around. There was also a TON of trash everywhere. Lots and lots of disposable dishes and empty soda cans and spilled food etc. My poor friend Erin was spinning off her rocker with stress, so a couple of other girls and maybe two guys started helping her clean up. There was lots and lots to stuff to do and it was pouring rain outside. Meanwhile, there were easily fifty or sixty dudes just hanging out, hands in pockets, talking to each other, not doing anything.

They kept standing there for another hour. Nobody offered to help clean up, nobody offered to take out some of the overflowing garbage bags outside to the dumpster. I could say something about chivalry being dead, but we all know that it's been dead for decades. Helping to clean up is just basic human decency. By this point, I was livid.

The last grievance is that when another friend cut her finger and got a little sick to her stomach at the sight of blood, none of the guys who noticed offered to help with that, either.

Seriously? SERIOUSLY? Anyone who knows my history of relationships knows that my standards are not exactly sky-high, but I could not believe what insensitive jerks those boys were. I was so upset I may or may nor have walked by one group of them and hissed "I can't believe nobody is helping. No wonder no woman wants you." Sadly, I think only one of them heard me, and he had the class to actually look guilty.

I would rather be alone for the rest of my life than bother with any boy who would be that rude and inconsiderate. Even thinking about it right now makes me want to punch someone. Because what I just complained about is NOT too much to ask. It's not like I'm upset because nobody played the guitar for me outside my window. Really, it has nothing to do with me. Nobody helped me, which is fine because I am not that cute, but nobody helped any of the cute girls who were cleaning up, either. Except for Laird. And some tall Asian guy.

It blows my mind sometimes how unsympathetic Mormons can be. No empathy for others, only boo-hoo I'm twenty-eight and I've never been laid woe-is-me. It's psychopathic. It's immoral.

In short, Mormon guys can suck it until they learn how to be kind, because they suck. Did you see how I used suck in one sentence, but with two difference meanings? That means I'm too mad to care about potential semantic confusion. That's really mad.

Also, if anyone wants to protest that THEIR super classy Mormon husband is the exception to the rule, or you, yourself, are the exception to the rule: save it. I don't believe you. It's a numbers game, and everyone in this city is a loser.

THE END

Note: after reading this through, I get how ironic is it that I am responding with such unsympathetic vitriol to people I see as unsympathetic. It's like how I judge people for being judgmental. I get that I'm a hypocrite. But you wanted to know why I was pissed off on Monday, and now you do. Purged. XOXO

SUCKERS!!!!!!

In case you were curious, another round of 30 for 30 is going on at Kendi's Korner and across the Internets, but I am not participating. Why not? Democracy is why not.

You see, the people have spoken, and they have said they don't want to see me blog about clothes for a month, because when I have a daily blogging goal like unto such, I generally don't blog about other things (at least, that's was Vilja's line of reasoning).

But then, hahaha suckers! I haven't really been blogging much anyway. I've been super busy with work and getting my ducks in a row before school starts. I can't promise I will be blogging as much as I was when I was an unemployed stay-at-home attic-cleaner, but I do promise that I have some good stuff in the works (including some 2011 book reviews, and a REALLY INTENSE post about dating ... eh? Anybody perking up?). So please don't give up on me yet.

Also, if you totally super hearted my last 30 for 30 and are disappointed that I didn't end up doing it again, then clearly democracy doesn't work, and won't so long as folks have to DO something in order to participate besides complaining about it after the fact.

XOXO

ek

Why yesterday was the best day for birds.

1. It was not rainy or frosty.

2. I saw a whole avocado lying in the street. Picked clean.

From the archives: Jan 26, 2004

Presented without comment, with names changed to protect some of them from seeing this when they Google themselves.

(Hi Lori! Remember this paper? Miss you.)

NOTE: In case you are bad at math, I wrote this when I was 19.

"On the morning of August 14th, 2003, I logged onto my parents’ computer with a mix of excitement and trepidation. Being the unbelievably patient person I am, I had to restrain myself from grabbing the ancient purple iMac by the neck (if it had a neck, try to picture it) as it sloooooowwwwlllly chugged its way to the BYU homepage, then to the on-campus housing, than to my name, which provided a link to the name of my future roommate and her address.

My first reaction was to laugh out loud. My next was a timorous moan, followed by a surge of fear so powerful I can still recall the way my fists clenched, digging my fingernails into my palms.

“Loralee Barratt. Allen, Texas.”

Loralee. Texas. I don’t cuss, but the closest phrase that I can think to describe my feelings right at that moment is “Oh, s***.”

The next morning I went out for drinks with my best friend, her boyfriend and our World Literature teacher, mentor and former Texan Rich Sandford. He asked about my imminent departure for Utah, and I told him my roommate’s name and origin.

“Allen, eh?” Rich commented. “That’s a small town near Dallas. Near the University of Texas.”

“The University of what now?”

Rich chuckled. “Also known as the home of the George W. Bush Memorial Library. Allen’s a small town, too. She’ll probably be really conservative. Have fun.” Burt, Cori and Rich all laughed and again, a stream of panicked expletives ran through my head.

Coming to BYU was hands-down one of the scariest experiences of my life, and I have been in three car wrecks and woken up in the middle of a generally anesthetized surgery. My fears about BYU can be summed up as follows: I am politically liberal, and thus, Utah scares me. I came to BYU sight unseen, without so much as a campus visit under my belt. The stories my ward members told me did nothing to abate my fear that Utah would be isolated and narrow-minded, that my professors would be misogynistic Reaganites, and most of all, that everyone would hate me. Still, I could not deny that somebody upstairs wanted me at BYU. My other college prospects had refused to pan out for myriad financial and logistical reasons. Despite my love for all things Seattle, I had to leave the state. So Utah it was, to live with a Texan whose name sounded to me like a bastardization of an archaic Greek siren. And a Texan, no less. What would become of my political cartoon collection? My constant barrage of snide remarks about the Bush administration? For the next three weeks I bit my proverbial nails and pondered what sort of ordeal Heavenly Father had in store for me.

Loralee Barratt. Loralee Barratt. It sounded so high-maintenance. I knew that we would not get along. Well, I knew in the sense that I know that a food is disgusting before I try it. I figured our relationship would work in one of two ways: either we would completely despise each other and never speak, or we would tolerate each other’s presence and … never speak. Never did it occur to me that we might actually get along.

I took to, whenever referring to my elusive roommate, saying her name in my worst Southern drawl, My friends picked it up too, and until I left for Utah, our source of entertainment when we ran out of other material was my BYU Texan Republican roommate.

One day I checked my email and noticed a new message from a lonishia@hotmail.com. It was my roommate. Her email, which was short and completely devoid of capitalization, asked, among other things, if I was aware that we were on the Honors Floor in Deseret Towers.

“i just signed up for the honors floor as a joke. im so worried that were gonna be with a bunch of nerds.” She wrote. I am a nerd. My panic, which before had seemed slightly judgmental and unfounded, took full and horrid effect.

The car trip to Provo and long and uneventful, and when we finally arrived at the dorms, I went in unto the elevator, rode up to the seventh floor and located my new residence, 704. The room was empty, no sign of the roommate or any of her stuff. Since New Student Orientation didn’t start for two more days, I wasn’t that concerned. I took over the west side of the room, since it had a slightly bigger desk, unpacked, and slept that night at my friend’s house in American Fork. The next few days were filled with the mundane and middle school-esque goings-on of New Student Orientation, and still no roommate. I talked about her with the members of my Y Group, and we wondered if Loralee Barratt would ever show up at all.

That evening, three green Tupperware cartons, a giant black suitcase, a sewing machine and a gigantic stereo arrived at our abode, accompanied by my tall, blond, and extremely cute roommate. This was a problem heretofore unperceived: that my roommate would be much more attractive than I, that I would feel repulsive in comparison and that boys would be nice to me only in an effort to get an “in” with my hot roommate. Again with the internal monologue of expletives, although since I was now in Utah, these words were more along the lines of “Oh my hecking freak of a shoot gosh darn hot roommate.” Still, I thought a civilized greeting would be the wisest course of action.

“Hello. You must be Loralee,” I smiled my most sincere fake smile, the one I usually reserve for applying for loans or asking favors at the Washington Department of Transportation.

“Oh.” Was her response. “I go by Lori.”

The wave of relief was decidedly physical. At least she had a nickname that wasn’t Loralee. There was still the matter of her hotness, but the fact of the matter was, all my perceptions of her had been based on her name, and now I had learned that it wasn’t even her name. Lori, I figured, would be much easier to deal with than Loralee.

I didn’t see my roommate much for the next few days, since she had friends from back home that took up most of her time, and also went out on dates that lasted until five o’clock in the morning. We proved to have multiple things in common, such as a preference for loud music (although she preferred hers much later than I) and a mutual affection for my belongings. The girl borrowed EVERYTHING, and it would have bothered me except that she was equally generous with her shoes, of which she had many. She even gave me a pair of sandals she didn’t want anymore. I never wear them, but that was nice.

Lori likes to say that our roommate relationship is based on lies and deceit. That is absolutely not true, which is in itself a huge lie, because for the first month or so of our living arrangement, I was scared of Lori. She seemed so cool, and I was intimidated by her, since I am decidedly not cool. Fortunately, I had some things that she didn’t, such a computer, and Dining Plus, and the ability to use the word “good” in proper context, so I was able to be of some use to her. Thus I was able to lull myself into believing that we were on somewhat even grounds, with her social know-how and my inherent knack for owning things.

To make a long story short, Lori and I have reached a Zen-like understanding. She confides in me about boys, and life, and I correct her grammar as she does so. Lori has improved my coolness quotient significantly by helping me in my effort to wear clothes that improve my “game,” as it were. She also plucks my eyebrows and teaches me how to break-dance. It’s strange how our relationship was blossomed into the beautiful entity that it is. We laugh with and at each other, and politics rarely surfaces in our conversations, not that Lori would get upset if it did. In short, my roommate is cool, and I like her, and I’m possibly living with her next year. Who woulda thunk that a Seattle Liberal and a Smokin’ hot Texan would end up getting along so well."

Thursday Five.

Note: This came up when I did a google image search for "side of despair." I was so sad, my face fell off! Also, is there really a recording artist our there named "Mister Flu"? Inquiring minds will check it out later.

Here is your Thursday Five.

It ain't alliterative, but it's what I got.

1. When it rains job offers, it pours them like burning melted butter onto the skin of my wrist when I was just trying to make some rice krispys treats.

2. Tukwila is the ugliest, worst city in the world. I hate riding the bus there, and I resent how long it takes to ride the bus back.

3. I had my spine x-rayed last week and it turns out all the vertebrae in my back are grotesquely twisted to the right. My theory is that this is because I am blind in my left eye and thus turn to the right much more often than to the left. I also sleep on my right side.

4. Yesterday my goal was to make and eat an entire pan of rice krispys* treats. I ate one third, with a side of despair. It passed (the despair).

5. There is a new poll. Unlike my last one, this one is possibly interesting to people who are not me. Also, I have lots of new clothes. Do with that information what you will.

*Am I spelling that right?

Post-2010 Report

It's common for bloggers to take stock of their lives at the end of the year and write about their goals, hopes, etc for the upcoming. I am not going to do this because 1. 2010 kinda sucked and 2. 2011 is shaping up to be AWESOME but I don't want to jinx it.

However, it is quite important for me to take stock of my reading every year, so here are some graphs. I read 67 books this year, which is pretty good considering none of them were assignments for school, but pales in comparison to rock stars such as Janssen. As you can see, my split between kids/YA/adult books was reasonably even, with all three genres represented, although I showed a strong leaning towards books written for adults. This is because I am an adult.

NOTE: sometimes, it is hard to determine if a book is a children's book or a YA book. Obviously picture books are meant for children, but some chapter books can be kind of nebulous. I used a mathematically proven algorithm known as "thinking about how old the protagonist is and whether the book has adult themes, then guessing."

Clearly, I show a strong preference for fiction over non-fiction.

Shockingly, most of the books that I read, I liked. Spoiler alert--two of the books I did not like were Twilight. Additionally, contrary to popular belief, I do not ONLY read comic books.

This may or may not have been interesting to anyone who is not me.