Judas Priest doesn’t appreciate his talent.

Matt Nathanson paid a visit to Minneapolis on Saturday, and Lisa came up from Iowa to go to the show with me. In order to prepare me properly, Lisa sent up a few CDs featuring footage of live performances of Matt. The man is a wiggler - no static, contemplative singing-songwriting for this boy! In fact, if you cast your mind back to those goofy flower pot toys that dance when you make noise (and were strangely popular for no reason I can discover), this will give you some idea of how Matt moves on stage when he plays. I did several demonstrations for Lisa as we waited in line for the doors to open, but I think overall she was unimpressed.

Matt Wertz and Kate Earl opened the show. Kate Earl is a Fiona Apple in training, but there’s potential there. She’s got a lot of power in her voice, and it looks like it takes hardly any effort on her part to belt out a tune. Matt Wertz looked like he fell right out of an episode of the OC. He was a lot of fun on stage and there were plenty of sing-alongs for the crowd.

What made the show for me was the stage banter - it was hilarious! Matt N. likes to preface his songs with strange and total bullshit intros, like the song he wrote for Judas Priest, but it got turned down. Both he and Matt W. have a tremendous talent for playing off the audience and it made for some great energy in the show. Not to mention the covers of Duran Duran, Michael Jackson, Cat Stevens, U2, Kelly Clarkson, Prince, et. al., that were seamlessly weaved into the show.

Hungry like the wolf!

Capote.

I don’t think I can do justice to this film with my ramblings. Phillip Seymour Hoffman so convincingly stepped into the role of Truman Capote, that just watching him move on screen left my heart in my throat. It was incredible. Catherine Keener creates a stunning compliment to Hoffman as Harper Lee. Mychael Dana provides a moody and subtle score (that I can’t find online to buy - frustrating!).

I won’t be one of the fangirls that screams in capital letters YOU MUST SEE THIS FILM, but I will say that there isn’t any competition out there for this film right now. None. It’s getting all the Oscar buzz it deserves. Whether or not you’ve read In Cold Blood, this film is certainly worth seeing (several times).

I’m normal. Please date me. (Part II)

I will not accept dates from creepy men who are old enough to be my father. It’s no wonder that smart and savvy 40+ yr. old women get frustrated with men in their age range who still think they should be dating in the 20s pool. When I’m 40 I’m might take you up on that offer for a cup of coffee, but I’m 25, so fuck off, mister.

Domino

Domino - a film loosely based on the life of L.A. bounty hunter Domino Harvey - is a typical Tony Scott film: lots of quick-cut editing; superimposed images and fancy-schmancy processing. I’m for all that, actually, but what Domino lacks is an interesting and driven narrative. By the middle of the film I was totally bored and completely confused how Richard Kelly could write this piece of shit after the brilliance of Donnie Darko.

Whatever. If you’re going to go see it, go for Lucy Liu and Christopher Walken, with cameos by Jerry Springer and Brian Austin Green (90210 baby!). Otherwise there isn’t much to take away from this film.

One other thing that bothers me is the costuming for the Domino character. Domino Harvey is interesting because she was a kick-ass, gun-toting female in the totally male-dominated field of bounty hunting. But what technique does this film use to establish her as that lone female? You guessed it: breasts and butt. No picture of the real-life Domino Harvey that I’ve seen comes close to the trashy costuming that Tony Scott did with the Domino character.

I imagine that Domino Harvey would have considered her weapons her best fashion accessories anyway.

Fat? Wal-Mart would prefer you did not apply for a job with them.

As if I needed another reason to despise Wal-Mart (the misogyny! the censorship!), executives at Wal-Mart give us one more reason:

An internal memo was prepared and submitted to Wal-Mart’s Board of Directors to propose changes to their health benefits packages for employees, while trying to salvage their already deteriorating image. (Good luck with that!) Among these proposed changes is hiring more part-time employees and discouraging the unhealthy (read: fat) from working there.

According to a New York Times article: ‘The memo noted that Wal-Mart workers “are getting sicker than the national population, particularly in obesity-related diseases,” including diabetes and coronary artery disease.’ Remember folks: If you are fat, it MUST mean that you’re unhealthy, too. Diabetes and coronary artery disease among the thin? No way!

It goes on to say: ‘”It will be far easier to attract and retain a healthier work force than it will be to change behavior in an existing one,” the memo said. “These moves would also dissuade unhealthy people from coming to work at Wal-Mart.”‘

This is fat-hatred, but goes beyond even that. What are they going to do - fire all the fat and “unhealthy” people? This is such aggravating and outrageous behavior to make affordable, reliable health insurance near-fucking-impossible to have for those the company has decreed a risk or too big an expense.

And don’t forget about the 46% of Wal-Mart employee children who are uninsured or on Medicaid. Wal-Mart, you can’t be letting those sick little rug-rats bite into your profits, can you?

Take a moment to tell Wal-Mart that their standards for employment and lack of fair health insurance coverage suck.

Thumbsucker.

I caught a screening of Thumbsucker last night. And like the recent Chumscrubber, it’s going to catch a lot of grief for trying (and failing) to effectively use the energy that was so awesome in American Beauty. But there are a couple of highlights.

I always enjoy seeing Tilda Swinton on screen. She can always turn out a great role, even in a film that is less than deserving of her. How does she do it?

Keanu Reeves also makes an appearance as an orthodontist with a penchant for philosophizing. (I can already hear the rallying cries of the Keanu-Haters!) No, really, he did a great job! He is fantastic channeling the Oneness of his former role of Neo from The Matrix so the whole things looks like a clever satire. A hypnosis scene all but shouted “Red pill! Blue pill!” Reeves doesn’t take himself very seriously in the role, and that makes it clever and fun.

I can’t join the Keanu-Haters club. I just can’t do it, but I will concede that his work in Much Ado About Nothing sucked pretty hard. But didn’t he make up for that in Constantine? Surely, people, you can’t say it’s that bad. I saw it, like, eight times in the theater.

Dear Fairy Godmother: Please send me a greyhound.

It’s in the mail!

I mailed off my application to adopt a retired racing greyhound. So cute! So lovable! I don’t think I can survive the wait till spring so I can bring my baby home!

Friends have already been listening to me go on about this for months. (If I haven’t already told you so, thanks for your patience with me.) I already have a name picked out: Kiba. It’s a Japanese word meaning “fang.” I haven’t met Kiba yet, but she’s floating out there in the greyhound ether somewhere, and soon she will come home to me. I’ve already started a hope chest for her including lots of toys and greyhound essentials.

Yeah, yeah, I totally sound like an annoying parent-to-be. Just wait till Kiba gets here!!

Find your own bundle of joy here.

I’m normal. Please date me.

Every Tuesday night I meet up with a small group of co-workers and friends at a coffee shop for what we call Knitting Night. Not everyone knits. One guy shows up to work on his manga art, and I bring along a notebook to practice my Japanese kana and kanji. But last night was full of stories about my weekend with Lisa and how she teased me mercilessly about the new apartment caretaker I’m working with, because I’m developing a fatal crush on him.

I tried to express my enthusiasm about his work ethic, and how he offered to help bully (as needed) our more difficult residents. I thought, Yes! A man who speaks in complete sentences, is hardworking with a laid back sense of humor, and can do building maintenance so I don’t have to listen to all the whining about the current (and somewhat inadequate) maintenance work order system. But best of all, he is at least 4-5 inches taller than me. That may sound like a trifle, but I am 6″0′. When I see him I want to start a conversation just so I can stand next to him and enjoy the totally alien perspective of a guy looking down at me!

Lisa was all patience as I babbled about him and did everything but draw imaginary hearts over the ‘S’ in my narrative. She met him later and the rest of the weekend was a slew of teasing. She pointed out that I didn’t so much say his name, as kind of sigh when I said it. Which is true.

The Knitting Night attendees thought it might be interesting to compare this current crush to high school-era crushes. All my high school crushes were musicians, most notably of those being Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails, and even into my second year of college I was comforted by the pictures of Trent covering every available inch of wall space. In comparing the two, I’m rather glad that I?��Ǩ�Ѣve lost that inclination to post pictures. At age 25, it would just be fucking weird. And what if HE *sigh* walked in on that?

And giving credit where credit is due: the title of this post was taken from a song of the same title by Charlotte Martin. I saw her perform the song live once, and then it didn’t make an appearance on the debut album. What a rip-off.

Venus of Willendorf…Sexy!

Finished reading Fat!So? by Marilyn Wann over the weekend. It’s a fun and fat-fact-filled homage to fat pride. There’s also a bit of a combat guide against fat hatred in it, too. Marilyn runs the Fat!So? website where there are loads of fat activism resources.

My favorite part of the book was the Venus of Willendorf paper doll complete with a whole wardrobe or funky outfits. Ms. Willendorf doesn’t apologize for her size. Why should we?

Other great reading for you is The Fat Girl’s Guide to Life by Wendy Shanker. Wendy, a comedienne and writer, offers up a book that is a great first step towards being who you are in the body you have. I love reading lists of comeback lines for people who think it’s their business to get in your face about your weight.

It is not 20 degrees in your apartment. NO! It’s really not.

My residents have been bugging me for weeks about the heat. But no matter how many times I try to explain the eccentricities of the building boiler, it doesn’t sink in. Maybe I shouldn’t use the word “eccentricity” with them. They see my face and that’s all they need - a face to curse at while they are shivering under three sweaters and a blanket. What were you all expecting from a building that went up in the 1920s?

So I got a lot of voicemails about the heat. I got one resident who likes to call me, spit out one snotty remark about the heat and how I am breaking the law by denying her heat, and then hang up on me. (I know who you are!) And then I get the friendly knocks on the door from residents who have lived in the building, and lived with the boiler, for years, but still don’t understand how it all works:

“So, have you got heat in your apartment?”

“Yeah - it looks like it came on today. The pipes are warm.”

“That’s because I called today. I got really mad. I called twice today.”

“Well, we’ve had this conversation before. You know that the boiler is a little weird right at the beginning of fall.”

“Yeah, but it was 20 degrees in my apartment this morning.”

“No, it was not 20 degrees.”

“Yeah, it was 20 degrees. It was freezing.”

“NO. It was not 20 degrees in your apartment. It wasn’t even 20 degrees outside. How was it 20 degrees in your apartment?”

Silence.

“Well, the heat’s on now. Because I called.”

Silence.

She seemed to be waiting for proper acknowledgement of the heated miracle now pouring from the radiators. I refused to give it. I closed the door and went to answer the phone.

“Thanks for turning on the heat.” Click.