New video!

This is the Skuld video I mentioned a few weeks ago. It's finally done! Enjoy!

More thoughts about food:

• When I came back from my first visit to Europe (September 2001, and yes, I was caught in the Sept 11th airport messiness), I decided I wanted to "eat like a European". To me, this meant pasta with tomato sauce (which I made every day from scratch: some onion, some garlic, a bit of green pepper, one diced tomato), expensive coffee, and croissants. This is what I ate every day. It's ALL I ate every day, because I couldn't afford to buy anything else. But it's also... well, it's all I wanted, because it reminded me of being in Europe. I felt, back then, like I was meant to be in Europe.
  
• When M (my ex) and I were in the long, drawn-out, 2-month process of breaking up, I developed a fondness for green tea Frappuccinos. I drank them 2 or 3 times a week, until one day T. was rushed to the hospital to get her appendix removed. Earlier in the day, she'd enjoyed a green tea Frappuccino with me, and while there's no proof that's what messed her up, I haven't been able to drink one since.

What's the best meal you've ever had? I can't decide. Right at this moment, I'd have to say it was whatever H. cooked on Valentine's Day :)

I'm too sore to go to the gym today (but I worked my ass off yesterday, let me tells ya) so I think I'm going into video mode for the day. wish me luck.

Today I am making applesauce. Tons and tons of applesauce. The whole apartment smells like warm apples, like childhood. Even though it's grey and rainy outside, in here it's a domestic dream, all rocking chairs and Sunday dinners.

Yesterday D. and I drove around the city, collecting fruits from the homes of her friends' parents. We got blackberries, yellow plums, (passed on the red plums, but might go back), and tons of apples. It took me all night, plus a bit of this morning, just to peel and core them all. Now I'm making, like I said before, applesauce.

There's something really rewarding about domesticity, I have to say. I hated all things domestic when I was a teenager, choosing instead to cook everything I could in the microwave. I was especially fond of those stuffed chicken breasts from Costco, Kraft Dinner, and ice cream. Only when I was trying to impress someone - dinner parties, Christmas gifts - did I lower myself to cook. I think even then I knew the power of cooking "with love", but was scared to use it.

So maybe you can see where I'm going with this, I don't know.

H's grandpa died on Saturday, and it's thrown him for a bit of a loop. I don't want to broadcast too much about his feelings here on the internet - it's not my place to do so - but it should be said that he's pretty distraught. First, because his grandpa just died. Second, because he can't be in Sweden with his family. It's an ongoing conflict. He loves his family so much, and he hates being away from them at the best of times... anyways.

I have this problem. I always want to fix things. Anyone close to me knows this; sometimes I stick my nose where it doesn't belong, get in people's business, and try to "fix" things that can't be fixed. I... just... I don't know what to say when people are upset, you know? My mother... I don't want to talk about her too much either, but let's just say the things she would say about herself. She can't handle conflict. She can't handle strong emotions. She runs from other people's sadness, depression, etc. She's never exactly been the type to offer a "shoulder to cry on". I realized this pretty early on, and vowed to be the opposite: the one with the open door and the coffee brewing, the sympathetic eyes, the right words for every situation. But as much as I want to be that person, I just... don't know how to do it. Life isn't a movie, and I don't know the magic words to make people feel better.

So I cook.

Today I'm making applesauce. Last night I made pork roast, baby potatoes, blackberry jam. The night before, we grilled steaks. If H asked me to bake him a chocolate torte right now, I'd do it. Food has power, you know?

That's what I want this post to be about - the power of food in difficult situations. I'm not up to writing "grammatically", with "proper sentences" and whatnot... today I just want to get my ideas on the page. So apologies for any poor grammar or word choice. Here are some memories I relate to food:

• My mother loves curry, but her husband doesn't really like Indian food. So the first time he left her for another woman, and my mom was so distraught, the only thing I could think to do was make curried chicken. I'd never made curry before in my life, and I found a recipe in this horrible 60's cookbook (there was a jello salad on the front cover). I spent hours on the chicken, but I was young, and didn't know to taste the food while preparing it. It turned out really bland. But the thought was there.
  
• The night before I moved to Alberta, A. came over and we drank warm milk with honey. We had an excellent chat, and really connected as people. She and I have been really close ever since.
  
• When my cousin died a few years ago, the whole family was devastated. Most of them weren't eating, either. So I made a giant lasagne, knowing that no-one would be able to turn it down, and they didn't :) It was gone in minutes :)
  
• ...and today I make applesauce, because H. loves apples, and the scent of warm apples will (hopefully) take some of his pain away.
  

Have any food stories to share? Post them in the comments.

The Girlfriend's Guide To Heavy Metal

Okay, so, I was at a show last night... a DEATH METAL show... yes, it's true. One of H's friends is in a death metal band called Discerp, and even though I don't like death metal that much, I have to say they kicked ass. The way I judge things like this is if I see pictures when I hear the music, like if I can picture snippets of a music video, and I could definitely do that with Discerp. Gentlemen, if ever you're looking for a music video director, you know where to find me. Here's a sample of my work:



But here's the point, so I can finish this ramble and get to the good stuff. Sitting with us were A and J (is it J or G?). H works with A, and she and I have become Facebook friends :) Anyways, last night was her first death metal show, and her Facebook status was:

DEATH METAL!!11! I am scared.

I can relate, A. I can relate.

Before the show started, we were talking, and I mentioned to A that I'd written an article called The Girlfriend's Guide To Heavy Metal. She was really interested to read it, and I said I'd post it here (I said that a month ago, didn't I? tsk tsk). I talked myself out of posting it because, you know, it's not "transcendent". I also don't think it's completely finished - there are a lot more things I can do, like interview female metal heads, musicians, etc - but for now I'm going to post it, and call it "Draft 3", because I think people want to read it. Kay? Kay.

The rest of my day is going to be spent finishing H's music video. If it's done today, I'll post it here later.

Here's the article. Please remember it's a draft! And.... enjoy.




The guy in front of me is sweating like a pig, and a minute ago he smacked me in the face with his wet, stringy hair. Some of it got in my mouth, and even though it didn’t taste like anything, I want to brush my teeth. Or gargle. Or something. I can still feel the texture of that sweat-soaked mane on my lips, like the trail a slug leaves in the dirt, and it makes me want to retch.

The guy’s being a real ass, trying to climb on the backs of the guys in front of him, reaching out his arms to the stage. In his desperation, he elbows the dude next to him in the face. I’ve tried to back away, but I’m scared to move too much – the guy behind me is seven feet tall, and he’s bald, and he has a neck tattoo.

I want to go home. My feet hurt, my makeup’s running, and the smell in the middle of the mosh pit is unbearable. If I fell down right now, I’m sure I’d be trampled by a stampede of combat boots. I can’t understand a word the band is saying – possibly something about torture? Kittens? Norse mythology? It’s hard to tell when they growl so much. This is, undoubtedly, one of the worst moments of my life. I’m a girl! What the hell am I doing here?

I scan the crowd, looking for my husband, Henrik, and find him at the foot of the stage. He’s entranced by the music, roaring along with the lyrics, banging his head to the music with everyone else. It’s as though the rest of the world has disappeared. And even though he’s scowling, and kinda looks like a demon, his eyes are sparkling.

That’s why I’m here.

I just wish I could enjoy it.

Here’s my story in a nutshell: I married a Swede. You know how they say Scandinavians make the best husbands? I’d have to agree with that, but I’d also add this: Scandinavians rock out harder than anyone else. I mean, they come from the land of Vikings, you know? Death metal is played on Top 40 radio in Scandinavia. I love my husband very much – he’s kind and sweet and affectionate, and sometimes he does the dishes. But he also loves to growl, and head bang, and paint his face to look like Skeletor. He listens to music by people who burn down churches. He scours youtube for the bloodiest, most violent music videos he can find.

I’ll admit that in the beginning, I didn’t like heavy metal. I associated it with high school, big trucks, frizzy hair, bad horror movies, and misogyny. I didn’t know my loving husband was a hard-core metal fan, and by the time I figured it out, I was already smitten. So, dear readers, I’m learning to love the metal. It’s an ongoing process, but I have learned a few things along the way. Girls, if you suspect your man is into metal and you don’t know what to do, read on.


Why Metal?

I judge good music according to three factors. 1) Does it have good lyrics? 2) Can you dance to it? and 3) Does it create an emotional response?

Here’s how I judge the typical metal song:

1. I can’t understand the lyrics, dude is growling so much. I have no idea what he’s saying.
2. Sometimes, for a few seconds. But the tempo shifts so much in the average metal song, it’s almost impossible to move through a whole song.
3. Yes. Definitely. It makes me want to hide in the corner, cover my ears, and cry.

So I’m not the best person to explain the value of heavy metal. Instead, I asked my husband why he finds metal so appealing.

“It’s the lyrics, the imagery, the place that metal takes me to, the way they write songs, the way they use the instruments....”

What place does it take you to?

“It changes, but it’s that mythical... it’s like when you read a book, you go into that world, and you try to be in that world. It’s the atmosphere of it all.”

In other words, metal is fantasy. It’s escape.

Bruce Dickinson is the lead singer of the grandfather of all metal bands, Iron Maiden. In an interview for the documentary Metal: A Headbanger’s Journey, he says metal is a summation of all the things he enjoyed when he was a 15 year old kid:

“If you ever lose that 15 year old kid inside you, it won’t make sense at all.”

Everything in metal is heightened; the volume, the emotion, the imagery. Everything is taken to the extreme, because that’s what the 15 year old kid inside wants to hear. Metal is about fantasy, and about anger, but above all it’s about holding onto that exuberance and raw emotional power teenagers feel. I'm not saying metal is immature, mind you. I'm saying it's bigger.


The Test

First things first: you need to find out if your man is, in fact, a metal head. Sometimes the signs will be right in front of you. Does your man:

• Wear combat boots to the bar?
• Break into air guitar when he likes a song?
• Have a poster of Black Sabbath, Alice Cooper, or Iron Maiden on his wall?
• Have a closet full of band t-shirts, most of them black, featuring pentagrams, skeletons, demons and/or blood spatter?

Then he’s probably a metal head. If you’re still not sure, here is a sure-fire way to find out. The next time you’re both in the same room, I want you to clear your voice, then say the following:

“You know, Metallica is great and all that, but I think their new stuff is WAY better than their old stuff.”

If he gets angry and leaves the room, or if he breaks something, he’s a metal head.

See, “old” Metallica are the kings of American thrash metal. Even today, they’re considered some of the most technically skilled musicians in the world. But in the mid-to-late 90’s, they decided they didn’t want to be Thrash anymore. They released an album called Load (if I wasn’t so classy, I’d say there’s a joke to be made here) which was basically a “rock” album. They cut their famously long hair, wore makeup in their videos, and sang about… their “feelings”.

Then they launched an attack on Napster and other file-sharing programs. In other words, they sold out thousands fans because they (the richest metal band in the world) were upset about royalties. Singing about your (non-murderous) feelings? Not metal. Caring about money? REALLY not metal. This is why old Metallica (anything earlier than 1992) is good, while new Metallica (anything after 1994) is bad.


The Education

So now you have definite proof your man is a metal head. Roll up your sleeves, ladies, because it’s time to get dirty. Here is a list of resources to help educate you in the ways of metal:

1. Video Games
The Guitar Hero and Rock Band games feature many heavy metal bands, from Kiss to Slipknot. The games give you a chance to not only familiarize yourself with some of the biggest metal songs, but also to play them yourself. After you’ve tried a couple guitar solos, you’re sure to appreciate the technical skill that goes into a metal song. And, you know, video games are fun.

2. Movies
If you seriously want to learn about metal, including history, styles, and controversies, I highly recommend the film Metal: A Headbanger’s Journey. This documentary follows Sam Dunn, a Canadian anthropologist and self-proclaimed metal head, as he tours around Europe and North America visiting festivals and interviewing his favorite bands. The film is a good, comprehensive overview of the metal scene. But more than that, it makes metal exciting for everyone, not just hard-core fans.

If you’re not the “documentary type”, then try one of the following: This Is Spinal Tap, Fubar, Anvil! or Wayne’s World.

3. Magazines
Every music genre has its own magazines, but metal probably has more than any other. There are magazines for different genres, different instruments, different languages. Some of the best metal magazines for the uninitiated include Revolver, Metal Hammer, and Kerrang. I personally like Metal Hammer because it’s well-written, and it’s not afraid to make fun of itself.


The Music

In Metal: A Headbanger’s Journey, Sam Dunn breaks down the different types of metal into a family tree of sorts. Here’s a condensed version to help guide you through the many different genres of metal:

Early Metal / Original Hard Rock / Shock Rock
How you’ll recognize it: you probably already do, because this is what they call “classic rock” nowadays.
Bands: Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Aerosmith, KISS

New Wave of British Heavy Metal
How you’ll recognize it: you’ve probably played it in Guitar Hero.
Bands: Motörhead, Iron Maiden, Dio

Progressive Metal
How you’ll recognize it: intense psychedelic dreamscapes, impossible solos, and songs about robots.
Bands: Rush, Queensrÿche, Dream Theater

Glam/Hair Metal
How you’ll recognize it: you heard it that time you went to the strip club.
Bands: Mötley Crüe, Twisted Sister, Poison, Warrant

Pop Metal
How you’ll recognize it: your older sister used to listen to it in the 80’s.
Bands: Van Halen, Def Leppard, Guns N’ Roses

Thrash Metal
How you’ll recognize it: it’s what the majority of non metal fans refer to as “heavy metal.”
Bands: Metallica, Slayer, Anthrax, Megadeth, Pantera,

Black Metal
How you’ll recognize it: corpse paint, screaming, and swords.
Bands: Bathory, Satyricon, Dimmu Borgir

Death Metal
How you’ll recognize it: growling so intense you won’t understand the lyrics.
Bands: Cannibal Corpse, Entombed, Dismember

Goth Metal
How you’ll recognize it: the lead singer wants to suck your blood.
Bands: Type O Negative, My Dying Bride, Him

Industrial Metal
How you’ll recognize it: you listened to it in high school.
Bands: Ministry, White Zombie, Nine Inch Nails, Marilyn Manson

New Wave of American Metal
How you’ll recognize it: this is what your teenage brother listens to.
Bands: Lamb of God, Killswitch Engage, Slipknot

Okay. You’re educated, you’ve listened to the music, and you’re still here. What’s the next step? It’s time to start preparing for a live show.

The Costume

The metal costume is centered around one very important piece of clothing: the t-shirt. T-shirts will usually be black, feature a band logo, and have a picture involving a pentagram, blood spatter, or a skeleton (if it has all three, it’s probably a Slayer shirt). The general rule of thumb when choosing a shirt is that the more obscure the band, the cooler the shirt. If you had to mail order the shirt from the frozen tundra of Norway, and it has strange lettering (umlauts are a definite plus), and it ALSO has a really violent picture on it (see above), you’ll be the coolest person in the room. If the band broke up before getting famous, or if the t-shirt is for an obscure high school band of a famous person, you earn extra metal points.

The next most important item of clothing for a metal show: footwear. If you plan on being anywhere near the stage, do not, repeat DO NOT wear any of the following kinds of shoes:

• pumps
• stilettos
• wedges
• sandals
• anything open-toed
• anything too expensive to replace

THEY WILL BE DESTROYED. Proper footwear for a girl at a metal show: big black boots (combat boots keep your feet safe AND make you look tough) or simple sneakers.

The most important thing to remember when you’re dressing for a metal show is that inevitably, you are going to get dirty. The floors are sticky with beer, the guys are flinging sweat everywhere, and in the rare case a fight breaks out, there might even be some blood. The best bet is to dress like a guy: jeans, tshirt, boots. Wear clothes that can be easily thrown in the washing machine.

If you’re committed to looking feminine, though, you do have a few options. You can go rockabilly, with a frilly halter dress and big red lips. This will make you stand out in the crowd, but not in a bad way. The problem is that something will most likely get spilled on your dress, and you can’t really mosh in a halter and Mary Janes. Not without a lot of practice, and possibly double-sided tape.

You can also go Goth, which a lot of girls at metal shows do: black lipstick, dog collar, PVC. But be warned that you will get VERY hot, your makeup will smudge, and at the end of the night you’ll probably have a rip in your expensive satin corset. Best to stick with cotton, leather, and the occasional metal spike.

The Live Show

So the guy jumps up on stage and rips the microphone out of the singer’s hand.

“Who stole my hat???” he screams, and the crowd collectively yells at him to get off the stage.

“I want my *&^$# hat!” He screams again, then jumps head-first off the stage and punches a random guy in the face. The band stops playing, waiting for the commotion to die down.

I finally maneuver my way out of the mosh pit, find an empty seat, and put my feet up. I wish I’d brought ear plugs. My brain hurts from all the noise.

People go to a metal show to have fun, drink some beer, and let off some steam. Sometimes this means people get a bit out of control, like the guy who jumped up on stage. But for the most part, just like any other social gathering, people go to metal shows to hear the music and have a good time.

For someone like me, who prefers Morrissey to Metallica, the key to a good metal show is to always be prepared. Make sure you have earplugs. And cash, to buy drinks. Get to the show early so you can find a place to sit, and did I mention earplugs?

At the end of the band’s set, I push my way through the crowd to stand with my husband. His face is red, his hair soaked with sweat, but he’s happy like a little kid. And that makes me happy.
I’m still not the biggest metal fan, but I’ve found a way to appreciate it. Now, when Henrik wants to crank the death metal and escape for a little while, I’m not worrying about his sanity. Heavy metal is an outlet. It helps people release aggression. We all need some form of outlet, don’t we? I write, Henrik listens to Dimmu Borgir, and we get along just fine.

I have realized something very important today.

See, one of my classmates (someone I'll admit I don't know very well, someone I had a class with, like, 2 years ago, but someone who stood out) won a prestigious writing award. On hearing the news, I went through a couple of stages. First, "oh hey! I know her!", second "Wow! Good for her!", third "she must write a lot more than I do", fourth "why the fuck is SHE so special?", and fifth "I'm a failure."

I googled her and found some of her work online. And I read it. And you know what? It's good, but it's not mind-blowing good. I was expecting transcendence, but what I got was... well, it was GOOD, and it was INTERESTING, but it wasn't anything I couldn't do. Know what I mean?

So here's what I realized. If I want to be a writer, I have to stop worrying that my work isn't good enough. I have to stop worrying that I have to change the world in 1000 words. Because that is probably never going to happen. I have to stop worrying that everyone else is a "better writer" than me, because logic dictates that "talent" is a matter of opinion, and most of the time I think I stack up alright next to my classmates. Not to brag, but I'm an A student, dont'cha know... (actually, I think everyone in the writing program gets high marks. I can't imagine anyone having lower than a B+ average, so being an A student isn't that big of a deal...)

Professors over the years have freaked me out with their little sayings:

• "[writing] is organic, and should flow easily onto the page" (maybe in fiction. But what about non-fiction, where you have to tell the truth all the time?)
  
• "if you haven't published by third year, you might as well give up" (then what about all the teachers out there?)
  
• "the best writing will come to you as if in a dream" (well, that's hardly ever happened to me - does it mean I'm not a good writer?)
  
• "if you're a good writer, the world will recognize it." (What about Emily Dickinson?)
• "the story is in the details" - this one I agree with, actually.
  

The profs are trying to be helpful, of course, but... I don't know. Sometimes, usually when I have a few weeks off between classes, I feel like I'm in way over my head. How the hell am I ever going to match up to these people, you know? This one writes a column for the newspaper; this one interns at a famous magazine; this one has a book deal; this one wins every award they apply for. I, on the other hand, don't have a piece I even find WORTHY of submitting for an award. Not right now.

Because I have this thing stuck in my head that writing should always be transcendent. That's my word of the day, btw. I think "if it didn't make me cry to write it, it's not good enough." Then when I have an assignment for class, I won't write about things that make me cry, because I don't want to overshare with the class. So I screw myself both ways - I'm not brave enough to be a powerful writer, and I'm not powerful enough to write good work.

It doesn't help that I've been reading Joan Didion all summer. If we want to talk about beauty and transcendence in writing, there it is. Will I ever be able to write like that? I don't know. I don't think I've lived the right kind of life to do that. I think my eyes might be slowly closing to the poetry of the world.... slowly narrowing in.... since most of my writing is about myself.

But reading my (very accomplished) classmate's work today, I realized that ALL THIS IS BULLSHIT. She's an excellent writer, and she has a definite style, but her work isn't anything I couldn't do too. I HAVE been trained well (even if this blog doesn't reflect it), and I DO have the tools to be a decent, if not beautifully poetic, writer. Maybe one day I'll find the story that elevates my writing to a new level. In the meantime, I'm perfectly capable, and have to start thinking of myself as such.

More To Love, Episode 2 - Picking Scabs

Last night, H. was on the computer reading various fringe-Christian rants about Marilyn Manson and Nine Inch Nails. He does it a lot, and it kinda bugs me. Sometimes he'll put on these horrid glassy-eyed Christian TV shows where people ask for money in the name of "Jesus", and sit there with this shocked look on his face, like it's the first time he's ever heard the pitch. Or he goes to websites like the one for that "God Hates Fags" church and reads the worst parts out loud (not only does God hate "fags", apparently... he also hates Swedes, Canadians, and basically everyone else in the world). Or he watches those 9-11 Truth shows the conspiracy theorists buy airtime for on Shaw TV - apparently the oil companies were behind it? Or... it goes on and on. Anything hateful or ignorant, H. will watch or read it. And every time, he's shocked and amazed, then he's angry. I've told him time and again, just IGNORE it. Seeing it will just make you upset. But time and again he watches the shows, visits the websites... seeks out these things that upset him.

"You like to pick scabs, don't you?" I asked last night.
"Yeah, I guess I do," he answered, "but so do you."

Because, like the subject line says, last night I watched the 2nd episode of More To Love. I know I said I wouldn't, since last week's episode made me cry (and then do many km's on the exercise bike) and vow never to watch the show again. But what can I say? Like H, I'm a bit of a scab-picker.

Last night's episode was a train wreck of the highest proportion, from putting the (highly self-conscious) girls in bathing suits, to the chick vomiting off the side of the boat, to Kristian's intense eyes. Not to mention all the crying. Is this going to be a running theme? Because if so, I'm not going to... who am I kidding, I'll watch it anyways.

So here's what happened. The girls divided into two "teams" for a couple of group dates. Two girls were chosen to be team captains, and to pick the teams amongst themselves. Only one problem: there were an odd number of girls. Cut to various teary confessions of the "I was always picked last because I was fat" genre.

The girl who WAS picked last... she just kinda stood there, like... I don't know. It was really awkward. She was all alone on one side of the room, saying to the other girls, "why don't you like me? I thought you all liked me." And no-one responded. But in the end it worked out for her (I guess), because she scored a one-on-one date with Kevin Ja... I mean Luke. They went to Vegas, and stuff happened. The other girls seethed with jealousy. More on that in a bit.

First, though, was a group date, and guys? This is where I fell in love with Bonnie. I even pulled H. away from the Christian websites for a second to marvel at the coolness of this chick. She's got awesome hair, awesome makeup, awesome clothes, glowing white skin... goddam, I wish I looked like her. Add to that she's wry, funny, and a little bit bitchy, and I think I've found my new best friend. Only one problem. She's on More To Love. Bonnie, what the hell? You're so much better than this shit! And I think the producers know it too, because even though she shows NO interest in Luke, and even though her "confessionals" are mostly about herself and the other girls, they keep cutting to her. Not to mention, she's one of the only girls yet to cry.

But back to the fun. So, the first group date is on a boat. The night starts off fine, with everyone chatting and sipping martinis while the chefs prepare some kind of feast. Then Heather, the cute lip-glossed blonde with hair full of flowers and bows, started puking over the side of the boat. Poor Heather, she puked and puked, then she cried and cried, then she fell asleep. Amazingly, none of her hair bows fell overboard. But she did miss out on all the fun, especially Kristan's crazy eyes.

Okay, let's take a minute here to talk about Kristian. She's like what? 12? Has she never been around men before? What's up with her? She's like that girl in high school who stalked your guy friend, sent him flowers on Valentine's Day and waved to him in the hallways... the one who'd combine her name with theirs on her notebook, and then eventually he went out with her and you were like "what the HELL?" and you knew he was only with her because she put out right away, and you knew she only put out right away because she was desperate for a man, and in the end she got pregnant and dropped out of school, but only after your friend dumped her because everyone made fun of him for being with her in the first place? Yeah. That would've been Kristian in high school, if she'd been mature enough. Desperation and self-deception are oozing from her pores. She actually said, last night, that she thinks she's in love with Luke. HOW? You've known him for, like, a week, and you've spent a grand total of 10 minutes alone with him! In fact, you've NEVER been alone with him because the cameras are always on! In the immortal words of Lloyd Dobler, "YOU MUST CHILL!"

The rest of the boat date was pretty tame. The only part worth mentioning, I guess, was the makeout session between Luke and Malissa, and later her confessional that "these other girls don't stand a chance." I like your confidence, Malissa, and I hope for your sake you're right. She really does seem to be the most compatible with Luke... but then again, we haven't learned all that much ABOUT Luke yet, have we?

I'll give him props for one thing, though: when Heather started puking over the side of the boat, he contemplated helping her, then decided against it. "The last thing she wants to see right now is me," he said. That, Luke, was a very thoughtful and astute observation. The last thing a girl wants when she's puking over the side of a boat is an attractive (to her) man, and a camera crew, watching her every move. 1 point for Luke.

Cut to date #2, the one-on-one Vegas night. I'll admit I wasn't watching this part too closely, because the winner (or loser) of the one-on-one date, Christina, annoyed me as much as she annoyed the girls in the house, and I'd assume it's for the same reasons. Christina is an airhead. She doesn't seem to know how to do anything except style her hair! And the dress she wore on the Vegas date? I'm pretty sure it was a skirt that she just pulled up around her chest to turn it into a minidress. Admit it, you've done that before. But have you done it on TV? Not that Luke seemed to notice - he was too entranced by her "bangin'" (his actual words: "her body is bangin'!") body to focus on fashion, or conversation, or Vegas. Luke, I'm revoking your 1 point, for use of the word bangin'.

Back at the house, Kristian was in a bug-eyed rage, saying Malissa shouldn't even be on the show because she's not, you know, "original" fat. I paraphrase:

"she didn't get fat until after high school, she doesn't know what it's like to not have a date to prom because of your size, she doesn't know what it's like to be discriminated against."

Kristian, hun? Pop your eyes back in, and sit next to me on the couch.

No matter how old you are, fat women are ALWAYS discriminated against. It doesn't matter when, or how, or WHY someone gained the weight. People always look at fat women, regardless of their age, in the same way. They don't think "oh, I bet she used to be thin in high school." They think "damn she's fat." I was thin in high school too. Doesn't mean I had tonnes of boyfriends, or got picked first for teams. I was lonely and angry and misunderstood. Everyone is. Maybe you're too young to realize that, but... you need to. Because your anger isn't doing anyone any good, least of all yourself.

Vegas date was a bit of a snooze, so instead I let H. read me some Christian rumors about the Satanic Marilyn Manson. Did you know he had some ribs removed so he could perform fellatio on himself?

The third date was the funnest of the bunch: a pool party at Luke's house. The girls freaked out about wearing bathing suits (cue the teary-eyed "I never go to the beach because I'm fat" confessionals), but only one of them had visible cellulite, which I thought was kind of amazing. They had some seriously cute swimwear, I have to say. Where do these people shop? Because I've been looking for one of those 50's-style "bathing beauty" suits for a while now...

Luke, knowing the girls would be self-conscious in their bathing suits, set about making drinks straight away. The girls got a bit tipsy, a bit comfortable. The one who got the MOST comfortable, though, was Lauren. I think it was Lauren. I can't really remember. Anyways, one of them was having so much fun she drank her martini in the pool, then said Luke was "the best floatie" she'd ever had. He did the one-on-one talking thing with each girl, mostly just trying to make out as much as he could. Nothing too interesting there.

The best part: once again, Kristian. And Bonnie. I don't know why they were there, since they'd already had their date, but they were fully clothed, so... I don't know. I was still thinking of missing ribs and puppies thrown into mosh pits. Anyways, Kristian said "I wanna see what his house looks like!" and the other girls were like "oooh!" and Bonnie, I love Bonnie, she said (with the wry wit):
"You should totally leave him a creepy 'I Was In Your House' note."
and the girls were like "no..."
and Bonnie was like "Kristian, you should totally do it." Because Kristian is young and naive and doesn't know the rules of the game, or how to distinguish sarcasm from normal conversation.
So Kristian snuck into the house, and (we can assume) looked around, and left Luke a creepy "I Was In Your House" note. Yes, she really did. Best of all, though? She wasn't the only one.

Then we come to what they called the "Mixer" and the "Elimination." "Mixer" apparently means champagne, formal wear, and skewers of meat. They eat so much meat on this show! "Elimination" is exactly what it sounds like. As the "Mixer" wore on, Luke took each girl away to, ummm, plead their case as to why they should stay in the house. Most of them were the usual "I think we have a shot at love" kind of conversations, but a few really stood out:

• Lauren: do you want the dirt on anyone? Because I can totally give you the scoop. Luke: no, not really, I'm trying to find out if you like me or not. Lauren: okay, well, if you want the dirt, just let me know.
  
• Bonnie: I know I look a bit intimidating, with the tattoos and all, but on the inside I'm a 50's housewife. Luke (VO): Bonnie makes me change my thinking about things every time I talk to her. (Translation: I don't know what to think of her, and because of that, I have to keep her around.)
  
• Kristian: I LOVE YOU!!!! (Eyes pop out of her head) Luke: Ummm, here, I think you dropped something.
  

Emme, plus-size supermodel and TV hostess extraordinaire, was in great form this episode. Some of her key scenes:

• Emme enters the room and stands near a large glass bowl. "Ladies, it's time to return your rings." Emme exits the room.
  
• Emme enters the room and stands near a velvet curtain. "Ladies, there is only one ring remaining." Emme exits the room.
  

In the end, three girls were sent home, but I can only remember one of them: Arriane, the "cabaret performer". She didn't need this show anyways. Kristian got the last ring, and looked so relieved she nearly passed out. I don't know what to think of her... she seems to crazy to be real, you know?

Will I watch this show again next week? I might, but I'm not too sure. Bonnie is awesome, but she's gotta go home soon, because this is definitely not the show for her. There's no way she can "win", and I'm sure she knew that going into it. It feels like she's using the show as a platform for something, which, you know, good for her. That's what I would do too. But she can't last, what with not being into Luke and all. So we'll see. It was a decent way to waste an hour, but still not as good as a repeat of True Blood.

I really should start reviewing that show instead.