Notes From the Ivory Tower

More Sunday Night Musings

2010-04-25T20:27:00.003-05:00

Another Sunday night, another Writing Center shift. Got my last hour open, so may as well waste a little time here.

Since last I posted, I've been to New Orleans for ACLA. The high points were definitely all the street-drinking and the insanely good food we ate (including alligator, and some phenomenal shrimp wrapped with crab, breaded, and served with a blood orange hollandaise sauce!). Low point was without a doubt Good Friday, where I, unlike certain other Catholics I won't name, fasted until 10:30 that night. I also resisted the urge to go to a strip club on Easter Sunday. Which, I figure, is a win for both me and God.

Given that my dissertation chapter is currently in the hands of my advisor, and I just can't muster up the will to go back and revise anything else yet, I've kind of been coasting since then. I work in the WC four days a week now (Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Thursday), and I spent a week prepping my application and interview for the Writing Center Admin job I've got next year (success! money! health insurance for a full year!). So any other kind of academic endeavor has been put severely on the back burner. I've been reading a few books, particularly a 600 page beast of a Vietnam novel called Matterhorn, which Captain Americanist recommended to me after seeing a review in the Times. Definitely a slog through the muck, watching many buddies die face down. Also contains one of the most disturbing "leech up the urethra" scenes I've ever encountered (and given my field of research, that's saying something). Tomorrow I may try to read through a theory book that my advisor left for me in my mailbox, apropos of nothing. It contains the cryptic note "Dubs, have you read this?", then has the name of a prominent theorist scrawled in a different ink. The theorist in the note is not the author of the book, nor is she referenced anywhere on the page where the post-it was stuck. She is cited in the work, but the index unhelpfully won't tell me where. So I guess I get to read this whole book now and try to guess my advisor's mind. Which, knowing him, will be assuredly surreal.

Still having my usual early-morning wakeups (today was at 4:30 and again at 5:30), though I'm pretty much used to them by this point. As I draw nearer and nearer to 30, I'm just tracking the slow deterioration of the rest of my body (matching up with the long-developing deterioration of my liver). Whether this will make my upcoming 30th birthday gala an epic drunkfest or a maudlin meditation on my own mortality remains to be seen. (I'll either end up sobbing into a boot of beer or attempting to jump over Lake Monona using only the power of my mind.)

I remember when my blog posts used to have some semblance of narrative coherence. Now, they're increasingly becoming just a collection of ramblings. Does this indicate some kind of lack of coherence in my life overall? Or am I just no longer prone to narrativizing the randomness of my life? Or maybe I'm just not having as much fun as I used to over a sustained period of time. (Wait, that last one is definitively true.) But it's an interesting question: what do we do here in Madison that's worth telling stories about? Vice is currently working on a folklore project, wherein she has to chronicle past tales of glory and shame from the department, and we were more than capable of providing her with many ribald tales of debauchery. But now, I ask myself what sorts of things we do that are worth memorializing in the epic sorts of narratives I used to craft on this blog? Events either boil down to "We got drunk" or "We got epically drunk, and I don't remember it enough to tell a story." The latter sums up Fangirl and Red-Headed Stepchild's recent birthday party/epic drunkfest, which others can chronicle but I cannot. But beyond events like that, I must question, am I really running out of narrative moments?

Jesus, that's sad. It's probably just indicative of my own general laziness and unwillingness to spend the extra time constructing coherence, rather than any commentary on the state of my life. Or maybe I just get depressed working in the Writing Center. Or maybe I need to stop having so many drunken nights, and instead actively seek out drunken adventures. Or maybe I just need to drink less, so I can remember the adventures we are having. Somehow that seems counterproductive...

Anyway, April's almost over, and my mood always improves once May rolls around. It means my friends will be finishing their course work, so they'll stop being so depressingly busy all the time. It'll mean a lot more weeknight escapades, such as porch drinking, terrace sitting, and general outdoorsiness. Bocce, grilling, fire-juggling, Up North drinking, etc. Plus that bottle of Oban Distillers Reserve is almost certainly going to get broken out for my birthday. And mayhap Virtue and I can finally plan the long-anticipated Oxford party. But I'll have to reread Brideshead before then, as well as brush up on my Jeeves and Wooster. Which will be difficult, but somehow I'll manage to soldier through.

Oh, and the recently revealed "Doctor Who" fanbase here in Madison is making me seriously reconsider my Dalek costume for next Halloween.

Writing Center Blog

2010-03-14T20:09:00.003-05:00

Sitting here, at the Writing Center, on a Sunday night. No one is signed up for the last hour and a half of my shift. Others may come, but for now, I'm a bored man with a computer, and I have already replied to all my e-mail backlogs. So here we go; first blog post in almost a year.

Looking back at my last post, I see it was about insomnia. That's kind of sad for me, given that I'm still regularly having trouble sleeping. I find myself waking up at around 3:30 or so each morning, largely due to some kind of crazy dream. I then fall back asleep, and wake up an hour or so later. Repeat until 7:30, when I usually wake up for real. It's not terribly debilitating, as I usually fall right back asleep, but I choose to see it as a sign of my increasing mortality and the fact that I'm drawing ever closer to death and/or old age. (30 in May! Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair!)

Blogging is a very existential thing for me at this point in time, given how disconnected I am from the rest of the online world. I conceive of blogging at this point much as Paul Celan saw poetry in the face of trauma--like a message in a bottle cast out in search of an audience that it may never find. Wow that was a pretentious comparison. Which is fine with me, since we all know I'm a fairly pretentious person. But my point is, I really don't even know if there's an internet community out there anymore. For the two of you who haven't heard (perhaps because you have been on Mars, living in a cave, with your eyes closed and your hands over your ears), I've given up facebook for lent. This has led to two disturbing and/or hilarious events: 1. I have no idea what is going on in my friends' lives, and 2. My wall has apparently become a breeding ground for all manner of vile calumny and lies. As I see each e-mail notification (which I piously delete without reading), I can only envision that some grand meta-narrative is developing, where my wall has become the battleground for the souls of mankind. Or at least it'll provide enough insight into the depravity surrounding my circle of peers that I can publish an article on it. Though the battleground thing sounds cooler.

Hmm...what else to write? Had beers with the Director last week, which was pretty awesome. He told us a long story about his glory days in Iowa City, where he and a friend started partying out in the countryside around 2pm, invaded a restored Victorian home whose caretaker they knew, crashed another party where "some dope was being smoked," piled into a car and went to Denny's at 6am, and then played tennis later that day. Oddly enough, I have no difficulty at all picturing him doing all these things, though in my mind he looks exactly the same age, and may in fact be wearing his lime green fleece. In any event, my dissertation director is all kinds of awesome.

I realize tonight that, due to my writing center shift, this is the first night in a week's time when I haven't been drinking to excess and/or drunk. Monday, Friday, and yesterday all involved margaritas at Tex Tubbs (which I have now begun to frequent at a very alarming rate, thanks to Red Headed Stepchild and blog newcomers Virtue and Vice,* whose fascination with the place borders on the obsessive), Tuesday was beers at game night, while Wednesday and Thursday both involved multiple pitchers at the Union (where, on Wednesday, Hambone and I soundly defeated Vice and her myriad of partners at an epic euchre series--a forerunner of things to come). And while I know that a decent chunk of the department will be out at the bar tonight welcoming the prospective students, I'm fairly sure I don't want to be drunk around them right now. I can't imagine I would have any words of encouragement to prospective grad students, other than to run away as fast as they can. So maybe I'll just have some scotch when I get home, to keep the trend going. Because tomorrow is my Ides of March drinking fest, where we celebrate the life and death of Caesar ("salad dressing dude!"). Is it sad that this is how I measure my life, or awesome? I think I'm going to go with awesome, at least until my doctor tells me otherwise.

Like the domestication of the dog, my dissertation continues unabated. I now have about 45 pages of my final chapter written, and hope to have a full draft done by Tuesday night. That and the drinking are the only ways I really have of delineating time these days. Otherwise, my life largely consists of moving from location to location, working in the Writing Center, and watching episodes of "Dr. Who" on Netflix. As I write this, I realize just how sad that sounds. Which you don't really notice if you're drinking as much as I've been. (And to be fair, I'm doing a lot of this drinking with friends, so that's all for the good.)

Hmm, what else? I realize that after a year, I should really have some fantastically amusing stories to tell. And I'm sure I do, but I can't for the life of me think of them as I sit here waiting for students to come. But I've only got to be here for another hour, so I've got that going for me.

Maybe I'll just read some; been working my way through Saturday and Gilead, swapping from one to the other as my mood dictates. Though I did spend a lot of today reading the new Star Wars novel instead, I'm not ashamed to admit. Given that I also walked about nine miles today and only slept for five hours (lousy daylight savings time *shakes fist at skies*), I feel perfectly justified in a little mindless popcorn fiction. In a perfect world, I could just throw my headphones in and watch more "Dr. Who." But people might frown on that. And by people, I mean the Writing Center director, were he to hear about it. Seeing as how I like money, I choose not to offend him in any way possible.

Guess I'll sign off for now, then. If I come up with any new insights before 9:30, I'll see what I can add. Otherwise, I may start posting again more regularly, I may not. Who can say? Till then, Dubs out.

*For the uninformed, Virtue and Vice are roommates, both in the department, who have become additions to our cavalcade of whimsy over the past year. Vice isn't particularly viceful, but Virtue already had that nickname, and seeing as how they're a pair attached at the hip, I'm content arbitrarily applying the term. (T, you'd particularly enjoy Virtue, who has this year discovered the joys of everything Brideshead [both textually and in Jeremy Irons], extols the pleasures of Wodehouse, and, despite the fact that she's a Medievalist, still has otherwise excellent taste. We're planning an Oxford party for later in the year, which will be glorious.)

I've Tried Everything Short of Aristotle...

2009-06-02T13:06:00.002-05:00

Ok, so a post is forthcoming about my recent birthday extravaganza. But first and foremost, an advisory and a lament.

Advisory:

If you've never watched "Chuck," then I feel really sorry for you. But the good news is, you can totally watch all episodes from season one for free on http://www.thewb.com/shows/chuck. Bear with it for a few episodes, as it has a bit of a slow start. But it's probably the best example ever of a show that figured out exactly what it wanted to be between the first and second seasons. The first season is good, if a bit shaky, and the writer's strike messed it up. But the second season was far and away the best thing that just aired last season. You're a chump if you don't check it out.

Lament:

I can't sleep. I don't understand it. But I hate it. When I was growing up, I used to have horrible insomnia. I'd lie awake at night for hours at a time, generally not falling asleep for at least 2-3 hours after I'd been sent to bed. Nerves would exacerbate this, to the point where I couldn't fall asleep at all the night before big events. (Mainly this would manifest on the night before the first day of school. One year I fought this problem by staying up all night the night before the night before school. I watched all three Godfather movies, which may explain why I hate the third one so much. Other than the obvious reasons, of course.)

But it was a recurring condition. I'd drink warm milk, take cold medication that promised drowisness, etc. One time, my mom even pretended to spike my warm milk with sleeping pills, believing that it was psychological and I just needed to relax. That didn't work particularly well either.

Mainly, it's just a problem of falling asleep. It's balls hard for me to do. Sometimes I'll get a song stuck in my head, which will repeat and repeat, and I just can't rest. Sometimes my mind will just wander excessively and I'll be thinking so fast that I just can't get tired. Sometimes it's just noise that prevents it. (That's why I'm such a horrible person to share a hotel room with, and I slowly grow to hate any people that even vaguely coinhabit the places I'm trying to sleep. Nittany Lion, I'm sure, remembers extensively our time together at CryptoJew and the Hillbilly's wedding.) But the point is, it is fucking hard to fall asleep. Once I'm out, I'm pretty much gone for the duration, and could sleep through a tornado. But getting there is the challenge.

Now, this hasn't been a problem for a long time. I'm exercising more, worrying about less, and wearing earplugs when I sleep. I never have problems falling asleep anymore, and, barring a few isolated incidents, haven't since early college. Which is why these past few nights have sucked so much ass. Seriously. A lot of ass. Two nights back, I just got in a rhythm of pondering all the things that had been going on since I started grad school, and imagining the possibilities of what I would do if I could go back and start working on the dissertation again. Cause that's always a productive mindset to get into. That randomness, combined with the fact that it was just hot enough that I didn't want to use a heavy blanket and just cold enough that my sheet wasn't enough, and you had me tossing and turning for three hours before I finally nodded off, thus leaving me with a remarkable 4 hours of sleep. Which was great for my productivity and my temper the next day, let me tell you.

Last night, I figured I'd be aces. I had only slept for four hours the night before, I'd walked about seven miles that evening just to wear myself out, and I tried to avoid all sugars or caffinated drinks for at least five hours before sleep. But then I got "Mr. Roboto" stuck in my head, didn't fall asleep for two hours after that, and woke up three hours later after some very messed up nightmares involving the Cold War and espionage in a vaguely Hungarian setting. So yeah, things ain't looking too rosy at the moment, and I'm sure as shit not writing anything coherent in this dissertation of mine.

So I guess the point is, what do you all recommend for sleeping aids? Any home remedies that seem to work? Other than drinking, of course, which is tried and true, but also not condusive to working the next morning. Any other insomniacs out there, former or current, who can suggest remedies should this persist?

You Might Have Heard I Run With a Dangerous Crowd. We Ain't Too Pretty, We Ain't Too Proud.

2009-04-28T10:27:00.005-05:00

This weekend I went to New York for Dubsgiving 3: The Baker Gets Married. 'Twas a brief trip, full of fun, excitement, more than a little inebriation, and the titular wedding of my high school friend, the Baker. A brief chronicle ensues.

Friday

Eagerly anticipating my sojourn to the City that Never Sleeps, I ended both of my sections early, after collecting papers, juggling for my students, and explaining the concepts of synchronicity and diachronicity to them, just to make myself look smart. The plane rides from Madison to Chicago to New York were uneventful, luring me into a false belief that there would be no travel-related incidents, unlike the last five times I've flown through Chicago. Ah, naivete.

Arriving in the early evening, I met up with Quantum at his office in Hell's Kitchen, where we ditched my bags and went to a bar. He had a show going up at 8:00, for which he graciously procured me tickets, so we had a little under two hours to get drunk enough to enjoy it. It was a quick "two beers and out" scenario that turned into a "three beers and out" fiesta, due to the presence of the Guinness Girl. The Guinness Girl, for those of you playing along at home, was an attractive woman in a Guinness shirt, giving out Guinness quizzes and keychains, and promoting the new, 250 year anniversary edition of Guinness, which they had on tap at the bar. Apparently it uses carbonization instead of nitrogen, or some crazy thing like that, has a slightly sweeter, more mellow taste, and doesn't feel like you've eaten a loaf of bread afterwards. As it was free and she was attractive, we each had one, and would proceed to push them on all our friends over the next few days. It was tasty, but not quite Guinness. But since I don't particularly like Guinness, that worked for me. And I got a keychain out of it, and learned that the Guinness founder took out a 9,000 year lease on the land where the brewery now resides. God bless the Irish for their forward-thinking ways.

Quantum had to leave after an hour to help get the show ready, but Hubris and his girl showed up to keep me company and in my cups. After what was possibly the world's fastest consumption of a plate of wings, we went to see the play, which was a 90 minute musical, basically a one-woman show (though it did have three supporting singers) about the life of this woman, an actress that I knew primarily from my copy of The Last Five Years soundtrack. The show was basically a cabaret about her life, growing up Mennonite and moving to New York. While I was distracted by 1. The fact that I actually owned a soundtrack this woman was on and therefore was kinda geeking out, and 2. The myriad issues involved in drinking three beers in a short amount of time, I enjoyed the show, though it isn't anything I'd particularly call noteworthy. It was an amusing 90 minute diversion, and as it was free, I bear it no ill will. Plus, she really is a good singer and enjoyable performer to watch, so take that for what it's worth.

Afterwards, Quantum, Hubris, his girl (whose blog name I don't know), and I went to yet another bar for dinner and more drinks. Whilst there, we fairly predictably alienated the bar and possibly Hubris' girl through our very drunken and dorky behavior. High points included the owner of the bar admonishing us for playing quarters with our very heavy Guinness keychains, the repeated discussions of the tv show "Gargoyles" (followed by the repeated bursting into the humming of the theme music), our geektackular discussion of Wolverine fighting Batman, and a breakdown of the "Battlestar" finale. We stayed there from around 10:00 to 3:15, and I consumed another 5 beers and 4 shots of Ketel One. (Though I'm man enough to admit that Quantum and Hubris had at least two more beers than I did. They're still young.)

Spent the night at Quantum's parents' place on the upper East Side, which is what I believe where Fitzgerald had in mind when he talked about "wherever people played polo and were rich together." It's a 10th floor apartment with a spectacular view of the East River, and I felt like a dirty interloper just stepping through the door. I'm fairly certain the doorman was judging me every time I walked in the lobby. But I had a bed and my own private bathroom, which were awesome, though I'm fairly certain I got Quantum into hot water with his sister, whose room I was crashing.

Saturday

Following morning/noon led to a slightly painful wakeup, and another trip into the city. Quantum had to put in an hour at the office, so I got a bagel and wandered down to the Hudson. It was about 85 degrees and gorgeous, which was a wonderful hangover cure, though the constant noise of the city is something I think I'd never entirely get used to. After completing his work, Quantum and I met up with Bourbon Samurai and his girl (whose blog name I don't know), and were later joined by Teach. Lunch and more beers were consumed (by them, at least--I wasn't drinking lest I be drunk or sick for the wedding that eve), followed by a return to Quantum's to get ready for the wedding. We cabbed downtown together, where he had to go back for another show, and I continued on to Chelsea.

Now, right here seems like a good place for a brief aside. There are many things that make New York different from places where real people live. But the one that always strikes me the most is the fact that there don't seem to be any traffic laws in that city. Lane markings seem more like suggestions than rules, stop lights are brief reminders that, hey, someone else may be coming, so you might want to slow down. And the laws of physics? Don't get me started on those. I'm fairly certain those cab drivers can bend reality with their minds. Otherwise, I just can't explain how they can fit between two cars in a place where there is no lane, doing roughly 60 mph. It just isn't possible. I've heard horror stories about muggings, murders, coke fiends, Giuliani killing the homeless, and all sorts of other crazy stuff in the city (dogs and cats, living together). But those cab drivers...man, those fuckers are scary.

Ok, the wedding. The wedding was at a place called the Chelsea Pier Lighthouse, which was a wonderful venue. The ceremony was performed in front of a windowed wall looking out over the Hudson, at sunset. String quartet, open bars, men walking around with trays of food (crab cakes! miniature burgers! ). Roses everywhere, open seating for dinner, watching boats go by, and a pretty spectacular band. All in all, the wedding seemed about as wonderful as it could get.

For the bride and groom, at least.

I, on the other hand, didn't know a soul there (with the exception of one fellow high school friend that I could talk with, but was never really all that close with), and I'm craptacular at mingling with new people. So I wandered from bar to bar, basically, drinking until I either worked up the courage to talk to strangers, or blacked out. Luckily dinner intervened before either of those things happened, and I sat with the high school friend and his mother and her friends, and got to talk about St. Louis. Baker, if you're reading this, know that I thought it was a beautiful wedding, and that you seemed ecstatic to be getting married, and your bride looked lovely, and everything seemed perfect, and fun was had by pretty much all. If I weren't so cripplingly socially awkward, I'm sure it would have been great all around. But congratulations nonetheless, and I'm glad I could be there for it.

Afterwards, met up with Quantum, Arsenal, and Kodez at a nearby bar, where, on top of a myriad of open bar drinks at the wedding, I added another beer and two shots of Jameson. Just, you know, to end things in style. We sang along with the 80s music playing, and impressed women with our knowledge of the A-Team and Mr. Belvedere (I kid you not).

Sunday

That's pretty much it for the New York trip. Other than that, I got to LaGuardia at 9:30 the following morning for an 11:00 flight. We boarded the plane, and of course we sat there for roughly four hours because of thunderstorms in Chicago. Of course, they didn't let us off the plane at all during that time, but they did manage to tease us several times by telling us we had gotten clearance to leave, only to take it back. We did actually go to the gate once, but that was just to refuel, not to, you know, let us do anything. Got back to Chicago after a two hour flight, and then sat at that airport for 45 minutes while we waited for a gate. Got put on standby for the last flight back to Madison, which I didn't get (my actual connecting flight had left two hours earlier), but the airline was kind enough to comp my bus ticket home. So in travel time, figure a half hour cab ride, an hour in the airport, six and a half hours on a plane, and two and a half hours on a bus. Yeah, I fucking hate flying through Chicago.

And that's the end of Dubsgiving 3. A brief, whirlwind tour of the Big Apple, that reminded me yet again why my friends are awesome, and why my liver would mutiny if I ever tried to live there.

Chin Up, Hamlet

2009-04-18T18:56:00.003-05:00

I know, I know, I haven't posted in a long time. I'm lazy. You all knew that already.

Let's see, lots of stuff happened since my last post. I went to ACLA at Harvard, which was pretty sweet. Got to see t and Brownsox and various others I haven't seen in forever. Drank the special Harvard ale they brew there, and got nice and drunk at John Harvard's Beer Hall. My paper didn't get laughed at (at least not to my face), so I've got that going for me.

Did a workshop on my dissertation chapter that I'm currently writing, which wasn't the train wreck I anticipated (given that half of it was a conference paper and the other half was ten pages I wrote in under a day's time). Went out for drinks afterwards with my advisor, TGD, the Dissertator, and Captain A, which was nice. My advisor let slip there that he can't watch women's figure skating, because he finds it too distracting. "Like porno on ice" were his exact words, I believe. Because he's awesome.

Saw Adventureland, but I was fairly drunk throughout, so no idea whether I liked it or not. It seemed ok.

Went to a talk this past week by one of the more famous Americanist scholars in the country, and my body conspired against me in practically every possible way. Roughly five minutes in, I got an eyelash under my contact lens. Then, after dealing with that, I started to nod off, even though I'd slept plenty the night before. Then, when I conquered my body's need to sleep, I started sneezing, and couldn't stop for about five minutes, which left me continuously blowing my nose throughout the rest of the talk. So I slunk out of the room with my tail between my legs right as the Q&A started, having no idea whatsoever what the actual talk was about. Cause that's how I roll.

Other than that, not too much going on. There's a general buildup of hatred and rage and weariness pervading the department at the moment, which is about normal for the end of spring semester. When all is said and done, the drunken revels to end the term should prove to be epic in proportion.

And if you're looking for some fun stuff to watch on tv to while away the hours of pain and misery, a few suggestions from what I've been doing these past weeks. First, "Better off Ted" is perhaps the funniest show I've seen in a long time (while I like "Chuck" more, I think "Ted" makes me laugh more consistently). It's from the same guys who brought us "Andy Richter Controls the Universe," if you watched that, and it's another corporate comedy. Last week's episode was probably the best thing I've seen this season. In it, the company replaced all motion detectors (that activated lights, elevators, water fountains, etc.) with a new system that worked by recognizing light bouncing off people's skin. Unfortunately, it couldn't detect black people (but it does recognize whites, Hispanics, Asians, Pacific Islanders, and Jews). Thus, they had to hire white people to follow all the black people around, mirroring their movements to set off the sensors. But then, via affirmative action, they'd have to hire an equal number of black people, and then hire more white people to follow them around. And so on. Seriously, if you get a chance, you should check it out online. The pilot is good but not great, but it gets much better as the weeks go on.

Secondly, I just burned my way through "Slings and Arrows," which is a Canadian show about a Shakespeare troupe. (I know, right? Who knew Canada had tv?) It ran for three seasons in the early '00s, and is available via netflix. Each season is six 45 minute episodes long, and each one deals with their attempts to put on a new play. It's both wonderfully funny and dramatically well-acted, and should be seen by anyone with aspirations to either English Literature or the theatre. I could describe it more, but it'd be far too complicated. It'd be easier to just accept that I'm right, and rent it yourselves.

Ok, that's all for me for now. I'd like to promise regular updates again, but I'm not willing to commit to that right now. So at best, I'll promise to try.

He Can See No Reason, Cause There Are No Reasons

2009-03-02T13:48:00.002-06:00

Today's blog post is more of an invitation for comments following a brief meditation. Lately I've been thinking a lot about the ways tv shows use music, particularly actual songs, not just the vaguely ominous scoring that most dramas have nowadays. We all, I'm sure, have favorite moments in movies where music plays a particularly effective role; for me, that usually means Cameron Crowe movies ("Mona Lisas and Madhatters" in Almost Famous always comes to mind immediately), but there are tons of others: the club entry scene in Goodfellas, "There Goes My Hero" in Varsity Blues, "God Gave Rock and Roll to You" in Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey, and so forth. Movies can use soundtracks particularly well, so naturally pop music lends itself to that format.

But I'm more intrigued lately by the ways tv shows use songs. And not just using very famous songs to underscore moments, but rather the ways that, songs I've either never heard of before or never cared for that much can take on new meaning or new levels of enjoyment because I associate them with specific television moments. For instance, The Fray's "How to Save a Life" has been misused/overused by every medical tv show known to man, and I believe it's a song that really only caught on because the slavering fans of Grey's Anatomy took to it. But I still listen to it on the radio, practically every time it comes on, because it makes me think of a specific Scrubs episode that closed with it particularly well. Scrubs does this quite well on a regular basis, and I've found that a lot of the previously unknown (by me) music on my iPod comes from there (Colin Hay's "Waiting for My Real Life to Begin," Joseph Arthur's "In the Sun" are two examples).

Similarly, I've found that Aaron Sorkin shows tend to use music sparingly enough that when it pops up, I always take note in some way. There's an episode of Sports Night that closes with "Sloop John B," which made me go and download it immediately. And more recently, thanks to CryptoJew's loaner of all seven seasons of The West Wing, I've developed an overzealous interest in Dire Straits' "Brothers in Arms" and Tori Amos' cover of "I Don't Like Mondays," which also led me back to the original version (which, in turn, I enjoy more because the clip I found of it on youtube opens with Hugh Laurie playing the opening piano riff). These particularly intrigue me, because while I like the songs, I also realize I never would have actually downloaded them if I hadn't seen them in a context that predisposed me to enjoy them.

And then, of course, there's the way Battlestar has completely changed the meaning of "All Along the Watchtower" for me. But that's another point altogether.

I recognize a lot of television uses music to illustrate its point, to provide background to ending scenes or ending narration, to structure a montage, etc. And most television does this quite badly, often making me dislike songs that I previously liked quite a bit. (Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah" serves as an excellent example, given that practically every drama of the last five years has seen fit to sample it.) Most often, I just tune out whatever background song is playing.

So I guess I'm just curious, what are the songs that you associate not just with their own singers/bands, but with specific tv shows? Or, more specifically, with particular episodes of shows? What are the songs that you never would have listened to, never downloaded, never even heard were it not for specific shows? Feel free to provide links, clips, etc., as I am bored and grading papers, and can use the distraction.

p.s. Sorry this post isn't particularly amusing. Funny stories of drunkenness coming in the future.

Cause His Friends Don't Dance, and if They Don't Dance, Then They're No Friends of Mine

2009-02-22T20:16:00.003-06:00

On the rare Sunday that I'm actually doing work, I usually work in my office. The building is largely deserted, mostly dark, and just full of empty hallways.

Repeatedly, I have to fight the urge to go Risky Business and just start up an impromptu dance routine through the halls.

Yeah, that's how I roll.

When I Was Drinking...

2009-02-10T10:00:00.004-06:00

This past weekend I went back to the old homestead for my friend the Baker's bachelor party. We've known each other since very early high school and spent many of our formative years performing together in various plays, musicals, choirs, etc. So while I was somewhat saddened to not be in Madison for the eagerly anticipated Literary Murder Mystery Party, I was excited to see my boy and send him off in style.

Style, it turns out, was indeed the operative word of the evening. We set forth with a party of seven, mostly his family members, all good men and true. Four of us had graduated from the same high school. One of his relatives was a Northwestern alum. And his brother had lived in Madison for several years shortly before I myself arrived here. So we were in good company all around.

They had chartered a limo, and the general plan of the evening was "Bar, dinner, bar, bar, bar, ad infinitum, requiem in pace." The limo, of course, also served as a bar, as it contained a cooler full of various beers and a bottle of Macallan 12 year for post-dinner consumption (not in the cooler, as that would be blasphemy of the grossest order). When you get to travel from drinking establishment to establishment, and the longest you're without a beer is the ten second walk from the bar to the limo, you know it's gonna be a fun time.

We started at a place called McGurk's, which seemed a very fine establishment. I had been warned beforehand by my mother, though, not to make a scene at this particular imbibery. Apparently my maternal family has quite a history there; they have been kicked out of that bar more times than she could remember, for reasons ranging from brawling to spontaneous Irish singing. While a part of me was tempted to start some shit in deference to my illustrious heritage, cooler logic prevailed.

Dinner was superb, particularly the variety of foods available. I had escargot for the first time ever (quite tasty, served on a puff pastry), lobster, crab cake, and veal dumplings, all as appetizers. Then, for entree, a filet mignon sliced along the side and stuffed with lobster and shrimp, with a bearnaise sauce on top. As many of you may know, I am a firm believer in the increasing need for meats stuffed with other meats, and this particular dish, as a tripartite alliance of meats beneath a sauce banner of brotherhood, elevated the evening to an entirely new level.

(The Baker, sadly, did not partake of this delicacy [though four of the other diners also did]. He instead opted for a rare rack of lamb, which I am firmly convinced led to the extremity of his downfall later that evening. But I'm getting ahead of myself.)

Following that, we traveled to at least two other bars, and then returned to our point of origin. On the way, we consumed a liberal quantity of the aforementioned scotch, while I repeatedly cautioned my compatriot not to vomit on my shoes. He obligingly, did not.

That profound moral restraint didn't persist once we arrived back, however (around 1:30 or 2:00 am, I believe, though my time sense was fuzzy by that point), and he spent the next hour or so being tended by his betrothed while desecrating the porcelain altar. We, his merry men, retired to the bar/basement, equipped with a full, professional-looking bar and pool table, where three generations of SLUH graduates engaged the enemy upon the red felt battlegrounds of Billardia. Upon our triumphant completion, the gentlemen were escorted home by their wives, and your illustrious blogger crashed on the couch for a few hours until he was sober enough to drive home.

It was just like I was back in high school, except this time I actually drank. Now I see what all my friends were talking about back then.

The drive back to Madison, however, was not so pleasant. Driving six hours, with a hangover, on four hours of sleep, is never advised. Though we may have been partying like it was high school, I just don't recover that fast anymore. Sadly.

So, final tally:

Limos rode in: 1.
Bars visited: 4 + limo.
Beers consumed: 7 (4 before dinner).
Glasses of wine with dinner: 3.
Glasses of scotch consumed: 1 liberal pour, neat.
Glasses of Irish whiskey consumed: 1.
Shots of Jäger consumed: 1.
Other beverages consumed: ???
Number of meats consumed: 9.
Hours of sleep on a couch: 2?
Hours of sleep in a bed: 3.
Number of Starbucks near my parents' house: 0.
My increasing rage at not being able to find a cup of chai anywhere to wake me up for the drive home: great.
Amount of work I got done on my dissertation over the weekend: 0.

Next weekend, Mimi comes to town, and I show her how we party Madison-style. Sadly no limo, but I may bring a flask just in case...

For He Himself Has Said It, and It's Greatly to His Credit

2009-01-12T14:18:00.002-06:00

I believe I have arrived at a solid New Year's resolution finally. Upon great reflection and deliberation, I have decided to spend the year 2009 further exploring my oft-neglected cultural heritage.

In this multicultural, homogenized, globalized world in which we live, we often feel the pressure to try new things, to embrace ideas and traditions from cultures outside our own. Often this leads to great advances in a more tolerant, more understanding world. Like Laotian restaurants. And margaritas.

But far too often, as well, the plethora of choices available to the modern man or woman leads to ignorance of one's own cultural heritage. As we learn more and more about the world, we find less and less time to delve deeply into the traditions that once bound our ancestors together, the shared knowledge base that provided community and a sense of purpose. My resolution is to rectify that neglect.

Too long have I ignored the simple truth of my past. As a white, upper middle class, private and prep-school educated member of the intelligentsia, I feel it is my duty to my people to learn more about our great and glorious past, to gain a firm grounding in the traditions of our forefathers. So my resolutuon is to spend the year acquainting myself with all those traditions that I have shamefully neglected in my first twenty eight years upon the earth.

Therefore, in the month of January, I am beginning to compile a list of things to accomplish. Things that will bring me closer to the inner Anglo-American snob that has too long remained suppressed within me. The shame I have brought upon my noble lineage shall finally be overcome, and I will be able to hold my head high amidst the glorious accomplishments of the past.

As such, I am soliciting suggestions from you, my readers and peers, as to things I can do in pursuance of this goal. Texts, activities, knowledges to pursue--any advice is welcome as I strive to bring myself closer to my heritage. So far, I have comprised a preliminary list, which is admittedly brief at the moment, but will hopefully grow as the year develops.

1. Read classical texts, particularly Greek and Latin tragedies. Read The Iliad and The Odyssey as well as the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. Other suggestions welcome.

2. Read Dante's Divine Comedy.

3. Watch Gilbert and Sullivan operas, particularly H.M.S. Pinafore and Pirates of Penzance.

4. Learn something about wines.

5. Read something by Proust.

6. Listen to more classical music. Suggested composers/pieces I can get from iTunes welcome.

7. Continue education in fine Scotches. Maintain snobbish disdain of blendeds.

A short list to be sure, generated solely upon one night's brief reflection. Further suggestions and advice are welcome. Remember, any insight you offer will not only be for my personal edification, but will aid greatly in the preservation of a noble tradition in the modern world.

Reason to Believe Maybe This Year Will Be Better Than the Last

2009-01-04T01:43:00.002-06:00

Looking back over my resolution from last year, I realize that 2008 was an epic fail on my part. I did not manage to break up a single set of my attached friends. Seriously, I set myself one lousy goal, and totally neglect it. Epic. Fail.

So it's January, during that magical time when school hasn't started, deadlines are still blissfully out of sight (excepting the fellowship deadline on Wednesday and the article I planned to send out by Christmas), there are no obligations other than what I set for myself, and Batman is out of town. All these things add up to a wonderful existence that I only achieve for about two weeks out of every year. Basically, my life becomes a complete inversion of normality. I wake up later and later each day, go to bed even later every night, so that eventually I'll be waking up at 3pm and going to bed around dawn. "Surely he can't be serious!", I can hear the naysayers naysaying. Well, I am serious...and don't call me Shirley.

Yes, I can achieve this total transformation through a series of machinations designed to fill my days with an endless succession of activities that require no real time schedule, just time commitment. Largely, they involve my tv and Xbox. My bautiful, beautiful Xbox, that brings me such wonderful things as 30 Rock episodes (via Netflix online!), Left 4 Dead online, and Bioshock, on loan from the Mixologist, which is perhaps the most freakily terrifyingly awesome game ever played. It's a horror/shooter/mystery game set in an underwater society with 1950s decor and an Ayn Rand philosophy. And it's terrifying. Particularly when played at 2:30am with all the lights out.

Beyond that, my blessed friend of Netflix constantly brings me movies to cure hangovers (Tropic Thunder) and season three of The Wire, which is leaps and bounds better than season two. I'm perfectly willing to admit that this is the better show, though I think I still enjoyed Deadwood more just because of the more colorful characters. But season three has sold me. Other than that, my marathon Lord of the Rings viewings and enjoyment of season one of Entourage (a gift from my brother) provide enough variety for when I don't feel like watching one of the other things on my list.

So yeah, I've been spending a lot of time in front of the tv. Eventually, this is all going to crash and burn, and my reckless abandonment of sense will bite me in the ass. But, like most good Americans, I choose to recklessly ride out the good times rather than anticipating the bad.

Other than that, break has been fun thus far. Went to my 10 year high school reunion, and I totally staved off the patheticness of still being in school by recognizing that I was one of the few of my class who didn't look like they had swollen in some way. Small compensation compared to their wives and jobs and homes and success, but in many ways I'm a small, petty man.

Plus, a ton of my classmates are now lawyers. So I am set if I ever break the law in St. Louis. And given my feelings for St. Louis, that's probably where I'm most likely to break the law in some way, shape, or form.

New Year's with TGD, Red-Headed Stepchild, et al. Good times, don't really remember the ending. If I did anything embarassing, I'm totally shifting the blame onto the Mixologist for giving me that manhattan with absinthe in it. Yeah, that's the ticket.

Lastly, I'm in the market for a New Year's Resolution. Since I did so poorly with my last one, I'm thinking of aiming much much lower. This year is guaranteed to suck already, at least in the period between September and January when I'm on the market, so low expectations will be a blessing. Any suggestions?

Ok, it's 2am and I'm bored. I guess I'll go kill some zombies or something.

So May It Be Said Of Us, And All Of Us

2008-12-23T16:15:00.003-06:00

Just finished Evelyn Waugh's Sword of Honour trilogy. Loads of fun, though I liked Brideshead more. But the version I have features an intro by Frank Kermode, with perhaps one of the best statements ever:

"Meanwhile he [Waugh] grew more and more pugnacious and unreasonable in his dislikes and in his desire for vengeance on his enemies."

I think I want that on my tombstone.

For All You People Struggling Towards Semester's End

2008-12-11T17:12:00.003-06:00

I offer this gem.

2008-12-09T22:40:00.002-06:00

It's been a busy few days. And by busy, I mean I've been doing a lot of things that aren't in any way work, but have kept me hopping nonetheless. To catalogue:

-Last Friday, we celebrated the 75th Anniversary of the Repeal of Prohibition. That's right, we're serious drinkers up here. And we didn't do any kind of namby pamby drinking, either. This was a night of straight up, hard-living cocktail drinking. And not just mixed drinks, but actual cocktails, with bitters, and grated orange peel, and fresh-squeezed lemon juice, etc. TGD and The Mixologist were our bartenders, and they did right by us, with a varied menu and very stiff drinks. My personal favorites were the Aviation, the Martinez, and the Ward 8. Highlight of the night was the Mixologist's request that we bring actual ice to the party, since he didn't like to use store-bought ice in his shakers. Note that: the ice wasn't even going into the actual drinks. Just the shakers. And it still had to be proper ice. Damn, that man's an artist.

-Saturday we had a going away party for Boots and Hambone, as they prepare for their six month South American tour. From Friday night's classy drinking, we transferred to the much-more plebian atmosphere of the Come Back In, with its boots of beer, and free popcorn and peanuts (large baskets, still in the shell). Bars with an endless supply of free food are inherently great, and I firmly attribute my lack of a hangover to that fact. B&H put up a fine show for their departure, and I expect to hear good things of their travels. Either that, or Hambone will be kidnapped and forced into white male slavery. Which, if that's the case, dibs on his Playstation.

-Finished Season 2 of The Wire. Good, but no Season 1. I just never cared as much about the overall arc as I did with the boys of the Pit. Though it did have a lot of very fine moments. But I hear good things about Season 3.

-Spent the bulk of the non-drinking weekend watching the short-lived Cupid, which aired for a season in 1998. Made by the guy who would later make Veronica Mars, and which is currently being rebooted (slated for airing starting in March on ABC). It's a very fun little show starring Jeremy Piven and Paula Marshall, about a man who thinks he's Cupid and has to match up 100 couples before he can return to Olympus. It's sweet, romantic, and clever, and the banter between the two leads is phenomenal. It only ran for about 16 episodes, and you can get them all on youtube. If you're looking for a time-waster, I'd really recommend it. And I'll plug the new version, cause hey, Rob Thomas always needs a hand.

-They're cancelling Pushing Daisies. This saddens me, particularly after last week's wonderful episode. Damn the man.

-Heroes, however, continues, even as it continues to suck. And yet I still watch it. Largely because it follows directly...

-Chuck, which is all kinds of awesome this season.

-Oh, and I guess I've been doing some work, too. Gave a guest lecture today, which didn't seem to go too poorly. So I've got that going for me.

-Lastly, if you're not a Madisonian, you may not be aware that it snowed a fuckload today. God bless the winter.

-That's about it for now. As a signoff today, here are a few clips to put you in the holiday mood. From one of my favorites as a kid, the Claymation Christmas Special. You can find the full thing here, here, and here, but here are two of my favorite clips. Again, just to whet your whistle and encourage you to waste a full 22 minutes watching the whole thing.

Carol of the Bells

We Three Kings

And, though I couldn't find it on youtube by itself, I'd really suggest you watch for the rendition of "Angels We Have Heard on High" featuring ice dancing walruses and penguins. Shit cracks me up every time.

I Don't Even Know What the Posthuman Is...

2008-11-30T15:35:00.002-06:00

Nice relaxing and thoroughly uneventful Thanksgiving. But I think that my home has become some weird kind of conduit for my dreams, specifically my dreams of what I wish the profession were like. Last time I was home, you may recall, I dreamed that all the English grad students were ninja assassins competing for a magical dagger. Well, nothing quite that odd this time.

Instead, this dream was all about theory. For those of you not in the academic world, there's this "hot" topic currently in vogue, called the "posthuman." No one is quite sure what it means, but I think it has something to do with how we relate to shit like dogs, and zombies, and robots, etc. You know, win them over so they don't try to enslave mankind. (But forget about the dolphins. There's no placating those bloodthirsty fuckers.)

Well, in my dream, all of academia was abuzz because someone had just written an article that supposedly clearly solved the problem of the "posthuman." Not just a debatable article, either; this was the "key to all mythologies" of the posthuman, something that definitively settled the problem forever. But for some reason, I had the only copy of the article (I didn't write it in my dream, I just had it), and all these competing factions wanted it. Some wanted to embrace the posthuman, others wanted to destroy the article and thus erase all records of the problem ever being solved. Massive conspiratiorial shit was going on in my dream. I guess the original author was dead, or lost his backup copy, or his hard drive got destroyed, who knows.

No real resolution to the dream, sadly. Just yet again a sense of increasing competition and espionage within the academic world. I guess I subconsciously find our lifestyle boring, and could do with some more ninjas or spies or whatnot.

And the kicker? I couldn't even figure out the article in my dream. I guess I don't even subconsciously understand theory. All I knew was that it had something to do with WALL-E. Figures.

It's a Paul Rudd Weekend!

2008-11-15T12:31:00.002-06:00

Watched The Great Gatsby last night (the 2000 made for tv version). Was about as ungood as expected. Paul Rudd, as I predicted, made an admirable Nick Carraway, and the film did do some things right by including a hefty dose of Nick's narration verbatim from the book. But Gatsby was laughably unimpressive, Daisy seemed mildly mentally challenged, and the whole movie felt like someone was doing "The Great Gatsby: The Highlights" rather than building an overall film. Guess that's the drawbacks of tv. Of course, I hear the Redford version is similarly awful but for different reasons.

Seeing Role Models tonight. I hear good things. And again, Paul Rudd.

Teaching Philosophy

2008-11-10T22:59:00.002-06:00

For those not in the academic world, part of applying for a job involves writing up a philosophy of why you're a teacher. I'll have to do this next year, so I'm taking a preliminary stab at it now. Let me know what you think.

Teaching Philosophy

I teach because I can.

I teach because I abhor stupid people. This way, I get to put a face to my enemies.

I teach because stupidity fills me with contempt. And contempt for others allows me to forget my own insecurities.

I teach because the stupidity of others validates me.

I teach because it is one of the few professions left where people come to you as supplicants.

I teach because they pay you for the privilege of being your supplicant.

I teach because I fear the real world.

I teach because I have no idea how to do actual things.

I teach because I believe the children are our future. I must mold that future in my image.

I teach because the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. It's my job to inform them of that.

I teach because I can write like the wind. This is a skill with few practical applications.

I teach because I can do it hung over.

I teach because I can do it drunk.

I teach because I crave attention.

I teach because I am a ham.

I teach because it combines performance with the arrogant display of knowledge.

I teach because I am smart.

I teach because I am smarter than most of the rest of the world.

I teach because I am smarter than your children.

Except M. & B. C.'s children.

Those kids are freaky smart.

Like, superintelligent crazy children of the corn smart.

Seriously, Mr. N.S. probably taught them Latin at age 4.

Where was I?

Oh yes.

I teach because I loathe the summer and want nothing to do with it.

I teach because I enjoy having Christmas off.

I teach because there are few things more wonderful in this world than the face of a young adult.

Particularly the look they get when you tell them their work isn't good and they have to start over.

That shit is priceless.

I teach because it is priceless.

Blog for the Asking

2008-11-06T21:18:00.002-06:00

So hey there, blog world. 'Sup?

I know, been a while since we last spoke. Been a lot of speculation going around. Talk of panda love. Some kind of voting thing went down. Might have been some drinking takin' place in the old Mad-City. Might have been a trip home in there somewhere. And all that's cool and all, I ain't gonna lie. Just haven't been in a blogging place, lately, since I been too busy livin' my life.

Like a guy I recently had the pleasure to meet told me: The Game's out there, and it's play or get played.

Fella name of Omar. Some of you might have heard of him. Badass out of Baltimore, has a tenuous relationship with the five-oh.

So that's my longwinded way of saying I've been spending a lot of quality time recently with season one of The Wire. Which, unlike most things in life, really does live up to all the hype. I'm still not convinced it's better than Deadwood (it'd take an act of God to dethrone Al Swearengen), but it's unarguably one of the top three shows I've ever seen. And Omar is indeed a badass.

Ok, life update. Full of anecdotes, lots of sound, little fury. Since last we spoke, numerous things of various consequence have been happening. First, and most time-consuming, I'm applying for fellowships this semester, one of which is due in under a week. My life has been a suck-fest of writing a dissertation abstract (transforming what will be a roughly 250 page document into five pages) and editing down 49 pages of dissertation chapter into 25 pages of writing sample. Yeah, it sucks. And yeah, my friends and colleagues on the market currently will tell me how much easier this is than what I'll be going through next year. To which I respond, the promise of future suckitude does not lessen the suckitude of the current moment. I think Gandhi said that. Or maybe Socrates Johnson.

Ok, on to amusing things! We like amusing things, right? As I noted above, I went home for a weekend back in October. My brother recently got engaged, so this was the big meeting of the families (and when I phrase it like that, it sounds like some kind of mafia deal. It isn't. Or so my lawyers say.). Her parents and brothers, my parents and me, the bride and groom, various other significant others and children. Twas a night of fun and merriment. The Dubs clan upheld itself well, though we did end up waiting outside in the cold cold car for about 10 minutes waiting for my bro, rather than going into the restaurant to meet these strangers awkwardly. I triumphed by not getting plastered and embarassing them all. My parents were shocked, shocked I say, that I could actually uphold my end of a conversation with strangers (the bride's older brother and his wife). Granted, my current schooling has basically weaned me away from ever talking with people who are not also English grad students or scholars, their lack of faith wasn't all that surprising. But they didn't need to seem so shocked when they told me I was actually "charming." I guess all those years of cynicism and contempt for my fellow man may have colored their expectations a bit.

Still, the Clan Dubs did get kind of served in the meeting, due largely to a matter of preparedness. The bride's grandmother came, and she's apparently famous for making her own caramel and giving to her grandkids at holidays. So, to make a good impression, yours truly ended up with a shit-ton of caramel. This was bad enough, but apparently the daughter of my dinner conversationalists is some kind of crafts prodigy. So it being near to Halloween, this fifteen year old girl brought my parents a pumpkin hollowed out and stuffed with wildflowers in an absolutely stunning arrangement. Seriously, kid's got mad skills. But between that and the candy-making granny, my side of the family looked like chumps, comparatively. I was tempted to start juggling the candles on the table while singing some Don Gionvanni just to hold up our end. Who knows, a few more drinks and I might have. Or maybe I'll just bust that out at the wedding.

Also, while home, I dreamed that all my fellow grad students and I actually lived in our office building, but it was some kind of Wudan-esque dojo, and we were all ninja assassins. I had a magic knife, and everyone else was trying to steal it from me. They did not succeed, because, hello, ninja. Luckily, Ninja Scholar wasn't there. She has magic authentic ninja powers, strength beyond my dream ninja powers. And that Hapa Ninja Baby, he'll cut your ankles off before you even hear him coming.

Speaking of NS, she, myself, the Hillbilly, and one other colleague have all submitted papers to a conference for next year (Boston in March of '09!). I believe we're in a competition to see who could submit the worst paper proposal. But since the judges are NS and myself, I think we've got a fair shot of getting in. Though I can be a fair critic, and may reject myself on principle. All the swearing in my proposal may be off-putting.

What else, what else? Halloween party this year, awesome times, went as Igor (or random hunchback). Surprisingly, being hunched over all night did not result in a sore back. But drinking all that wine did result in a sore head. And apparently me yelling at passers-by from the balcony. Which I don't remember at all.

Hmm...election night, election night. I'm happy it's over, so people will stop asking me if I know where my polling place is, if I'm registered to vote, blah blah blah. Yes, it was an exciting night. Yes, the folks here in Madison marched spontaneously from the capital to the university after the results were announced. Yes, even my cynical heart felt genuine stirrings of emotion with the realization that we had witnessed an historic moment in our nation's history, capped off by an extremely moving speech from our new president-elect.

But that doesn't mean I didn't want to throttle the obnoxious woman at our election party who kept yelling things in triumph. Like, awkard yelling, solitary yelling, like she was drunk on Obama or something. Seriously, yelling when everyone else is yelling and clapping is cool. Yelling out things in the middle of Obama's speech, as if he can hear you and will answer, is annoying. I imagine Brownsox was in a similar state. If he wasn't wedded to his iPhone, that is.

And I will admit, I'm a touch sad that I didn't get to see a democratic loss. But only because I thrive on the misery of others, and there were few funnier moments than four years ago when W. got re-elected, and the entire grad program here became a collection of the most depressed m-f's in the world. Made me laugh from deep in my cold cold heart. But I don't miss it that much this time around; after all, I did vote for the man myself.

Also, seriously, why did multiple people just assume I voted Republican? Even Batman asked me if I was feeling alright, since my candidate had lost. I like to think I've been fairly vocal (for me, at least) in my McCain-Palin bashing over the past few months. So really, do I come off as that conservative? Is it the Catholic thing? The white male who mocks the misfortune of others thing? My prep school ways, my disdain for public school systems and public universities? My affection for fine scotches? My cocky stride and my musky odors? Oh, I'll never be the darling of the so-called city fathers, who cluck their tongues, stroke their beards, and talk about what's to be done with this Dubs...where was I?

Anyway, enough politics. What else, what else? Hmm... Just read all of Y: The Last Man, a ten volume comic series about a plague that wipes out all mammals with a y-chromosome except one dude and his pet monkey. Conceptually it sounds ridiculous. In execution, it's one of the best things I've ever read. Check it out; Quantum can vouch for it's goodness.

Is it too early to start listening to Christmas music?

Yeah, I got nothing else. Future updates to hopefully come more regularly. But for now, I'm off to spend some quality time with Jimmy McNulty.

I May Be Naked and Reeking of Panda Love...

2008-10-13T00:02:00.003-05:00

I believe I referenced this poster several times last night. It followed naturally from the panda drawing on my beer margarita cup. Yup, good party.

Don't Fuck With Me, Greenblatt

2008-10-03T11:59:00.001-05:00

This shit is hilarious.

Day of Suck

2008-09-23T10:25:00.002-05:00

Today is going to be a day of suck, I can already tell.

I slept for about seven hours last night, and yet I feel like I've been awake all night. My alarm woke me up right during the middle of a dream (about Hogan's Heroes, I shit you not), and now I feel very disconnected, as if not all the synapses are firing properly.

Damn brain.

Good weekend, though. Friday was bowling and drinking. Hambone (formerly Boone's) was celebrating his birthday, so we got him stupidly drunk. I believe he had at least one shot of every major type of alcohol, not to mention a shot of Goldschlagger to top the night off. Saturday was a sweet little party where I got to remember how horrible red red wine can be the following morning. And on Sunday, H's actual birthday, we had cake. With oreos crumbled up and mixed in. Not in the batter, mind you, but in the middle layer of frosting between the two sections of cake. And not only oreos, but mint oreos. Boots, Hambone's significant other, really outdid herself in the baking of this masterpiece. Though we did mock her slightly for the chipper little face she drew on top of the frosting. But all in all, cake on a Sunday night is definitely a good thing. Maybe even the best thing.

Now working Writing Center on both Sunday and Monday nights. That kinda blows.

Watched the season premiere of Heroes last night (mild spoilers ahead, so be warned). All in all, seems like a nice start after a craptacular season last year, though it did feel like they were just throwing plot after plot after plot against the wall, just to see what stuck. I think too much was happening too fast, with very little setup, which worked for the plots they had laid groundwork for last season (Nathan, Peter, Claire), but very poorly with the new plots that just felt thrown in for the sake of having new plots (Hiro, Mohinder the Abysmally Stupid). I think they got so much flak for moving too slowly last season that they tried to counter that right from the get go, but they still need to find a happy medium.

Some specific gripes and thoughts:
-The whole Mohinder-infusing-powers Spiderman/The Fly subplot is already irritating me. It came about far too quickly, and seems like an ungood way to go. And it seems to offer further testimony to the fact that Mohinder is, without question, the stupidest scientist ever to live. Ever. Plus, it has Maya in it, who deserves to die.

-Whatever happened to the Haitian? I'm ok with the fact that we got no Micah thus far, since he always annoyed me. But the Haitian? Where's he at?

-How the hell did Sylar (last seen fleeing Mohinder the Abysmally Stupid's lab in NY) manage to get to California in what seemed to be in series time about two hours, let alone find Claire's house, where she was supposedly living incognito? That irked me.

-Since when do Peter's powers involve the ability to put someone in someone else's body?

-How awesome is it that Weevil and VM are hanging out again as supervillains? Loved that.

-Seriously. Mohinder = Stupid. Can't emphasize that enough.

-Linderman! Whee! I really hope they're taking a page from BSG and making him like the Invisible Six. But please, no red dress for Mr. L.

Ok, that's all for now. Still trying to fight off lethargy and finalize paper prompts. Peace out, blogodrome.

After the Boys of Summer Have Gone

2008-09-08T20:43:00.003-05:00

That's right folks, it's the start of a new school year. Sorry I've been away for so long. I wish I could claim I was busy. I wish I could claim I was sick. I wish I could claim I was just too drunk and hungover to post. Ok, I can kinda claim the last one. But even with that in mind, there's been a criminal negligence of blogging on my part. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

I'm still working on a post dealing with Dr. Church's wedding (seriously, I have a partial draft saved), and I promise a post on Cryptojew and Hillbilly's wedding and my subsequent New York debauch. But tonight's about the start of the school year, not the end of summer, so those tales will have to wait.

I'm just gonna say it. The start of this school year has been majorly majorly odd. I'm teaching a class for a postdoc that none of us could contact until the week before school started. We had no idea at all what we were teaching. No idea who this person was. Not that we would have prepared, mind you. But we're educators. We like to be in the loop.

I'm teaching sections on Wednesday afternoons, with lectures on Tuesdays and Thursdays. That also is massively screwed up, since I'll be leading discussions on texts we haven't finished yet, or forcing the students to remember stuff we talked about the week before. Now, I'm not sure about you, but when I was an undergrad, I never remembered stuff past the week we read it. There's like a rule or something--once Friday afternoon hits, you are entitled to forget that week's work until the midterm comes around. So that should make sections interesting.

Also, my student rosters have changed about 90 times over the course of the week. I'm now back up to 29 students, when at one point I was down to 27 (out of two sections, when usually you have between 35-38). At least I'm back up to even numbers (14 and 15), as opposed to this weekend, when I was at 11 and 16. I guess I can run a section with those numbers without too much trouble. Excepting, of course, the trouble from the whole Wednesday afternoon thing.

Finally, I'm teaching an extra workload in the Writing Center this semester, so I need to constantly be double checking whether I'm scheduled to be working at the time. I believe, right now, that schedule boils down to working Sunday and Monday nights, and Wednesday and Thursday mornings. Which means that Wednesdays and Thursdays, between WC and section or WC and lecture, will be extremely stressful. Of course, that still only amounts to roughly 5-6 hours of work on each of those days, as opposed to the usual 8 hours or so most people work.

God I love being a grad student.

On the plus side, some good stuff has been happening as well with the start of this school year:

-I keep getting asked to do stuff. Which is really awesome, since it lets me pad out my CV further. And since the bulk of my energies this year involve me getting ready to go on the job market next year, every line is a little bit of help. Though that does mean that I have to keep doing things for people. Oh well.

-We now have a new office mate, Woodford Reserve (or possibly just Woodford for short in future posts). Despite the loss of the Red-Headed Stepchild, this is still very good news, since WR rocks quite a bit, and is actually a good friend of mine, as opposed to getting stuck with some noob that KH and I need to smack around.

-I'm doing fairly well at not meeting the new people. I've met a few, and the few I've meet seem sociable enough. But I've met enough people. No more new people. Unless I've already met you and we exchange pleasantries (like the new person who is one of my fellow T.A.s for lecture), then don't plan on establishing any meaningful relationship with me. I'm sure you're very fine people, but I'm not going to be around long enough to make it worth your while to know me. Which is your loss, since I'm awesome.

-I handed in a draft of my second dissertation chapter today. Fuck yeah!

-Captain Americanist is squatting in the office across the hall this semester, since the usual prof there (Spousal Hire) is on leave. I foresee many idle hours wasted as we throw shit at each other across the hall.

-We drank five boots of beer last Friday, after spending several hours at the bar with $3.00 pitchers. All in all, drunkenness seems to be at its usual September levels.

-The tv I'm watching is really stellar at the moment. Burning through Dexter season two with the Norwegian, and tearing up Deadwood season three on Netflix. Really doesn't get much better than that.

Finally, per usual at the start of the semester, I've asked my students the staple "Who would win in a fight, Batman or Sam Jackson" question. I'm assuming the awesomeness of The Dark Knight is really stacking the deck against old Sammy, since Gotham's defender won handily, 21-6 (of course, these numbers reflect the students who were there last Wednesday, and may in no way correspond to my current students). Some choice responses, with blogger comments in italics:

-Batman. Dude's got heart.
-Jackson, because he's Mace Windu and jedis would destroy Batman. Loses points for referencing Star Wars prequels, but leads to an interesting intellectual exercise. How could Batman ever beat a Jedi?
-Batman, because Christian Bale is amazing and has Heath backing him up. Umm, maybe they didn't actually see the movie, where Heath did his damnedst to kill Batman. Plus, Heath? Dude's kinda dead. Although a zombie Heath Ledger might well help beat up on Sam Jackson.
-Batman has Morgan Freeman on his side. Now that's another fun question. Of the wise, badass black superstars, would Freeman take down Jackson?
-Batman, because Samuel L. Jackson is whack. Did they change the meaning of "whack" since I last checked? I thought whack was a good thing...
-Batman, b/c SJ doesn't have a cape. Clearly this person never saw The Incredibles.
-Jackson. He was eaten by a shark and is still alive to talk about it. At least until "Deep Blue Sea 2: Deep Blue Sky (Sharks on a Plane)"
-Batman, b/c Dave Chappelle is a better Samuel L. Jackson than Samuel L. Jackson is. Ok, that's kinda awesome.

Ok, that's all for now folks. I'm off to have some bourbon to celebrate the end of this chapter. More posts promised on a much more regular basis.

(Oh, side note for my Northwestern friends. One of my students this semester is from a little town called Minnetonka, MN. I nearly burst out laughing when she told me this, and could only respond that I knew someone from there. I didn't have the heart to tell her that my drunken college buddies and I had made a pact to burn that town to the ground and salt the earth. Which we still need to do, by the way...)

Quick Solicitation

2008-08-06T16:04:00.008-05:00

I promise, I'm currently writing a post about my trip to Tennessee. But for the nonce, I'm soliciting advice. Another wedding to go to this weekend. Do I wear:

A. The more traditional gray two piece (slight herringbone pattern)

B. The charcoal pinstripe three piece that makes me look vaguely like either a mobster or a fat cat from the 20s?

Poor quality pictures below.

And, just as importantly, what color shirt works?

Look Away, Dixie Land

2008-07-20T20:20:00.002-05:00

This weekend I'm going down to Chattanooga for Dr. Church's (a.k.a. Sergio's) wedding. Given that this wedding is going to feature the convergence of Uber260, Quantum, Brownsox, (I believe) Irish McJew, and myself on a small town in Tennessee (a tiny hamlet called Signal Mountain), I'm expecting hijinks to ensue. Largely because of the presence of Brownsox, a thoroughly obnoxious Bostonian, and Quantum, a New York snob of epic proportions; McJew has at least a passing familiarity with the South, I believe, while Uber knows his ways around small towns, and I myself originally come from a border state. But still, there's something about the concept of "the South" that should prove to be off-putting for a bunch of yankees like us.

In fact, I'm fairly sure we're going to get drunk and act like a bunch of carpetbaggers. (Particularly Quantum, whom I'm now encouraging to bring an actual carpet bag and buy up some Southern land with his epic wealth.)

In consequence, I anticipate several drunken brawls, many re-enactments of the Civil War (which I refuse to consider as the War of Northern Aggression), at least one shotgun wedding, and us being run out of town on a rail. In other words, typical fare for a bunch of drunken former Northwesterners.

So to prepare for this trip, I'm inviting you, dear readers, to contribute things we can do to really offend the Southerners there. I'm beginning a list below, but please feel free to add with your own comments.

1. Refer to everyone as "Johnnie Reb."
2. Affect a faux Southern Accent.
3. Constantly be humming the banjo motif from Deliverance.
4. Ask how many of them are born of incest.
5. Faulkner jokes. Lots of them.
6. Act surprised by any evidence of modern technology, constantly repeating "I had no idea you had x this far South."
7. Narrate every event with the following opening: "Now folks in Hazzard County..."

That's about all I've got thus far. Other suggestions?

I Have a PhD in Horribleness

2008-07-17T14:09:00.002-05:00

So if you're one of the three people on the interwebs who has yet to hear about "Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog," then what the heck have you been doing with your time? Why are you even still reading this blog, when you could be going to this site and seeing it in all it's horrible-ly goodness.

Still not sold?

Fool.

Ok, so it's a live-action musical comedy in three acts about a wannabe supervillian who blogs about his attempts to conquer the world, join an exclusive club called the Evil League of Evil (led by the tyrranical Bad Horse, the Thoroughbred of Sin, he of the terrible death whinny), and defeat his nemesis Captain Hammer.

Still want more?

Ok, it's created by Joss Whedon, and it has Nathan Fillion in it.

That just sold half of my readership right there.

It stars Neil Patrick Harris.

That just sold the other half.

Seriously, go check it out. It's broken into three parts, each for free viewing only this weekend. Part three debutes on Saturday, I believe. Each part is roughly 14 minutes long, and each part is comic gold. And the music ain't half bad.

But really, go check it out for all the NPH goodness. "It's about destroying the status quo. Because the status...is...not quo. The world is a mess and I just....need to rule it."

Ok, go.

These Eyes Have Seen a Lot of Love, But They're Never Gonna See Another One Like They Had With You

2008-07-08T15:49:00.003-05:00

And so today was one of the more surreal experiences of my life.

I was doing an outreach for the Writing Center this morning, where I go to classes and teach a bunch of high school students how to prepare for and write in-class essay exams. This particular group was a bunch of high school juniors, nice enough folks, but at the end of the session they somehow raised the issue that, to use their words, I "looked like that dude from Superbad."

Yeah, they couldn't get over that.

So apparently I look like Michael Cera, because this isn't the first time someone's thrown that my way. Could be worse, I guess. They could have thought I looked like "that fat dude from Superbad" or "that McLovin dude from Superbad." Michael Cera, pretty ok in my book.

Luckily, this seemed to give me cache with the youngsters, including the several who wanted their pictures taken with me. God bless the digital age, when every high schooler has his or her own camera with them at all times. I expect to be showing up on Facebook in the not-too-distant future. (Though they didn't seem to catch my Iron Man reference when I told them I didn't want to see this popping up on their MySpace pages. Oh well.

But I drew the line when they asked me to sing "These Eyes" and do the dance. That's just not how I roll.

Of Weddings, Brakes, and a Moratorium

2008-07-01T19:41:00.002-05:00

As promised, this week was a highly elaborate event of blogworthy proportions. This past weekend, my very good friend the Puncher got married in mid-state Michigan, which prompted a road trip, an excellent time, and the further destruction of my car.

Day One: Thursday, myself and Sarah drove up to the tiny little town of...someplace. Yeah, I don't even remember the town's name. It may have been Springfield Township. Population like 25. Not sure exactly. But the Lady in Black lives there now (her hometown), and she had volunteered to drive Sarah up to Midland for the bachelorette party, thus cutting roughly two hours of travel time off my trip. For I, instead, was headed back down to Ann Arbor to visit Irish McJew and see this other college town that claims some kind of rivalry with Madison.

Needless to say, McJew pulls it through when his boy comes to town. Granted, he lives right in the heart of downtown Ann Arbor, thus violating the cardinal rule of being a grad student: Never live where the undergrads live. Equally granted, this made parking a bitch, as everything was metered, and I ended up parking in a garage that I had to vacate by 6:00 am the next morning. I, of course, was horribly hung over and missed this deadline, and was trapped in said garage until a maintenance man came to collect more money from me to let me out.

But just as equally granted, living at the heart of downtown makes all the downtown stuff all the closer, particularly the bevy of bars that we went to. We met up with some friends of his and hit up 3-4 different places, including a truly spectacular place that had $.55 PBRs and Big Buck Hunter, as well as live karaoke. We easily matched his mates drink for drink; indeed, we did them one better and showed how we partied Northwestern-style. This means that, while they had about 5-6 beers, we had about 5-6 beers after we pre-partied by consuming a half a bottle of Bushmills (while killing things that were different than us), and we closed the party with very stiff Crown & Cokes. That's just how we roll.

Day Two: Friday, after hungoverly watching The Simpsons for about three hours, we went out to this extremely dive-y greasy spoon that wasn't so much in a building as it was a trailer. But the food was excellent, and the tons of potatoes included were more than adequate for staving off the death of a PBR hangover. This more than mitigated my earlier parking difficulties.

Bidding McJew adieu, I commenced my journey to Saginaw, land of the wedding and the affordable hotel (not to mention a fairly high crime rate, so I would later learn). I was pleasantly surprised to discover that I had been upgraded from the room I had reserved--single room with a king-sized bed--to one of the larger suites. Said suite, of course, was bigger than my old apartment, with two king sized beds, a fully-stocked living/dining room, two tvs, a pseudo-jacuzzi in the bathtub, etc. In a word, it was decadent, and I took full advantage of it by napping and tv-ing my hangover away. Red-Headed Stepchild was splitting the room with me, but as she didn't arrive until roughly 3:00 am, I got to lounge around and feel like a big man. Which I did.

Day Three: Saturday was the wedding. Slept in until 12:30, had a rushed lunch with Red and Sarah, and then got our wedding on. I of course was a bit unnerved by the Presbyterian-ness of the church and the service. Particularly the church. No icons, no stained-glass, no statutes, no false idols or graven images for me to worship at all. The writing on the walls was in English, not Latin. There were notepads in each pew for churchgoers to take notes on the sermon. For a Catholic such as myself, it was very unsettling. I managed to perform several moments of sacrelige just to calm my nerves.

The wedding of course was wonderful, and the Puncher looked absolutely gorgeous. There were brief moments of hilarity in the vows section, when the minister's love of pausing led to some egregiously-oversimplified repetition on her part (e.g. Minister: [husband's]...... ; Puncher: [husband's]....., with just enough of an ironic eyebrow lift on her part to evoke a giggle from the row of Madisonians). But by and large, the wedding itself was very tasteful, and the Madison crew of course came looking respectively dapper and smokin' hot, as is our want.

Reception followed shortly, as is the style of the times, where we drank, danced, enjoyed multiple desserts and a late-addition nacho bar. Turns out the Hillbilly and Crypto-Jew can really cut a rug together, the Puncher can walk like an Egyptian with the best of them, and drinks at reception bars are always, in fact, significantly watered down. Unless you order a white russian. Then you apparently get a glass full of rubbing alcohol. Sadly, though I drank and drank I did not get drunk. Though I guess that's just as well when you have a seven hour car ride the next morning. Side note: the groom got the best job ever, since the tables' names were all derived from "Stuff He Thinks is Cool." We personally were split between the Vampire table and the Bear Grylls table, but they also had the Chuck Norris table, the Bacon table, etc. Good times.

Day Four: We returned home, after breakfasting at a local eatery called Tim Horton's, which is apparently the Canadian equivalent of Dunkin Doughnuts. Tasty stuff, I suppose, though I'm told it's kind of a big deal if you live up north.

The entire way back to Madison, including a side detour in Lansing due to Mapquest and US Interstate idiocy (seriously, Sarah can back me on this, for some reason the exits changed numbers and skipped a few), my brakes were grinding something fierce. That combined with the general strain of the drive led to some severely short nerves and shorter temper on my part, which I adequately vented on the moronic drivers of downtown Chicago who caused me to slam on my brakes every 20 seconds. I believe she thought I was going to either have a heart attack or start murdering people. Truth be told, I wasn't all that far from either.

Anyway, long story short (too late), we got back, I took my car in, and now I'm spending a small fortune to get my brake pads and rotors replaced. Given that I just spent a fair amount on one wedding, with two more to go this summer, I can tell already that my lavish expenditures are all to be curtailed for a while. No more crack for me, I guess. But along with that, I'm placing a moratorium on weddings. No more weddings for a while. Seriously. Stop getting married, people! I forbid it!

Ok, got that out of my system. But really, don't do it. All it does is cost me money and remind me how horribly sad and lonely my life is. Oh, and I suppose the married couple gets something out of it, but really, who cares about them?

Notes from the trip:
-Ann Arbor, while cool, is not "Madison" cool. Suck it, McJew. Advantage: Badgers.

-The Lady in Black seriously lives in the middle of nowhere.

-Seeing LiB and the Puncher reminds me just how much I miss them both and how awesome they are. More trips to Madison are demanded. I'd come to you, but apparently my car will fall apart.

-Michigan has a town with the largest Christmas store in the world. I'm proposing a winter road trip right now (in someone else's car).

-No more weddings. Just live in sin like decent, god-fearing folk.

Pnin!

2008-06-23T22:06:00.003-05:00

Because I have nothing new to report, I offer you these selections from Vladimir Nabokov's Pnin, which will most likely only be funny to grad students. Sorry, everyone else. Drunken escapades coming this weekend.

On the start of a new semester:

"Again in the margins of library books earnest freshmen inscribed such helpful glosses as 'Description of nature,' or 'Irony'; and in a pretty edition of Mallarme's poems an especially able scholiast had already underlined in violet ink the difficult word oiseaux and scrawled above it 'birds.'"

"And still the College creaked on. Hard-working graduates, with pregnant wives, still wrote dissertations on Dostoevski and Simone de Beauvoir. Literary departments still labored under the impression that Stendhal, Galsworthy, Dreiser, and Mann were great writers. Word plastics like 'conflict' and 'pattern' were still in vogue. As usual, sterile instructors successfully endeavored to 'produce' by reviewing the books of more fertile colleagues, and, as usual, a crop of lucky faculty members were enjoying or about to enjoy various awards received earlier in the year."

On teaching:

"You may laugh, but I affirm that the only way to escape from the morass...is to lock up the student in a soundproof cell and eliminate the lecture room."

"Tom thinks that the best method of teaching anything is to rely on discussion in class, which means letting twenty young blockheads and two cocky neurotics discuss for fifty minutes something that neither their teacher nor they know."

Seriously. I think I may try that soundproof cell idea. Regardless, Pnin is wonderful, a real joy to read. I strongly suggest everyone do so.

No TV and No Beer Make Dubs Something Something

2008-06-17T23:56:00.002-05:00

The other day on the phone, Quantum asked me what I've been doing with myself recently. Now, anything that I come up with is comparatively going to already be inferior to what they're doing out in New York, because those boys are crazy drunks, while I... am a slightly older, no-longer-quite-so-crazy drunk. Sadly, it occurred to me then that my days of having "hijinks" are diminishing. I'm not necessarily distraught about this, given that my last night of debauchery led to a bruised tailbone (that still hasn't completely healed), several unexplained cuts and bruises, and a cold that incapacitated me for several days. I wouldn't do anything differently, mind you; but I'll be the first to admit that my days are no longer filled with martinis, dizzying action, and seductive women of mystery secretly spying for foreign agencies (man, were those a crazy couple of months).

Of course, most of the blame for the more-sedentary lifestyle I've recently been enjoying stems from two factors. The first is that I somehow hurt my foot last week; I have no idea how, or when, but it pains me to walk. Given that my beloved Madison is a very pedestrian town, I've been ranging out less than usual (and given that I got snookered last Tuesday and walked home on said hurt foot in my drunkenness probably didn't help). Hopefully, this problem will have remedied itself by next weekend, when I venture to the great desolate wastes of upper Michigan for The Puncher's wedding and open bar extravaganza.

The second, and far larger problem, is my frighteningly growing addiction to serialized television on dvd. For this, I wholeheartedly and totally blame t., whose constant recommendations of truly excellent shows has crippled my work ethic these past few weeks. When I was on Deadwood, things would progress nicely; I'd work during the day, and watch one or two episodes at night. Then came the Dexter incident, wherein I watched all of Dexter season one in about three days. That's not the end of the world, given that the season was only 12 episodes long. But it whetted my appetite for the serial mystery in a way I haven't seen since Veronica Mars-gate 2006. Which set the conditions for the knockout punch:

Twin Peaks

Have you ever watched this show? Part soap opera, part mystery, part character study, part weird supernatural drama, part crack, part crystal meth. "Who killed Laura Palmer?" seems like a fairly straightforward question, right? Wrong, skippy. Dead wrong. This cursed show is a maelstrom of cracked out midgets and giants, ghosts, spooks, doughnuts, and unending mysteries, a vacuum that sucks you in and destroys your ability to function in the real world. On Sunday, I watched over eight hours of Twin Peaks, and I still didn't know who killed that damn girl. All I did know is that I really really really wanted a piece of cherry pie. That night, I couldn't sleep, because I was thinking about the show. I dreamed about it. I pondered it all the next morning, and I'm fairly certain I advised several students in the writing center that the owls were not what they seemed.

Anyway, my point is that I'm a sucker for serialized shows that constantly end in cliffhangers, and I'm a sucker for mysteries. So this show is like my holy grail. I've watched at least five episodes today, with another six or seven yesterday. Thanks be to Krishna, it ends after the second season, which I'm told gets increasingly poor right around the point I'm now at. I figure it'll be like getting to the poorly cut and most likely toxic cocaine after you've been flying high on the good stuff for a while; eventually I'll crash, run out, realize I've been poisoning myself, and have to go into withdrawl. I'll try to resume my life, my work, and reintegrate myself into polite society. I might get the shakes every once or twice, and sure, I may feel the temptation to rent Fire Walk With Me, but deep down I know there are no answers that way.

Which is for the best, really. Cause Deadwood season two is currently at the top of my netflix queue. And then The Wire is shortly after that, and I hear there are at least five seasons of that beast.

In other words, good luck finding me anytime this summer.

St. Louis Blues

2008-06-07T23:12:00.002-05:00

So a lot has happened since my last post. Here are some highlights:

-Went out and got snookered on my birthday. I am now 28 years old, with a slightly more damaged liver and a bruised tailbone. Still not sure how that happened.

-27 was a good year. I meant to write a reflective post on what happened during 27, but then I watched a lot of NewsRadio instead. I stand by my choice.

-I read the Dark Materials trilogy, which, despite its woefully uninformed critique of the Catholic Church, was somewhat entertaining. Though I'm somewhat skeptical that God could be defeated by what amounts to bow and arrow technology and zepplins. God forbid the Almighty be assailed by a squadron of F-15 Strike Eagles. They'd be able to conquer heaven before the echo faded.

-St. Louis is seriously the armpit of Lucifer himself. I've been home for a week, and there hasn't been a day when it's been less than 90 degrees with at least 60% humidity (often much more). I'm a fairly active person, so being cooped up inside the air-conditioned house all day every day has been quite maddening.

-I got to spend a lot of time with my parents. I love them. They are awesome. They go all out when I come home. And if I have to stay here one more day, I will most likely murder them in their sleep.

-On the plus side, I got a new suit for Cryptojew's wedding, so I won't feel like such a shlub (sp?).

-I also met a very nice 80 year old European tailor, who seems to be able to cut down my old new suit (old that I've had it for a year, new because I've never worn it because it was huge on me) to an appropriate size.

-Seriously. St. Louis sucks ass. I cannot emphasize that enough.

-I went to Chicago for the F15 10 year anniversary. Completely blew my voice out and got sick. But did an awesome rendition of "Any Way You Want It" at the karaoke bar.

-Discovered that tailbone injuries hurt like hell for a long time afterward. Especially when you're sitting for six hours in a car.

-Rewatched all of Heroes season one. Lamented the fact that season two ever happened. Eager still for season three.

-Lost finale. Awesome. Words cannot express the awesome.

-Started watching Deadwood. More swearing than I like to hear from a cadet in peacetime.

-I desperately want to play poker and/or euchre and/or whist when I get back to Madison. Someone needs to make this happen.

-Will require much drinking to forget the time spent in St. Louis. I get the impression this won't be a problem.

-Managed to piss away the first three weeks of summertime without doing really any work. I blame my cold, which completely nerfed my second week in which I had slated a lot of time to do work. Damn germs.

-That's all I got for now. Will be back tomorrow in Mad-city, so fun must recommence.

Everything's Coming Up Milhouse!

2008-05-19T14:17:00.002-05:00

Recipe for a great day:

-Wake up at 10:00.
-Go to a coffee shop. Procure beverage and pastry (I recommend chai and scone, cranberry if available).
-Read The Code of the Woosters.
-Walk home listening to The Band ("Ain't Got No Home" suggested).
-Enjoy beautiful weather.
-Ponder drinking later in the day

So far, that's all I've got. I may factor in a walk later, or possibly some other Wodehouse. What I'm not doing, at all, is working. And it's really paying off.

That is all.

It's Amazing How Spending Money Can Make Things Better

2008-05-08T12:10:00.003-05:00

This past week or so has been excellent, for a number of reasons. Many of them are alcohol-related. A few are work-related. But by and large, they have to do with money.

With the department follies / Red-Headed Stepchild's birthday celebration last Friday, and Standard's one-act reading on Tuesday, there's been a significant increase in my getting drunk on various days that end with "y," and I must say, I'm a fan of the trend. Plus, I can't remember the last time I got drunk on a Tuesday. But let me tell ya, I'm glad it's coming back into style. Also great, so I've discovered, is showing up to a bar already drunk. You totally miss out on that early awkward phase where it's noisy and you're not quite comfortable yet yelling at the people across from you. Plus, you save money that way (or spend more because you aren't accountable for your actions).

As for work, I really haven't done a lot of that recently. Been meeting with students and helping them with their papers a lot, true. But largely, I've just been lazy. After the conference, I really couldn't bother myself with that whole dissertation thing.

Instead, I spent my time far more productively reading The Zombie Survival Guide, which is incredibly fun, if a little scary at just how in depth he goes. I can totally see some paranoid nuts out there actually buying land up to prepare for the zombie apocalypse after reading this book. Of course, when the zombie masses do rise up to slaughter us, I guess they'll be the ones laughing.

Well, them and me, because I've read the book. So I feel qualified now to easily hold out at least several weeks, should the situation arise.

So, in essence, fuck you, zombies. I won't play your game.

With the recent return of my hard-earned tax money and the promise of an economic stimulus check to come, I've spent an egregious amount of money in the past few days, largely on frivolities designed to amuse me. Saw Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanimo Bay, and would recommend it to anyone who liked the first movie. Also saw Iron Man, which I would recommend for anyone who likes kickass stuff. Seriously. It's a great comic book movie, a really great action movie in general, and Robert Downey Jr. is just pitch perfect. Plus, it's really a nice departure from the traditional comic book movie where the hero has a dark, tragic past, or is some kind of loser, or who is always tormented and torn about living a normal life, blah blah blah. Tony Stark is having a blast as a superhero, and it's fuckin' great to watch.

Of course, Quantum will be the first to point out that the tragic, brooding hero was in turn a nice departure from the old school superheroes, who had no personality at all and no real problems. But after Spiderman, Batman, the Hulk, the X-Men, etc., the trend of the tragically torn superhero/flawed human in comic book movies has really gotten kind of repetitive. Iron Man just does away with that nonsense, and I kinda love it for that.

Though it did make me realize I miss seeing comic movies with Quantum and the gang. Nothing like having a bona fide comic book expert in your circle to really enhance the viewing experience.

Finally, I have at last joined the 21st century and bought myself an ipod. And let me tell you, that thing is going to be the death of me. You'll find me on the streets, cold, alone, and destitute, but with 80GB worth of itunes. I can tell already. I may have to start selling blood to feed my itunes addiction.

But at least I don't have to carry around my discman anymore. So I got that going for me.

In conclusion, consumerism rocks and is a great way to both assuage a hangover and make you enjoy life more in every possible way. Especially if you combine the consuming of alcohol with the consuming of material goods to distract from the aftereffects of alcohol.

You Ever Try Farming Not High? It's Fuckin' Boring

2008-05-02T09:55:00.003-05:00

See it. Hilarious.

So Cal is Where My Mind States, But It's Not My State of Mind

2008-04-28T23:46:00.002-05:00

Man, California in April is vastly different from Madison in April.

In Cali, it was 80 degrees. There were flowers. And palm trees. And an ocean. And a patio at the hotel, where we sat in the shade under a ring of flowers and drank overpriced drinks.

In Madison, it snowed today.

So this weekend, as I mentioned in my last post, I went to Long Beach for a conference. This was my first time in California, and my first major conference, as well as the first time I presented part of my dissertation to people who weren't already my friends and thus obliged to tell me it was worthwhile. All in all, things went very very well. My paper was well received, and if I didn't get a ton of useful feedback, I got some good questions that I felt I was able to answer adequately, as well as some sense of validation that my ideas are in fact worthwhile.

The seminar I was a part of was stupidly good, with the 11 papers involved connecting in very interesting ways, which is odd when you consider our topics ranged from Dickens to the Vietnam War, from Dead Like Me to The Big Money, from artworks about genocide to a discussion of the zombie as emblem of the post-human Other. All of our papers were related, in some way, to death and narrative, but beyond that they wove together along lines none of us really expected. Given that the majority of panels I've ever been on have had nothing whatsoever in common, this was really refreshing. Also refreshing was when the very pleasant Irish scholar took the time to revise her paper the night before she gave it specifically to reference my paper from the day before.

Only actually went to two other panels at the conference, which isn't quite so bad when you consider that I had to attend three of my own seminar, so all in all I attended ten hours of conference panels over the course of the weekend. Anyway, it was freakin' California, and damned if I planned to spend the entire time inside the hotel.

Though I did spend a fair amount of time just outside the hotel, on that patio, under the ring of flowers, drinking.

Yeah, that was nice.

So, things I noted about the weekend, in no particular order:

-Jet Blue is really the way to travel. They have a tv on the back of each seat, with a DirectTV feed and all the basic cable channels. Even the flight back, which had multiple screaming babies, was enjoyable, due to the pleasures of drowning out said babies with The Fantastic Four and Spider-Man 2.

-Sitting on the aisle is a mistake. I'm a window seat man, and I need to embrace that.

-Long Beach Airport is ghetto. It may as well be a series of tin shacks. Seeing that there were multiple places you had to walk outside just to get to the baggage claim, we Wisconsinites wondered what they did in bad weather. Then we remembered we were in California.

-California is fuckin' expensive. Sure, I expect to get gouged by the hotel bar, but we were hard pressed to find anyplace we could eat for less than $15, even for lunch. God bless you, income tax return!

-Arnold Schwarzenegger is the governor there. Yeah, I already knew that, but it's still surreal to see him on tv as the actual governor of the state you're in. Hilarious.

-A man got eaten by a shark, while training for a triathalon. Apparently his wetsuit made him look like a seal. TGD and I got quite a few laughs out of this while reading the paper poolside.

-It's a good thing I don't have a continental breakfast provided for me every morning.

-Zombies are funny. They are also apparently the working class of the horror industry.

-The desert is big.

-So is the ocean.

-Other parts of the country have mountains in them. Who knew?

-I can actually see fairly well with only one contact lens in, provided it is in my right eye.

-Brownsox somehow called me from the future. As he still has yet to call me back in response to my return call, I can only assume he has somehow managed to find a tricked out DeLorean and has an important message of future peril for me.

-There's something very liberating about being entirely out of internet contact for a weekend.

-TGD is a Navigation Hero.

I'm sure there are other things I'm forgetting, but it's late. Since we got in today at about 1:00am, I took the entire day off until my writing center shift this evening. Slept till 10, watched all the tv I missed this weekend (Lost and BSG = Awesome, Supernatural = Cool, Smallville = Lame Beyond Belief), answered a few e-mails, and generally rested.

Needed to recuperate after my vacation, after all.

Purposeless Update

2008-04-14T14:37:00.002-05:00

My life is boring. There, ya happy? I'm not blogging because nothing of note is going on. So here's a blog post about all the uninteresting things that I'm doing.

Exception: Watching the start of Season Four of Battlestar Galactica is awesome, exciting, and just cool. Particularly great was the season premiere, when the Disserator and I went to a social gathering specifically because they had a tv with cable there. We left our friends after 45 minutes, went into the basement, watched the show, and came back up. All the while enduring the catcalls from our friends upstairs, who kept asking things like "Are the aliens attacking yet?", which just shows how little/nothing they know about the awesomeness of BSG.

Ok, so priority one in my life right now is editing down a dissertation chapter into a conference paper. Dissertation chapter: 56 pages. Conference paper: 8-10 pages. This is like trying to pour a birthday cake into a funnel. You end up with a big mess, you lose all the structure, and while it may still have some decent taste to it, there's no style or overall sense left. You just end up with a pile of frosting and cake all mushed together, and probably very dirty hands. That's how I feel about that.

In essence, I've cut out the main two argumentative points of the chapter. I barely talk about the book at all now. Much of my theory has gone by the wayside. And I can't tell if the sections all add up to something, or if I've just got a collection of random stuff. And I'm still two pages over the limit. Luckily, I'll be presenting this paper in Long Beach, CA, so even if it isn't any good (and I have to endure scorn from the Yalie grad student on my panel), I'll still be someplace pleasant and warm.

Priority Two: Still been dissertating. Second chapter progressing slowly, but not nearly as rapidly or coherently as my last chapter. This is a problem that arises when you use up all your good ideas in the first chapter.

Priority Three: Grading papers. I plan to do this at some point, despite the fact that the bulk of them are probably very bad papers about Emily Dickinson.

Priority Four: Halo 3. I've been playing a lot of this recently, largely because the catharsis of killing people helps bleed off the tension of all the work I should be doing and am constantly thinking about. And yet, despite this constant thought, I don't actually seem to spend all that much time working. Not sure what else I'm doing with that time, except...

Priority Five: Rome. Ok, this isn't a bad priority. Rome is a phenomenal show that I'm going through on dvd (blessed Netflix!). It's a badass retelling of the fall of the Roman Republic and the rise of the Empire, centered around the lives of two Roman soldiers. It was originally on HBO, so it has no problem with violence, sex, gore, language, etc., which was made abundantly clear in the penultimate episode of season one, where Vorenus (one of the soldiers) kills a man with a spiked mace. Of course, he doesn't use the spikes or the giant metal ball on top. No, he drives the mace's handle through the man's neck so it looks like he has two heads. Just because he was pissed off. I've learned a lot of cool things about the Roman civilization. People were apparently sleeping around a lot. Togas look much cooler than one might anticipate. And apparently every domestic/social function involved a lot of lying around on couches. Seriously. I could get behind a civilization that let me lie on a couch while at a party. Though I might pass out from drunkenness much more quickly.

But still, Rome is awesome. Check it out.

Yeah, so that's about all that's going on right now. Hopefully I'll have something slightly more amusing to post about soon. Or at least some more colorful metaphors about cake. Which I kinda want now. Mmmm.....cake.

Another Friday Night, and I Ain't Got Nobody

2008-03-28T22:42:00.004-05:00

I know, I need to update. Just not a ton going on, largely because my peers are lame people who prefer working to going out and doing things, particularly on Fridays during Spring Break. Lame, I say!

Anyway, if you haven't yet seen Garfield Minus Garfield yet, you should check it out. Constant hilarity. Larger update coming soon, I promise, once I have fun things to talk about.

Oh, and Battlestar Galactica comes back this Friday! If only I had cable, I'd be set!

Wanna smash? Yeah, let's smash.

2008-03-10T19:56:00.004-05:00

For a brief but blissful period of my life, I and many of my friends lived in two distinct worlds. In one, we were bright, energetic, somewhat alcoholic but nonetheless charming college students. We spoke of the usual things college students spoke of, we did some of the usual things college students did. We were never exactly normal, but we still existed as if in a world commonly shared by the bulk of college-going humanity.

But in our other, more awe-inspiring existence, we lived and breathed an entirely different society. This society had its own knowledge-base, its own skill sets. Its own lexicon. It was a hermeneutic system so self-contained that even those with whom we shared common interests could not bridge the gap without extensive exposure.

This world was the world of Super Smash Brothers.

Yes, many people played Smash across the college campus. But I highly doubt that anyone else brought to it the slavish, almost fanatical devotion that we did. At any hour of the day or night, you could probably find a game going on in the dorm. We left the N64 out in the common room, plugged into the tv, and people could just wander by and join up. I became a non-res at the dorm specifically so I could continue playing after I moved into my first apartment. It was almost sickening how much we played this game.

And we were good. You'd be very hard pressed to find people better than us at the original Smash. We all had our set characters, we played for hours and hours and hours, constantly rotating in and out, where victory was the only thing that kept you in the game. I was good at Smash beyond any measure of ever being good at anything. When I die, whatever my achievements, they'll never surpass the skills I had developed at Super Smash Brothers. I could win a Pulitzer, but whatever I had written would be less skillful than the skill with which I played this video game every day of my sophmore and junior years of college.

We were all damn good. It got to the point that, while a distinct and unofficial hierarchy existed, there were many of us with whom it would come down to what we had just eaten, or how much we had slept that night, to determine who would go on a winning streak. But I don't think it too hubristic to claim that I was one of the top three players of the game in the dorm, which would probably make me one of the top players on Northwestern's campus. I was freaky good at that game in a way I've never been as good at anything.

But more importantly for the purposes of this blog post, we had created an entire world around Smash Brothers. We had a name for everything, our own unofficial language that was completely impenetrable to outsiders. I mention this because last night I was playing Smash Brothers Brawl, the new version for the wii, and all those old memories came flooding back in a visceral, almost violent way. I found myself thinking of those times as I walked back from TGD's place, and I couldn't keep away a stupid, asinine grin.

So, to clarify matters a bit for those with whom I will now be playing Brawl, and as a fond trip down memory lane for all my Northwestern folk, I offer you the following lexicon:

Dark Samus: My character of choice. It was Samus Aran, but an evil version.
Insanely Powerful Back Kick: Samus' weapon of dealing ungodly pain to her foes.
The rat (or the fucking rat): Pikachu, the electric little rodent.
Tomacco: A large tomato with an "M" in the middle. Restores 100% of your health.
Jigglybitch: Jigglypuff, the weakest character of the entire game. Her weapon was song.
I got your face!: The act of ingesting someone whilst playing as Kirby, thus stealing their power. Always exclaimed with a tone of glee.
Cock-rocket!: Quantum's battle cry whenever he activated Fox McCloud's rocket pack.
Ness of the D'Ubervilles: A typo on a Tess paper's title page after an epic five hour session. Courtesy of Ranger.
Dubs-Slayer: The name given to a friend of ours who came out of nowhere to beat me, due largely to his extremely unorthodox Link fighting style.
Beam Sword: The equivalent of a nuclear bomb in sword form. Turned your average Yoshi or Kirby into the equivalent of Voltron wielding the blazing sword.
Death by fan: The most ignominious death known to man. The equivalent of getting your ass kicked by Jessica Simpson.
Fox McCloud of the Clan McCloud: Starfox, the Highlander.
Electro-Condom: Fox McCloud's personal shield.
Booooooooom!!!!!!!!: The battle cry of Luigi's superpunch. Exclaimed always in a high, nasally voice.
Egg-e-mon: The pokemon that gave you eggs.
Dragonmon: The pokemon dragon.
Ass-Gas: The gas-emitting pokemon
Coin-e-mon: The pokemon who emitted harmful coins.
Rock-e-mon: The pokemon who dropped rocks on you from above.
Fatass: The pokemon who falls from the sky, crushing you with his giant ass.
Star-e-mon: The star-shooting pokemon.

I'm sure there were others, so I invite my fellow Smash-addicts of yore to chime in. And for those of you who will be playing with me (and losing to me) at Brawl, please keep in mind that whenever I say something that seems completely incongruous if not downright stupid, I'm not insane. I've just traveled back in time about seven years to a far more idyllic period.

Who Keeps the Martians Under Wraps?

2008-03-01T09:47:00.002-06:00

This past week I had one of the most surreal experiences ever as a T.A. A student came to meet with me, with no real clear idea what he wanted his paper to be about. But he had narrowed it down to two options (after I explained to him that the story he had spent the most time on was not, in fact, one we assigned for the class), so we went over both of them. The first was a faintly intriguing though very nebulous investigation into Poe's "The Fall of the House of Usher." The second was a bit more...unusual. Here is a reproduction of the conversation as best I remember it:

Student: Also, I was thinking of writing on "The Cask of Amontillado."

Me: Ok, why did you find that one so interesting?

Student: Well, there's that one line about him being a Mason, and I thought that was really interesting because I'm a Mason myself.

Me: (incredulous) Ok...?

Student: I'm really fascinated by all the history, and I think the fight in the story might have something to do with the Great Schism of 1753, which would be a really cool thing to look at.

Me: (shocked and confused): Ok.... And how would that help understand the story more? Why might that matter to Poe?

Student: Yeah, I'm not really sure.

Me: You might want to go with the other one, then. Seems like there's more to work with.

So now I've got a Mason in my section. And I'm terrified that if I give him a bad grade, his masonic brothers will rise up and bring about my downfall in some obscure, hidden-hand fashion. Or maybe they'll just wall me up inside a crypt in a bizarre bit of irony.

On the plus side, I'm really tempted to ask him just how true the National Treasure movies are.

Meet George Jetson?

2008-02-26T10:43:00.002-06:00

Did you ever think that maybe we're missing the boat spending so much time on a better computer? That, had the computer industry not boomed and come to dominate the technological marketplace, we might be living in a far different society?

I personally believe there's a direct correlation between our ability to have a laptop thinner than an envelope and our increasing inability to have a flying car.

Back in the 50's, didn't everyone believe that by the year 2000, we'd all have flying cars? Not to mention time travel, interstellar colonies, and several intergalactic wars with alien species? Then boom, computers hit, and no one talks about flying cars anymore. It's all e- this and inter- that and micro- something or other.

I want my flying car, damn it.

Furthermore, don't say I didn't warn you when we invent computers smart enough to annihilate us as a species. Flying cars, see, they just fly around and take you places. They don't enslave mankind.

Hollywood's Whipping Boy

2008-02-12T12:37:00.001-06:00

If you're a habitual reader of Gray Matters, you probably noticed my extensive comments on a recent post which asked the question "Who would win in a fight, the superintelligent sharks from Deep Blue Sea or the aliens from Aliens?". As my comments revealed, I spent extensive time (at least an hour at the bar and at least three hours in my office) trying to come up with chains of causation, to determine which beast would best its opponent. These moves were similar to the Kevin Bacon movie game (at which I am also an expert), where I scientifically determined that an alien could beat a shark, or vice versa, based upon who had defeated them in their movies. For instance, the alien lost to Sigourney Weaver, who lost to x, who lost to y,..... who lost to Samuel L. Jackson, who lost to the sharks. Q.E.D., alien would lose to a shark.

Now, I was able to do this for both sides (although with a few contentious moves that I still feel kind of dirty about using), but it was much harder to see how the aliens could beat the sharks (scientifically it seems easy; using these causal chains, it's really frakkin' hard). This took me several hours in and of itself, for two reasons: first, the sharks were only defeated by two people, LL Cool J (who never loses; even when he was in Halloween H2O he survived) and Thomas Jane, who just isn't famous enough to have lost to a lot of people [I ended up using his obscure almost throwaway presence in Face/Off]). Second, through a sense of perverse pride I tried to get back to the aliens through Bill Paxton. And while Paxton's Hudson did die most spectacularly at the hands of the Alien infestation on colony LV-426, and his character is by and large the first thing people will remember about Aliens ("Game over, man! Game over!", "Maybe you haven't been keeping up on current events, but we just got our asses kicked!"), using him remains a critical problem for someone attempting to win this game.

Because Paxton never defeats anyone.

This was something we used to joke about a lot in college, so it may seem familiar to some of my NU readers, but Bill Paxton is seriously Hollywood's whipping boy. You need someone who's gonna be kind of a douche and then get defeated or killed? Call Bill Paxton. He'll be obnoxious about it, and then die gloriously. He's almost made a career out of being the guy who either dies or who we wish would die before the movie's out. Hell, he played the treasure seeker in Titanic, and while he didn't die per se in that film, I wasn't betting against it right up until the end of that movie. Somehow that old lady would toss him into the sea or something.

And because I had this very real attachment to Bill Paxton, I tried desperately to find someone for him to beat. I looked at movies I hadn't seen in a while; I checked out his imdb resume, desperately seeking some kind of resolution; I even tried to go with the larger theological conceit that he had defeated Satan somehow in Frailty, but even then he ends up getting the short end of the stick. Or maybe you could go through the tornado in Twister, but then where does that take you? Or you could argue he beat the moon in Apollo 13, but then who does the moon ever beat? Maybe Tommy Lee Jones in Space Cowboys, but that's a very debatable point. And Paxton's still kind of a douche in Apollo 13; I mean, come on, he's up against Tom Hanks, Kevin Bacon, and Gary Sinese. Which one of these is the loser outcast astronaut that sits at home on Saturday nights and cries?

Just look at the man's resume, highlights presented below:

-Terminator: He's the punk leader whose clothes Arnond steals. Thus establishing early in his career a willingness to get his ass kicked by his betters.
-Weird Science: He's Chet, the older brother, who gets turned into a slug-like mass by his dorky brother's sex genie.
-Aliens: Yeah, he's kinda cool, but he's also the tool of the outfit. Just look at the knife scene where he screams like a little girl.
-Predator 2: Death by Predator. Fuckin' Danny Glover lives, but he dies.
-Tombstone: The Earp posse consists of Kurt Russell, Val Kilmer (as badass Doc Holliday), Sam Elliott, and Paxton. Which Earp brother do you think is going to die, and which is going to still be killing people with only one arm?
-True Lies: He plays Simon, the car salesman/faux spy. He doesn't get cashed, but he pees himself twice, so close enough.
-Apollo 13: See reasons above. Also, defeated by the moon, which you know Neil Armstrong never let him forget.
-Frailty: This was a movie we had high hopes for in college. The premise is simple: Bill Paxton believes he is chosen by God to kill demons (i.e. possessed humans). To do this, he has a magic axe named "Otis," that apparently gains is magic from the very sharp edge which can cut through human flesh. Given our love for Paxton, it seemed like a "can't miss" film. And it was awesome. We saw it in the theaters. But still, things don't turn out well for our boy Billy.

That's pretty much all I've got. I know he's been in other films, and is apparently in this "Big Love" tv show that's supposedly pretty good. But really, poor Bill Paxton just cannot and will not ever be known as a guy who gets shit done. Though maybe that's a viable career choice; maybe, when you're a big Hollywood director or producer and you need a guy who's going to be kind of cool, kind of a tool, and end up getting cashed to show just how serious the situation is, then it pays to be Bill Paxton, King of the Whipping Boys.

(As a side note, Paxton was definitely in the all-star cast of our projected film Free Ben Stein, in which Stein is kidnapped by terrorists, and a crack team of special ops soldiers is put together to rescue him. He played, obviously, the guy who got killed halfway through to show how serious things were. But I'm sure he'd get off a good line or two before he died.)

When We Have Found All the Mysteries and Lost all the Meaning, We Will Be Alone, on an Empty Shore

2008-02-03T21:38:00.001-06:00

First off, suck it, Patriots and Patriot fans! Not only did they lose, but Brady got hit a delicious number of times. Though he was not horribly crippled, scarred, or set on fire, as Throat Punch and I had hoped. (See what happens when no one suggests nicknames? I come up with stuff like Throat Punch.)

Not much of a notable weekend, though I did drink a fair amount over the course of three days. So today's post is more of a comment diversion than anything, mainly for my Madison folk (sorry outsiders, will try to involve you more in the future).

Now, this year, as we know, is the first year the MAs don't have to take the egregious MA test that all the rest of us took. And while we've debated the gross injustice of this move and how we may or may not think less of our new brethren because of the relative ease with which they shall procure their degrees, I'm more concerned today with the loss of works, the truly wonderful works that most of us would likely not have read.

So for today's post, I'll ask you to submit: what work or works should we demand that people read, just because they are awesome? This isn't about being great, or important, or any of that academic bullshit that we spread around like so much manure. No, I want to know what you liked, what was totally outside your field, but you loved regardless. These are the gems of the now-defunct list, things that made the gruelling hours and days and weeks and months of reading worthwhile for a brief shining moment. What really worked for you? What made you happy that you were a scholar and a student of literature, because you got to read cool stuff like that?

Submit your responses, and then we can generate a "must read" list to unofficially force upon our peers.

To start, my choice would be Tom Stoppard's Arcadia. I never would have read this play in a million years. Not because I dislike Stoppard or contemporary drama; it's just not something I would have come across if not forced to read it. And it's brilliant. Single best thing I read that entire summer. I reread it at least once a semester (of course, it doesn't hurt that you can tear through it in like an hour or two, tops). It's hilarious and moving and really helped me formulate my motivations for being in this crazy, almost masturbatory profession that so many of us have chosen. And because it's Stoppard, it's witty and verbose and insanely intellectual, not to mention pure joy to read.

So yeah, check out Arcadia if you haven't already. And send along your submissions for the list, so that we may force it upon the next generation.

And fuck the Patriots.

A Shorter Post, Because My Students Aren't Inventive

2008-01-29T12:48:00.000-06:00

And yet again we're at the start of a new semester. I had hoped to bring you a lengthy post reporting back on my students' responses to the humorous question I posed in my first-day surveys. (For past results on my Sam Jackson v. Batman contests, see here, and here.) This year, the theme of our course has to do with the supernatural, so I decided to make things a little more open, since the SJ v. Batman had grown a bit stale (not to mention that, now that I live with Batman, I tend to side with him, as he pays half the rent).

Unfortunately, my students appear to be not very inventive in their responses. Many completely ignored the section of the question that asked them to justify their choices. Many others just gave lame reasons. But there were a few intriguing ones, so here they are for your enjoyment.

Question: Of the following, who would win in a fight and why: Dracula, the Wolf Man, Frankenstein's monster, the Ghost Busters, Ash (circa Army of Darkness), Buffy, zombies, Samuel L. Jackson.

The Breakdown: Samuel L. came in with a resounding 15 votes, due largely to his general badassery. The Ghost Busters came in a distant second with 8 votes, with their victory over the Stay-Puft Marshmellow Man as a prime justification for the ability to overcome all obstacles. Buffy took the third position with 6 votes, for reasons unspecified. Ash and his boomstick garnered 4 votes, while Dracula claimed a mighty 3 and Frankenstein's monster a morose 1 (which is ironic, considering the monster's main complaint in the novel is that no one loves him). The Wolf Man and zombies earned no votes whatsoever, which tragically ignores that both can raise entire armies of creatures like them with just one bite.

Choice responses:

-Samuel L. Jackson in a Ghost Busters suit (unspecified whether or not suit includes proton pack).
-Buffy: She has that whole "I'm a little girl, don't hurt me thing" going on for her. When really she could kill you. (Apparently Buffy is far more homicidal than I remember.)
-Samuel L. Jackson because he always wins. (Unless he's fighting a shark with an enlarged brain, of course.)
-Dracula because he was actually a Prince and controlled an army in Transylvania. He impaled his enemies on stakes. He was a total badass because he drank their blood afterwards. (Mad props for historical reference, and an appreciation for impaling people on stakes, a tried and true pedagogical technique.)
-Ghost Busters: Igon would find a crazy way to either trap or perhaps blow up the rest (lasers?). (Substitute "unlicensed nuclear accelerators" for "lasers" and you're correct.)

My own thoughts: I personally would have to go with the Ghost Busters on this one. They're scientists, for one thing. Furthermore, and far more importantly, each of them carries a long-range nuclear weapon on his back, giving them the ability to strike from distance, terrify their opponents with technology, and the ability to make all life as you know it stop instantaneously and every molecule in your body explode at the speed of light. (Right, that's bad. Ok, important safety tip.) Compared to a man who may or may not have a handgun and who was once eaten alive by a superintelligent shark? Ghost Busters 1, SJ 0.

"We came, we saw, we kicked its ass!"

Other thoughts on the matter?

Winter Break - The Highlights

2008-01-22T21:55:00.000-06:00

Ok, so I can't really come up with one thing to sustain an entire blog post at the moment, so the following is a collection of highlights of break, followed by a dilemma. Because nothing invites comments like a dilemma, and a blog is lonely when it isn't commented upon.

Highlights:
1. MLA: I went to the Modern Language Association's annual convention, because it was in Chicago. While there, I attended numerous panels on war and violence (since my dissertation is about war and violence and the aftereffects). Sadly, not one of these panels had anything to do with literature or any kind of theory that would aid my own thinking. I also attended a panel that had papers I could have written as an undergrad (including one paper I'm pretty sure I did write as an undergrad), and one really kick-ass panel on Hawthorne, of all people. Don't get me wrong, I loves me some Nate-Dog H., but if you'd told me beforehand that the highlight of the conference for me would be a panel on Hawthorne, I'd have laughed in your face.

Oh, and apparently hotels feel no qualms about charging you $11 for a vodka tonic. I didn't realize this until after I had ordered two of them. C'est la vie.

2. New Year's: Had people over, was a fun time. Mellow. After everyone left, I opened a second champagne bottle and drank most of it myself. Because I couldn't figure out the wire thing on top of the cork, I cut it with wire cutters. I was drunk.

3. Ninja Drunk, take two: Got plastered off some Wild Turkey Barrel Proof, nearly fell over while playing pool. Don't remember the end of the night, but apparently had a drunk dial conversation in which I claimed to have paused the internet. Am researching this power for future use. May require more Wild Turkey.

4. Bar Golf: Got plastered again a week later at Bar Golf. For those unfamiliar, each bar counts as a hole. Each hole has an assigned drink, and a par. Drink one, get par. Drink two, birdie. Etc. Our course had 6 holes. I made it through four consciously, but still managed to stealth order a drink at the last bar in spite of a concentrated effort to stop me from drinking. Depending on who you ask, I shot either a -2 or a -3, or I was disqualified because I can't remember anything past the fourth hole and passed out at the last bar. But I say that last drink keeps me in the game. To wit: two rum & cokes, two Miller Lights, two martinis (Hendricks and Ketel), scotch and cigar, vodka tonic (and a chicken ceasar wrap I swear to the gods of Kobol that I didn't order). We started at 3:15, I was home by 8 or so, and at roughly 12:15 am, I regained consciousness and was back out in the street calling to find where the group had gone, only to realize everyone had gone home hours before. Went back upstairs and passed out again.

Also, Boone's (so nicknamed for his taste for the wretched drink) won with a -6. Because he is an inhuman drinking robot. Or a Cylon.

5. Poker: In Wudan tradition, we played some high stakes poker, with some nice upper shelf alcohol. I won $15, and rediscovered my love of Hendrick's gin and Bushmills 10 year. Batman won big, though a snafu with the pot kept him from claiming all his winnings. Still, won enough to put a new layer of armor on the Batmobile. Oh, and TGD got hilariously upset at my lucky streak (which was, admittedly, entirely luck and not skill).

6. Semester Kickoff Party: In which I discovered that beer does not make you as drunk as liquor. Thus, I was able to drink steadily for roughly 8 hours (8pm-4am) and still remember the entirety of the evening. I found I am pretty good at baseball (the drinking game), and that Boone's does in fact taste awful. Which is why we passed around two or three bottles of it at the end of the night and just took turns taking swigs. (I also discovered that sleeping in till 2:00 the next afternoon is a great way to avoid a hangover.)

7. The Hill: Today, on the way to campus, traffic was backed up way past my apartment. I was able to walk to campus (roughly 30 minute trek, all down one road) in a shorter time than it took the bus that was at the stop outside my apartment. I passed three other buses en route, and beat them all. Why? Because we had snow yesterday, and cars couldn't get up the hill about a mile down the road. Because, you know, in Madison, they don't know how to keep the roads clear or salted. Still. After one of the snowiest winters on record. All in all, it was a hilarious testimony to the ineptitude of both drivers and municipal officials. Though it did mean I had to walk a long time in the cold and the snow. Which kinda sucked.

That about brings us up to speed. I'm sure there are some other things I'm forgetting or neglecting. I didn't do nearly as much work as I planned. I managed to stave off guilt through alcoholism, BSG dvds, and movies (go see Cloverfield).

Oh, and the dilemma. I'm rapidly adding people to the cast of characters that comprises this blog, and I need nicknames for them. So I invite you, the readers, to submit nicknames for other people I know. Granted, this is mainly my Madison readers, but others can feel free to offer outlandish suggestions that I might randomly apply to others as suits my whim.

Finally, check this out, courtesy of Bourbon Samurai. Hilarious.

Side By Side By Side

2008-01-01T19:07:00.000-06:00

First post on the new laptop! First post of the new year! Lots of tales to tell since Christmas. Ok, really just one or two. Probably a post on MLA. But that's all forthcoming, because today I'm going to talk about my New Year's Resolution.

While attending the Annual Modern Language Association Convention in glorious old Chicago, it occurred to me that I know a lot of people who are coupled together. When dining, it was quite often the three of us, or the five of us, and I realized that a large majority of the people I now associate with and consider my friends tend to come in pairs. Similarly, back in St. Louis, my associates generally consist of my friends and their wives. At my New Year's party, it was the same: people and their partners. Wherever I go, I tend to travel in packs of odd-numbered people, largely because I make up that added extra.

This isn't necessarily a problem, of course. I like all my friends, as well as their partners, and would conceivably be friends with either or both regardless of their coupled status. I've gotten very good at not feeling like a third or fifth or seventh wheel. I like to think that my inherent charm and panache overcome the oddity of the numbering. So please don't feel I'm self-pitying or lamenting the cruelties of fate. But it is noticeable.

Now, intellectually, I have nothing against couplehood. The human tendency to form pairs and travel within these pairs has many benefits. It makes every gathering inherently more crowded, because twice as many people are there, thus making conversation easier and more varied, particularly when you feel the urge to move from one conversing group to another. It allows for humorous paired costumes at Halloween. It means you only have to e-mail one person instead of two, and you can just assume that both people will hear about it. It often can halve the amount of Christmas presents you have to buy, as one gift for a couple is inherently less expensive than two gifts for two individual autonomous people. More often than not, it provides a designated driver, should the need arise. I'm told the added companionship is pleasant. And there are other benefits, I suppose.

But still, the odd man syndrome, while beneficial in that it often provides a spare chair at any dining establishment (useful for storing coats, bags, and the occasional parcel), has more than its share of drawbacks. It's very difficult, for example, to carry three drinks at a time, making collective ordering at a bar somewhat problematic. Five people make a car too crowded; three means one person is alone in the back seat. And good luck finding seating arrangements for seven at all but the largest tables at any decent dining establishment. Little things, one might say. Petty trifles, another might scornfully dismiss. But God is in the details, or so I've heard it said. And who are we to question the will of God?

So this had led me to my current resolution for the year of 2008. Rather than simply sitting back and passively accepting the situation, this year I'm going to be much more proactive. I'm going to address this issue head on, and put forth my efforts to remedy the issue of the odd numbering. The solution seems quite obvious, does it not?

Break up my coupled friends.

This seems by far the most effective and obvious way of ending the current status quo. It caters to my inherent love of strategy and mind games. It'll give me something to do instead of work on my dissertation. And it just sounds like fun. Therefore, I'm beginning an intricately laid web of lies and deceit focused solely on splitting up any and all romantic engagements amongst my friends. This is not done out of malice towards them or the institution of couplehood per se. Rather, I do it solely for my own well-being. Some might call this selfish on my part. Others, ghastly and inhumane.

I prefer to think of it as heroic.

So welcome 2008, and the fun and exciting new possibilities it brings.

Peace on Earth, Good Will To Men

2007-12-25T01:13:00.000-06:00

Today is born, in the city of David, a Savior. 'Tis Christ the Lord.

I know it's true because Linus told me so.

Christmas Eve is always my favorite day of the year. I believe I've posted about this in the past, but a brief recap: my folks go crazy with food and drink, my brother and his girlfriend come over for dinner, drinks, presents, and general merrymaking, and we all have a fabulous time. It really is, in my opinion, the best day of the entire year for our family.

This year, we feasted ($80 beef tenderloin and various side dishes and sauces), we wassailed, and made merry ourselves in the spirit of the season. It was an altogether exemplary holiday.

Though it does make things quite interesting when you go to midnight mass and your biggest concern is whether or not the priest is going to screw up because you know that a few hours earlier he was over at your house and you made him several very strong drinks. (My uncle our priest, and he dines with us every year.)

(Sappiness to follow. Blame the Crown Royal and the Hendrick's.)

I've had a myriad of alcoholic indulgences this evening, so I won't prolong this blog. But to all of you readers out there, I wish you a very Merry Christmas. To my friends and colleagues (hopefully one and the same), I am eternally grateful for your presence in my life, and I shall hold you close with a thankful heart. May your holiday be blessed, the end of the year be safe and fulfilling, and may your year to come be new and exciting, bringing expected blessings and unexpected joys. You all enrich my life in ways I can't begin to quantify. I won't belabor the point, but please know that you are all very dear to me.

In the words of Garfield's Christmas Special:

There, I said it. Now get out of here.

(More cynical and ironic blogs to come after MLA, I promise.)

And So the Semester Comes to a Close

2007-12-18T01:53:00.001-06:00

Batman is gone for the holidays. You know what that means, folks.

Crime is about to massively decrease in his hometown, whilst the good people of Madison must fend for themselves.

Of course, that leaves our Batcave entirely open for my whims. Nothing but coked out hookers and illegal arms dealings to Azerbaijan. Cause that's how I roll.

Or, my life could be a lot lamer, and I could be watching movies with the volume up high and planning to clean the place. Tonight's fare was the annual watching of Love Actually to continue my holiday film fest, which began with Elf, which I had never seen, and will continue with Scrooged, Christmas Vacation (never seen it), and The Ref (a yet unmentioned holiday hilarity), before I head home and watch more movies with the folks. Yup, I'm living the high life.

Yesterday, after breaking even in a five hour poker extravaganza (a Christmas miracle!), came home and started another movie at midnight, just because I didn't have a Writing Center shift today, for the first time since the start of the semester. Yay! Also yay for Waitress, which is a quality film that only increased my desire to kill Nathan Fillion and assume his identity. This will necessarily involve some kind of voodoo ritual in which I absorb his talent and appearance. And once that's accomplished, I begin my real goal: the promotion and development of Serenity 2: Revenge of the Reavers.

Last Thursday my students had their exam. Since I still had discussion session the following day, I made it entirely optional for extra credit, and basically had a Festivus-inspired "Airing of Grievances." (I contemplated a "Feats of Strength" section, but I have several football players in my classes, most of whom might bear a grudge for the grades I've been giving them.) My first section handled this well, offering insight into what worked and what didn't, etc. My second section, Festivus bless them, basically devolved into the "We Hate Spousal Hire and We Love Dubs Club." In the span of about 20 minutes, they launched a multi-tiered attack on SH's lectures, proving that they are capable of an insightful critique that their papers sorely lacked. In this time, they basically validated everything I've been blogging about this semester.

Which was AWESOME.

I'm not gonna lie. I managed to play it off as very neutral (or so I think), and tried to constantly turn the talk to specific things that work in lectures and things that don't, so I could learn to be a good lecturer myself one day. But it was fun to hear their young minds assailing the inanities of the semester that we all had collectively suffered through. Fun and gratifying. Very, very gratifying.

Beyond that, not a lot going on. Department non-denominational holiday party was last Friday. Got drunk, hung out with a bunch of MAs afterward and tried desperately not to feel old and sketchy. Had unflattering pictures taken of me (not that kind, pervert), further proving my age-old adage that the Dubs does not photograph well. Of course, the multiple glasses of wine and numerous rum and cokes, combined with no dinner, helped a bit as well.

Grading exams now, and I'm apparently being far too easy. Or our exam was far too easy. I suspect the latter. Though I'm somewhat disgruntled that I'm giving out so many ABs. Damn my students and their excellent participation.

All that's left before my holiday departure is my grading (will finish tomorrow) and my Christmas shopping. Hilariously, this will involve me going to a liquor store on the other side of town and picking up $250 worth of beer that my brother ordered online. Then I get to drive it all home. What a time to be alive.

So if you're around and looking for hijinks, give me a shout. And if you're still working, good luck with that. Otherwise, probably won't blog until my Christmas blog, which should hit the blogodrome right around the Eve.

Safe travels all those leaving their respective towns, and happy holidays!

Battle for Our Approval!

2007-12-11T23:05:00.000-06:00

First, a random observation. Those who have been with this blog since the get go will remember that one of my key methods of determining the elite from the slobs is the correct pronunciation of Pago Pago. Today at the Writing Center, I felt even more appreciation for my intellectual breeding. Because you know you're better than others when you can correctly pronounce words like "hegemonic," "apartheid," "Borges," "Proust," and "nuclear." You just feel better about yourself and your worth as a person in relation to the worth of other people.

This is also a great feeling when you realize you feel that way about your relationship to your lecturer, who spent the entire class restating the same things you yourself said in your guest lecture the week before. To quote another WC colleague, "Wow, I'm so much better than you."

Speaking of, I gave a guest lecture last Thursday (my fourth here at UW). As my topic dealt with art and politics (specifically classical music), I managed to open with a clip of a famous conductor playing Beethoven for Hitler's birthday, and I spent the last ten minutes of the lecture with Brahms' 2nd Symphony (2nd Movement) playing underneath me. Every so often, I would stop and conduct. According to one of my fellow TAs, the key moment was when I stopped mid-lecture, told the class to "Wait for it...", and then conducted the giant upsurge of the strings (around the 2:20 mark if you know the movement). Yes, I was kind of a media whore. And yes, I was showing off. But these poor kids have suffered so much this semester that I felt it was in order.

Ok, on to the main topic of this post. Recently, one of the MA students told me that, without the grueling agony of the MA test, there was confusion as to how the rest of the graduate student population would judge their new peers as equals. Without the rigors of testing, how would we know that these newcomers (infidels in the halls of our ivory tower, if you will) were up to snuff?

To be fair, anyone seeing how hard these folk are working themselves with end of the semester papers should inherently know that they're worthy of attention and grudging respect (or that they have no lives and work far too hard). But this hesitation has been echoed by many a newcomer that I've talked with, so I feel we as a collective must explore options for inducting the new generation into our elite brand of snobbery. As such, I have comprised a list of possible methods.

1. Deathmatch: We pit the MAs against each other in a three day Battle Royale. The survivors receive a Masters and pass on to the next stage of the program.

2. Random selection: A committee of PhD students (or Council of Elders, if you will) randomly chooses whom we wish to advance and whom we wish to shun. We would offer no logic or reasoning for these choices. This would cull their spirits and make them constantly curry favor.

3. Prison-method: We seek out the smartest of the MAs. We then beat the hell out of this person in front of all the others. This will strike an ungodly fear in the hearts of the others, who will always respect our authority and never seek to oust us.

4. The Quest: At the start of the year, every MA is assigned a mentor. To conclude the MA year, the Mentor shall assign an epic quest for the mentee to complete. Successful return leads to a degree. (Quests could range from "Bring me a soda" to "Here's half of a medallion. Somewhere in the world is a man with the other half. He shall lead the way to the treasure of the Incas. Find me this treasure.")

5. The MA Test (Alcoholic Form): Each MA will be plied with questions fundamental to the understanding of the literary arts. For every correct answer, you do a shot. For every incorrect answer, you do two shots. Those who both pass the test and avoid a hospital stay will receive the degree. This method also helps build the alcohol tolerance crucial to the continued pursuit of a PhD.

6. The "Shovel My Drive" Test: It snows a lot. Sure would be nice if someone shoveled my drive.

7. The Out-Write Test: Candidates are placed in front of a computer. Given a prompt, they must proceed to write more pages than me in an hour's time.

8. The Kobayashi Maru Test: A test to be determined which is impossible to pass without cheating. Measures ingenuity, and lets us laugh at people who keep "trying" to win. Bonus points for anyone who breaks down and yells "Khaaaaaaannnnnn!" as the test concludes.

Other suggestions? Something that might incorporate racing bears on the frozen surface of Lake Mendota? Skydiving off of Helen C.? Other thoughts?

And as a last note, every dissertator should be friends with several MA students. You never realize just how good you have it until you don't have to frantically write four seminar papers. (Good luck, you paper writers out there!)

Ninja Drunk

2007-12-02T19:52:00.000-06:00

Ninja Drunk: To wit, the onset of a sudden and unexpected drunkenness that assails you stealthily despite any intentions of sobriety. Named for the practitioners of the arts of unseen assassination, the condition known as "Ninja Drunk" strikes without warning, leaving the victim horribly scarred and badly damaged, often before any real consciousness of the drunkening arrives. Most cases result in a period of PTHD, or Post-Traumatic Hangover Disorder, that leaves the victim incapable of performing basic functions for a long period of time following the catastrophe.

So last night, I got Ninja Drunk. Not sure how it happened, as I really (by my standards) didn't drink all that much. To be fair, I really hadn't eaten a lot of food that day, and I was fairly tired after seven hours at the coffee shop grading and reading and watching the snow fall. But still, the immediate switch from sobriety to insane drunkenness was shocking, particularly since my awareness jumps from about 10:30 Saturday night to 8:00 Sunday morning, when I awoke on top of my covers, still wearing my clothes and glasses. I've basically spent the rest of the day trying to come to terms with my near assassination by evil Ninja Bourbon (perhaps the dark counterpart to the Bourbon Samurai).

Using this as an excuse, then, I offer you a post I've been pondering for some time. The Top Five Drunken Experiences of Dubs. Note, these are not necessarily the drunkest experiences of my career. They're simply the most memorable (or not, given the amount consumed), the ones that come to mind when I ponder the really great drunken times of my life. These are presented in no particular order, and I make no judgments on those who choose to drink or not drink. Think of this as a way to kill a lot of time when you should be writing a seminar paper or doing work.

1. Housewarming at the Wudan.

Or, as I consider it, "The Harry Potter Night." I've told this story too many times; therefore I won't rehash it again. If you're one of the very few who hasn't heard it, ask me sometime when I've had a drink or two. It's quite the tale. And it even forced my fellow band of reprobates to include a new rule into the Drinking Tournament Code that we later drafted.

2. New Year's Eve, 2002-2003.

New Year's in Chicago. One of the greatest cities in the world, at our disposal, and of course we choose to have an apartment party and get trashed there. We started drinking at around 7:00, and we didn't let up until everyone was hammered and gone. Memi decided it'd be swell to mix all the alcohols she liked into one uber-alcohol, which tasted like the underside of a bus on a snowy day. I think it actually started to curdle. Bluesman and J.D. decided to polish off a bottle of 18 year old Scotch (Glenmorangie, I believe). I believe I was drinking bourbon, probably Booker's or Knob Creek. We had a fair amount of people there (McJew might remember who else came, as he was definitely there for the bulk of the evening and left around 6 a.m. to catch the El back to Evanston), and we were all pretty much gone by around 10:00 or so. Epic way to close out the year we graduated college. Spent the next day so hungover that we couldn't move. (Well, the men at least. The women went out dancing or some such tomfoolery, while the men stayed at home, watched The Time Machine, Deuce Bigalow, and then played Mystery Mansion. All without ever leaving the futon, or even folding it back into couch position.)

3. The 40s Party

Also known as the great showdown between the East Side and the West Side gangs of Madison grad students. East Siders wore green, West Siders wore yellow I believe. East Siders were clearly the dominant group, and upheld the pride and dignity of our side of town. That night, I was challenged to a drink-off of a second 40, having already pounded one by myself (though to be fair, these were 40s of beer, not malt liquor, which might very well have killed us). Because I'm stupid, I agreed. To my shame, I lost this challenge. But win or lose, we're all winners when we drink more. This was also the night I stumbled in the bathroom and tore down Winter's shower curtain (which I tried to fix and ended up damaging even more). I believe this night I also attempted to attack some skateboarders on the way home.

4. My 26th Birthday

This one holds a great place in my heart, though I don't remember all that much of it. We were all out at a bar, and everyone kept buying me drinks. Apparently, my decision to drink mostly beer as a means of staying in the race longer meant that everyone would instead buy me shots. I was actually managing to hang in there, until the then head of the graduate English program, The Absent-Minded Professor (who was at the bar with another group), bought me a very large glass of bourbon. I have no memories after this, but that alone gives the night a huge ratings boost. Apparently after that, we went to a cigar bar. This is confirmed by the fact that I woke up and my clothes reeked of smoke and my mouth felt like an ashtray.

5. Dubsgiving

I consider all of Dubsgiving one drunken experience, and I'd hate to have to choose between "The Night of the Five Beer Boats" and "Let's Go to a Bar Night 2: Return of the Revenge of the Blood." I've chronicled the full details here and here, so take a look if you haven't read them already. They're long, and will waste a lot of time you could be writing seminar papers.

Runners Up

-The Night of the Cherry Flavored Whiskey (chronicled here by Bourbon Samurai)
-The Othello cast party (the night of the animal crackers)
-DrunkCataz
-The Measure for Measure party (where I remained drunk until about 3 p.m. the following day, despite having friends over for an afternoon gathering).
-Really any time we went to the Wudan.

I'm sure there are others, but I was probably too drunk to remember them.

(Readers are now invited to offer their own stories of inebriation, so I don't feel like the only drunk in the blogodrome. New Yorkers especially, I'm looking at you. Largely because none of you blog anymore.)

Holiday Ramblings

2007-11-27T23:24:00.000-06:00

My love of the holiday season is well-documented (see here and here for last year's treatises on the subject of Christmas). So I won't go into things at length again, lest I grow repetitive. I'll only point out that, in fine Dubs' family tradition, our Christmas tree was appropriately removed from its natural habitat and put to far better use in our living room, where it will glitter and gleam and slowly die for our holiday cheer. (Those of you with facebook can see the latest conquest of nature in my profile picture. No, this is not in Madison. Sadly.)

Over the course of past week, I learned several things, which I shall enumerate in no particular order.

1. I am a 13 year old girl. As proven by my great enjoyment of the movie Enchanted, which is just so danged earnest that it avoids being sickly sweet.

2. You know how they say that if you've just lost weight, it's easier to put it right back on? That's true. Damned delicious stuffing.

3. Pine tree sap doesn't wash out of anything easily.

4. It's really weird to go back to places you frequented as a child. I discovered this when I entered my old parish church for the first time in about eight years, and immediately felt like I was back in sixth grade.

5. New coats are fun.

6. I apparently don't age. Or, if I do, then I'm retrogressing. I was told I still look 18 by my cousins, and the man in the grocery store nearly didn't give me a free sample of wine, despite the fact that my gray-haired father was right next to me. For further proof, see the aforementioned Christmas Tree / Facebook profile picture, where I look like I'm frakkin' twelve.

7. New episodes or movies of Battlestar make me want to say "frak" more often. So far, I have resisted this urge in public. But BSG: Razor was pretty cool.

8. "Pushing Daisies" + Pee Wee Herman = Awesome.

Nothing much else to add. But for a diversion, I'm throwing the floor open again to Christmas songs worth listening to. I have an extensive list from last year (see above), but here are a few that I either just discovered or neglected previously. (Through the miracles of our age, videos provided for your enjoyment. Per usual, watch the videos at your own risk. I just pick 'em for the songs.)

-"Snoopy's Christmas" I love this song. No real logic behind it, other than it's Snoopy.

-"Donna and Blitzen" by Badly Drawn Boy. Last year, T. made me a CD of some truly excellent Christmas songs. I think this one is my favorite, despite it's unclear connection to Christmas itself, or really any logical progression in the lyrics. The music itself overcomes all that. (Sadly, no video.)

-"River" by Joni Mitchell. Largely known for her ability to teach cold English housewives how to feel, she also gave a great Christmas song that I had never really heard before late last year.

-"Song for a Winter's Night" by Sarah McLachlan. Not technically a Christmas song, but still a winter song. Beware the video for egregious fangirl King Arthur clips.

-"Spotlight on Christmas" by Rufus Wainwright. Another from the T. collection. Contains the wonderful description of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph: "And they were each one quite odd / A mensch, a virgin, and a God." Again, no good video.

-"Maybe This Christmas" by Ron Sexsmith. Third and last I'll mention from the T. collection. Peppy little tune, apparently used on "The O.C." (hence the video, and though I've never actually seen "The O.C.", I hear good things about this Chrismukkah thing).

And that's it for me. What are your suggestions? New songs that need to be explored? Old favorites that need to be rediscovered? Anything else Christmas-related? 'Tis the season, and I'm a sucker for it.

We've Got Boston, South America, the Good Part of Ireland, and We're Makin' Serious Inroads in Mozambique, Baby!

2007-11-18T23:08:00.000-06:00

Listen Jack, I'm a Catholic, which means I'm a cheat and a liar.

No, wait.

That's something else.

I'm a Catholic, which means I'm a sexist and I like to subjugate indigenous peoples.

There, that's more like it.

Back where I come from, St. Louis, there were basically two options as far as my small suburban world was conceived. You were either a Catholic, or you went to public school (what my mother would refer to dismissively as "dumb school" [you can basically understand my entire personality if you consider the fact that the greatest danger of my young life was going to school with stupid people]). I went to a Catholic grade school, and a Catholic high school. And though there was a time in college in which I and Holy Mother Church parted ways (due to my laziness rather than any profound ideological schism), I today continue to go to church every Sunday. Not out of habit, but out of belief.

Plus, as the oldest of the Christian sects (I wouldn't hesitate to use the word "truest"), it also appeals to my sense of snobbery. Many's the joke I've had at the expense of my Protestant friends (who I've affectionately referred to as "the damned" on myriad occasions). But largely, my knowledge of the Protestant world comes from what I hear on the streets or read in books. Before college, my world was very insular; I had met Protestants, at one point or another, but never actively associated with them. And I knew that "Jews" existed somewhere, but I never actually met one until college (the closest I came was when a Jewish film festival nearly kept my father and me from seeing Crimson Tide together).

I bring this up because my Catholicism has been brought home to me in several ways these past few days. (Well, two. But that's enough for a blog post, don't you think?) First, recently over the course of an evening of alcohol and alcohol-related festivities, I was grilled rather earnestly by one of the opposing team, who seemed completely incredulous at my professed belief in the HRCC (that's Holy Roman Catholic Church for you noobs out there). A serious amount of alcohol was involved, so the conversation was already a bit skewed, but I believe at one point I had to counter the claim that Catholics prayed to nuns. (As if nuns were saints, I imagine. Anyone who ever met the knuckle-slapping nuns at my grade school would know that was not the case. Well, except for the Flying Nun. She had superpowers.)

I do not bring this instance up to mock or show offense taken on my part, as the conversation was mainly highly literate and intellectually intriguing (or as well as can be after several drinks). Not to mention a lot of fun. Instead, I merely bring it up as an example of the great disparity between some of our fellow Christian faiths and Holy Mother Church. And as an excuse to blog. Because I always need those.

Oh, and the other instance that brought my faith home? Tonight, at mass, someone had put gum on the pew I chose to sit in. And now I have gum all over my sweater. Thanks, God, for looking out for your faithful. (Seriously, who even brings gum to church, let alone sticks it on the part of the pew people lean their backs against?)

And so, as a Sunday meditation, a list of reasons why Catholicism is superior to every other religion ever:

-Nobody says ceremony like a Catholic. If you try, we immediately play the Latin trump card.
-Catholic history is much cooler than other histories. Great Schism, Pope and Anti-Pope, etc. Seriously. Anti-Pope. Whereas the nearest Protestant equivalent is just one more group of splitters.
-The Popish Plot. I don't know what it is, but I know the British were afraid of it for the better part of three centuries. I think it meant the pope was going to blow up Parliament.
-In case of vampire attack or demonic possession, my Church is prepared to seriously whoop some undead ass. You just keep telling yourself that faith alone will save you. Now, faith combined with a giant jug of holy water and a priest consecrating the actual body and blood of Christ? Bring on them vamps and demons! Cause a Catholic priest is the Batman of the undead battlefield.
-As addendum to the last point, all the secret rites and rituals for dealing with vampires and demons that you know the Church still has secreted away somewhere. Bust out the Latin, bust some undead heads back to Hell.
-That priest in Dead Alive. "I kick ass for the lord!" Even though he bites it in the end, he does it in style.
-Jesuits. Like the Popish plot, the Jesuits instilled fear and terror in the hearts of Protestants everywhere. You never knew where the Jesuits were going to strike next. Maybe as part of a Popish Plot.
-The Flying Nun.
-That little dude who does the chant at the start of Easter Vigil mass every year. I love that guy.
-The Popemobile. Not to mention the Pope's Awesome Giant Hat.
-Saints: The Action Heroes of the Dark Ages.
-The Monty Python Spanish Inquisition sketch.

That's enough for now, I think. I'd say that my irreverant attitude will get me condemned to Hell, but then, I'm Catholic. Absolution, baby.

In conclusion, two videos for your perusal. The first, our ass-kicking, zombie fighting priest:

The second, a very moving and stirring song about self-acceptance in this harsh modern world. (Author's note: I only steal the YouTube clip for the music. I advise you not to watch the movie itself. Indeed, you'd be better served closing your eyes, or opening another window, lest you inadvertantly watch part of this video. Don't encourage people to set their photos to music, or they'll start to breed.)

(Seriously. Hit play then look away.)

(Ok, I warned you.)

Please Let Me Die

2007-11-13T22:36:00.000-06:00

Ah, nothing like long days of student conferences to really sap the life out of you and make you envy the dead. Often in grad school, you fantasize about being injured, so that you won't have to write that paper or meet that deadline. ("Man, if I got hit by a bus and put in a full body cast, I bet I could get an extension.) But only after meetings with loads upon loads of students do you truly pray for your existence to end.

There's a lesson in there somewhere. Damned if I know what it is.

My students have papers due, so naturally, they all have waited till two days before the paper is due to contact me. So for the past two days, I have been answering about a hundred e-mails, meeting with about 20 of my 34 students, and generally not accomplishing anything else because they keep pestering me and destroying my will to live.

Plus, of course, I've had my Writing Center shifts these past two days, where I get to look at even more student writing. I swear, by the end of tonight, I just want to start setting papers on fire and kicking undergraduates who get in my way. Why can't that be some kind of law? Or a tacit agreement? "I'll look at your paper, if I can kick you on your way out the door." That'd be sweet.

The lows:
1. One student came in and claimed he was nearly done. I then pointed out that he had not a single debatable claim in his entire paper. He has since asked for an extension.

2. Multiple students cannot understand that The Sound and the Fury is a tragedy, and that Caddy is not a figure of hope for the modern woman in escaping the evils of traditional values.

3. Someone is actually writing on McTeague. After I hinted very strongly that I wanted no papers on McTeague, as it sucks.

4. People writing on Malcolm X seem to think it's ok to just tell me about all the different things he did. Or to claim as a thesis that "Malcolm X was a very important figure."

5. Some people can't seem to grasp that when I say "You might want to consider this other viewpoint", what I'm really saying is "Your reading of this text is quite wrong. Please change it before I have to fail you."

The highs:
1. Today, one student seemed to arrive quite unwittingly at the Aristotelian definition of tragedy. Without ever having studied tragedy before. Made my morning. At least until the next student came in.

2. I cleaned parts of my apartment. This was very therapeutic for me, as it did not involve any conscious thought.

3. I think I finally found an intriuging way for a student to write about Caddy Compson without being trite or cliche. I shall now use this idea as the foundation for any teaching I do on The Sound and the Fury in the future.

4. I've been so busy with others' work, I haven't had time to be nervous about my CLC dissertation workshop on Thursday. (That will change tomorrow.)

5. Today, at the Writing Center, someone was writing about a character named Socrates, and he pronounced it So-crates (a la Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure's So-crates Johnson). I've never read the book he was discussing so for all I know, it actually is pronounced that way in that text. But I still nearly laughed out loud as he read his paper to me. Best part of my entire day.

Now if only I could see papers about Bob Genghis Khan, Dave Beethoven, Maxine of Arc, Herman the Kid, Dennis Frood, and....Abraham Lincoln. Ah, that'd be excellent.

Because Undergrads Can't Understand Althusser

2007-11-09T20:06:00.000-06:00

I'm not sure which is more disturbing. That:

A. I used The Usual Suspects as a way to start talking about The Autobiography of Malcolm X and ideological state apparatuses today in secton...

OR

B. Only three of my 18 students knew what I was talking about.

I mean, I figured it was a no-brainer. "The greatest trick the devil ever pulled is convincing the world he didn't exist." Malcolm calls us "white devils." And what is ideology but that which we convince ourselves doesn't exist? Sadly, my brilliant foray into the realm of pop culture is about six years too old. I mean, I remember when you couldn't go a week in college without seeing Usual Suspects somewhere, usually in someone's dorm room starting around 2am. So once again, my students made me feel old.

In a fit of spite, I spoiled the twist ending for them. I think Malcolm would have approved.

Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me

2007-11-07T21:33:00.000-06:00

Because then I might freeze to death.

Batman and I, in a fit of pride, have yet to turn on the heat in our freezing apartment. We have to pay for it, you see, and gas prices tend to skyrocket in the winter here. As we are poor (or at least I am, and all of Batman's funds are clearly going into his crime-fighting apparati and the facade of his playboy existence), we choose to save money by slowly freezing into corpsicles.

Of course, I did just watch a wonderfully fun movie that seemed to offer a lifestyle not entirely incompatible with this level of cold. Granted, it was set in California, but this movie advocated that constant night activity, a casual disdain of the ways of the world, and a willingness to break the "rules" and "social norms" can lead to a fulfilling life amidst the chaos of the world. The name of this movie, if you haven't yet guessed, is The Lost Boys.

Yes, in between my Netflix shipments of "Freaks and Geeks" (which is excellent, by the way), I've been getting horror movies to celebrate Halloween (even a bit belatedly). I had never seen Lost Boys before, and I heard it was quite the celebration of all things '80s. Well folks, this is quite true. Vampires with mullets, and Kiefer Sutherland as a Billy Idol-esque punk biker vampire. And, apparently, vampires aren't that bad. Sure, they may kill the occasional fat boardwalk security guard, and they may generally cause a disturbance, but before they were provoked, whom did they viciously mutilate? Beach thugs! Listening to Run DMC! Clearly drunk, and possibly on drugs! These vampires aren't evil, they're just hardworking, decent, Reaganite Americans.

As I'm sure every child of the '80s but me has already seen this movie, I won't take the time to unpack it further or mention many of its obvious absurdities. Ok, two more. First, why did the vampire dying in the bathtub cause all the pipes, sinks, toilets, etc. to start spraying blood? Physics seems to imply that that degree of force would have exploded outward (i.e. out the top of the tub) rather than generating a massive, water-main disruptive shockwave that not only exploded the pipes but managed to change all the water to blood (I won't even touch the metaphysical implications of that one). Second, the theme song? Children singing the ten commandments? Used at multiple points throughout the film, and linked with a bodacious hair-metal power ballad? Awesome. It was hilarious camp, and it's making me seriously contemplate turning to the undead side of life. If nothing else, I'll no longer feel the cold. (For further justification, see 30 Days of Night.)

(Again, sorry for lack of interesting posts. Since TGD switched CLC spots with me for next week, I've been frantically revising my dissertation chapter to make it suitable for presentation. On the plus side, I now have 31 pages of my dissertation written.)

Overheard in Madison Today

2007-11-01T21:21:00.000-05:00

Girl on cell: "We should totally do it, because we never got our bellybuttons pierced."

There are days when walking down the streets of Madison can be quite fun. I believe I spent the next ten minutes after overhearing this particular snippit pondering just how many different ways that conversation could have started. Granted, the thing they plan to do is probably something cliche like get a tattoo or another piercing. And yet a part of me wonders about the causal relationship implicit in that statement.

"We should totally do it, because we never got our bellybuttons pierced." (emphasis mine)

What, exactly, would not having a pierced navel allow to come into play? On the one hand, I immediately imagine some bizarre form of liposuction, in which the navel is untied and excess stomach fat is pumped out through the umbilical remnant. Or, perhaps, some kind of surgery to turn an innie into an outie, or vice versa. Or, given the dual nature of the conversation and the emphatic "we," it could imply some procedure to conjoin two people at the navel, where one person's nutrients would be spread out into two bodies (some kind of reverse-engineered pregnancy, where you're eternally pregnant with another living, conscious, similarly-aged person). What the benefits of such a procedure would be, I can only begin to imagine.

Or, we could hope for the dream: Care Bear implants. Some mad scientific process, enacted upon an unpierced abdomen, could possibly lead to both the creation of an intricate Care Bear tattoo and the insertion of ungodly powers into said tattoo. And if that's the case, then sign me up. I'm totally going for the Care Bear with the shamrock on his stomach.

(Sorry folks, been a while since I blogged, but I got nothing new to report. Got drunk at the Halloween party, graded exams, wrote more dissertation, watched more tv. "Pushing Daisies" still rocks, "Chuck" seems to be getting better, "Heroes" is still lame-ish, though this week was better than most this season. Oh, and on "Smallville" today, Clark Kent just watched a man get gunned down without batting an eye. Granted, he was an evil government agent torturing Supergirl, but still. Way to be the hero, CK. Otherwise, Batman thinks our apartment is haunted, since it's constantly colder inside than it is outside. I don't yet disagree with him.)

Rejected Halloween Costumes

2007-10-26T18:51:00.001-05:00

Finally having decided upon a costume, here are the top rejected ideas I came up with:

1. Groundskeeper Willie
2. One of the Flood
3. Winnie the Pooh (too difficult and costly to assemble)
4. Pillsbury Dough Boy
5. Eric and/or Kevin
6. One of the two singers of "D*** in a Box" (Easy costume to assemble, though. Step one, cut a hole in a box...)
7. The Sea Captain (I hate the sea, and everything in it.)
8. Stephen Colbert

Also, I asked my students what I should go as. Here are some of the choice responses:
-Power Ranger (red)
-Dinosaur
-Kevin Youkilis (a baseball player, apparently)
-A ninja
-Justin Timberlake and K-Fed (combined)
-J.D. from "Scrubs" (oddly enough a costume I considered myself beforehand)
-Underwear model (this one really disturbs me)
-An M&M
-Peter Pan
-Captain Planet (He's our hero. Gonna take pollution down to zero.)
-Team Ramrod, from Supertroopers
-Belle from Beauty and the Beast (apparently this would work because I "have high cheek bones")
-Benjy Compson (something else I considered)
-Shredded Cheese

So there you go. If you're still looking for a costume, feel free to poach from either list.

An Open Letter

2007-10-23T22:33:00.000-05:00

To: Old Woman in Red Car
From: Pedestrian with Open Umbrella

Dear madam,

The State of Wisconsin's Department of Motor Vehicles would like to inform you that the large red octagonal sign posted at the intersection of East Gorham and Carroll Streets is what is commonly referred to as a "Stop Sign." We realize they may not have had these devices back when you acquired your license during the days of the Model T, so we of the DMV would like to clarify. These signs, prolific amongst the many streets and intersections of non-stoplighted America, generally indicate you should bring your vehicle to a full and complete stop at the white line perpendicular to the road.

We would further like to clarify that these signs are particularly worth noting during inclement weather, as we in Madison suffered upon the afternoon of Monday, 22 October, 2007. When the streets are particularly slick from rain, sleet, or snow, it is vitally important that you pay attention to all traffic signs and signals, particularly around heavily-trafficked pedestrian areas.

In short, this means that when you see a "Stop Sign" on a rainy day and there is a pedestrian walking through the intersection already, stop your fucking car. The sign, while liberally interpreted by many drivers, does not mean you can roll through an intersection without even slowing down, you stupid bitch. Nor does it mean you should gesticulate accusingly at said pedestrian, especially when he was deft enough to dodge your ugly-ass vehicle's prominent bumper, thus saving himself from massive reconstructive leg surgery and you from slightly dinging your bumper (not to mention paying for said surgery). Your wild accusatory hand gestures signify only that you can't read a goddamn stop sign, and that you have no business being on the road in the first place, you decrepit old hag.

In the grand and noble spirt of the DMV, we would like to conclude by cursing your very existence and wishing you wreck your car around an innocuous tree or lamp post, thus sparing the world the very real dangers of you operating a powered ton of metal. You filthy whore.

Yours in Christ,
Dubs

Theorizing that One Could Time Travel Within His Own Lifetime...

2007-10-17T20:17:00.000-05:00

...Benjy Compson stepped into the Quantum Leap Accelerator, and vanished.

Ok, not really.

But I did compare the non-linearity of Benjy's time in The Sound and the Fury to Dr. Sam Beckett's journey through time last Friday in section. The blank stares of my first section were a cutting reminder of just how little they know about the television of my youth ('88-'92 was not that long ago, folks. Learn your cultural history.). But then my second section massively redeemed itself through the few nods of recognition I saw. Though to be fair, both sections were more familiar with Quantum Leap than with Journeyman, so they all get props.

And, to be even more fair, there was an episode of QL where Sam leapt into the body of a mentally challenged man-child. And another episode where his own internal linearity of time was disrupted due to excessive electroshock therapy in an insane asylum. ($5 says Nittany Lion remembers both of these episodes.) So I think there's a future in my comparison; a new hourlong serial adventure-drama in which Benjy travels through various periods of history, setting right what once went wrong. His only guide on this journey would be Luster, an observer from his own time, who appears in the form of a hologram that only Benjy can see and hear, who taunts him repeatedly by whispering "Caddy Caddy Caddy" before giving him a jimson weed, and laughing uproariously as Benjy starts to cry in front of a bunch of strangers. During sweeps, he could try to save his brother Quentin, and end up leaping into the body of Shreve.

I think I'm on to something here. Time to call the networks. Does Compson Leap do anything for anyone?

Not much else to report at this point. Finished grading (yay!), went to my five year reunion (good friends! free food! Settlers of Catan! Northwestern wins in double overtime! Superbad!), been working ever since I got back. Oh, and Pushing Daisies continues to rock. Last week had Kristen Chenoweth singing "Hopelessly Devoted to You" in sheer moment of whee!-ness, and this week had pirate metaphors (which were apt) and a swashbuckling swordfight straight out of an Errol Flynn movie in a funeral home against an angry Asian man who spoke with a southern accent and was a Civil War re-enactor (including an excellent curtain-rip descent and the best justification for swordsmanship prowess ever: "I wanted to be a jedi!"). Seriously, if you're not watching this show yet, check it out.

At least until my Compson Leap pilot hits next fall.

Spousal Hire and the Agony of Being Dubs

2007-10-10T20:26:00.000-05:00

And now for another entry in my ever-continuing series "Posts That, If Read by the Wrong People, Could Get Me in Trouble or Possibly Fired."

As I've mentioned before, this semester I'm teaching for someone I'm calling Spousal Hire. At first, it was just an amusing bastardization of academia, something to while away the time while I did my own work, a kind of "Don't Let This Happen to You" guide for educators.

Now, however, my heart is full of hatred; gone is all kindness and charity from my mind, and my soul knows no pity except for the deterioration of my own brain cells. Twice a week, my mind is filled with error, inanity, and the ever-mounting horror that my students might actually think this is what an English class should look like. And I am torn, torn by conflicting emotions. Half of me wants to throw down my books in disgust and storm out of the lecture hall. The other half of me just wants to smash SH's face in. With a brick. Or, barring that, a jagged rock. But preferably a brick.

Back at the beginning of the semester, I handed out a guide to close reading for my students. Looking it over the night before, I realized I had to edit out the first sentence. That sentence? "As we have been practicing in lecture and discussion, the way we are accessing the texts in this class is through the practice of close-reading." Because, dear reader, it simply wasn't true. In fact, looking back, I'm fairly certain that we've never modeled close reading in lecture. Discussion, sure, but not lecture. You see, there are two typical SH lecture models:

Model One: The Intro Model
This model is appropriate for introducing a new text, or a new artistic movement. It will largely involve 40 minutes of historical context (often wrong or inappropriate), vague generalizations about artistic and aesthetic movements (sometimes wrong), and the examination of various pieces of visual artwork that may or may not actually apply to the historical period we are introducing. With the last ten minutes, we will discuss biographical information about the author, and maybe introduce one or two key topics that we will never actually explore.

Model Two: The Continuation Model
This model applies to every non-intro lecture. Here, we will offer generalizations about the text, often of an intellectual rigor akin to Sparknotes. These will very rarely ever be in the form of an arguable point; instead, they will be blanket statements and observations that might serve as the intriguing foundations of argument, if they were to be explored further. And, in the rare occasions that these are interesting claims, they will never be matched with evidence from the text to make these points clear. To be sure, SH does bring in the text quite often. Most of the time, this involves the reading of large chunks of text at once, or the quick hopping from quote to quote, rarely in service of any kind of point. Also included in this model are further historical digressions, repetition of previous historical or aesthetic discussions, and other aesthetic concepts that, while true and important, are seldom connected to the text in any meaningful way. Almost as if trying to prove that SH did indeed go to grad school and can talk the talk with the rest of us.

At first I found this rather charming. Then came last Thursday, when be began our discussion of Shmigh Shmodernism (I am altering the terms slightly so my students won't find these by googling them in order to learn what the heck we've been talking about). For this class, the students were assigned some of the most difficult Schmodernist poetry, including "The Schlove Schong of J. Schalfred Shprufshok," "The Shwaste Shland," four poems by Shrobert Schrost, two poems by Shamy Showell, two poems by Schwallace Shtevens, three Schedward Shrobinson poems, and four sh. sh. shcummings poems. All of that, in one day. One day. I'll say it again, because it infuriates me so. One day. I wouldn't wish that on my worst foe.

And what did we do in that one day? Well, see Model One. And how much time did we spend on any of the poetry itself? Six minutes.

Six minutes. Six mind-boggling, biography-filled, sparknotes-quoting minutes to understand perhaps the singlemost famous and one of the most complex poems of the 20th century. Which, of course, led me to playing massive triage in section, trying desperately to teach the WL to my uncomprehending students. I often lament the limits of the time we have to teach in section, but then I rationalize it by saying the important things are what we cover in lecture. But now, I feel like they aren't getting anything but my sections. And since I actually care that my students learn something, I am full of rage at the gross bastardization of their education. Seriously. I leave every class full of rage. And amusement, of course. But mostly rage.

Some things I've learned in lecture so far:
-It's bad to be a professor and leave your cell phone on. It's worse to not turn it off and just let it keep ringing during your lecture.
-You can give three lectures on Naturalism and its importance in American Literature, without ever mentioning Theodore Dreiser.
-The Renaissance was a period from about 1400-1650. This was going on simultaneously in Europe and America.
-The Romance, as an aesthetic literary genre, most often involves the successful marriage of two lovers. It's modern counterpart is the romantic comedy.
-In 1918, Russia and other nations underwent Communist revolutions.
-Fighting these Communists was one of the aims of America in World War I.
-The Immigration Act of 1924 had something to do with Shmigh Shmodernism. As it has so very much to do with the plight of immigrants.
-The American Civil War began in 1862.
-In 1937, the Nazi's invaded Spain during World War II.
-Always spell-check your outline and compare it with the text, lest you repeatedly misspell the name of one of the key characters.
-Don't misquote Macbeth. Particularly when the title of your text comes from that quote. "Signifying nothing", not "meaning nothing."
-It is embarassing when a student stumps you with a question about the plot of the text.
-It is even worse when you misremember a key scene of the novel and misinterpret it in front of the entire lecture.
-It's quite funny when a student interrupts your long and pointless historical digression to ask you a question about the plot.
-It's hilarious for the TA when a student, in office hours, claims that the text is more complicated than the instructor's interpretation of it.
-If you're six weeks into the semester and your TAs still haven't gotten their desk copies, you might want to check into that.
-When scheduling the first paper, it is always a bad thing to offer the student only one choice of texts to write on. It's even worse for the TA, because then he or she has to grade between 37-80 papers on the same text.
-It's even worse when you only offer one possible prompt to write on, thus ensuring 37-80 papers on the same topic.
-It's even worse when this prompt is poorly written and confusing.
-It's even worse when you couple all of these things with a lecture that contains no close reading and no argument, because then your TAs will have to read 37-80 papers on the same topic, the same text, and all with no argument or close reading.

So pray for Dubs, gentle readers. Tomorrow we continue our three-lecture exploration of Shfaulkner's The Schound and the Shury. In lecture one we didn't even open the book. I can't wait to see what happens tomorrow.

Pushing Daisies

2007-10-03T20:07:00.000-05:00

Mad props to the Lady in Black for her recommendation of "Pushing Daisies," easily the best tv I've seen in a while and my new first season favorite. It's sweet, clever, kinda weird, and altogether charming. If you can, catch the pilot online or if it gets repeated before next week. Definitely worth the watch.

Promise to post about Spousal Hire tomorrow. Would have tonight, but I didn't want to deprive you all of the fun I'm going to have tomorrow in lecture, when in one day we introduce high modernism and somehow discuss Eliot (Prufrock and Waste Land), Lowell, Frost, cummings, Robinson, and Stevens. It should be a hoot.

Holy ABD, Batman!

2007-09-27T21:15:00.000-05:00

First and foremost, I am now officially ABD. To my non-graduadte student friends, this means All But Dissertation. As of Wednesday morning, I have passed my proposal conference, my dissertation topic is approved, and I have completed every aspect of my graduate career except my dissertation. This will now take me roughly 2-3 years to write, barring a miracle or the cessation of financial support.

Wow, diet hot chocolate doesn't taste half bad. What an age we live in.

Also, as of Tuesday, bought Halo 3. As of Wednesday at 4:45, beat Halo 3. Would have beaten it much sooner if I hadn't had that pesky proposal conference Wednesday morning. The phrase "awesomely good" gets bandied around a lot these days, yet I find it applies very well to this particular entry in the Halo franchise. Plus, the four-player co-op mode redefines notions of greatness, particularly when you've got three tanks and a warthog on your side, all controlled by uber-weet killing machines and not dumb as bricks UNSC Marine AI. If anyone else owns this bright example of the glory of our times and wants to run some games over Xbox live, let me know.

So, having moved into my new apartment over a month ago, I've noticed some strange behavior on the part of my roommate. He's never really at home until late at night, claiming repeatedly to be at "the library" doing "work", and he's up freakishly early (7 a.m. every day, listening to NPR, keeping abreast of the current state of society in a rather suspicious way). He dresses very well, usually wearing at least a dress shirt and slacks and tie, if not a blazer or suit jacket. He was seen not too long ago by the Norwegian, walking the streets of Madison around 3 a.m., and when offered a ride home, he said he preferred to continue his walk. And, most tellingly, he is behaving in a decidedly un-gradschoolish manner, taking extra effort to cultivate his physique, to the point where he is what the common masses would refer to as "ripped," spending numerous hours at the gym "pumping his guns," as they say in the parlance of our times.

All these things combine to convince me that my roommate is, in fact, Batman. (Or some Batman-esque nighttime vigilante.) Consider the evidence: the odd hours and repeated absences, and the obviously false claims of "work" (no grad student works that hard--it just isn't done); the natty attire, as if openly cultivating the image of a millionaire playboy (or his grad school equivalent)--thus deceiving the masses about the angsty internal core; the nighttime wandering--clearly prowling the streets for muggers, pickpockets, or other scum; the intense devotion to the cultivation of physical strength--entirely unnecessary in the world of academia, but a vital component in the eternal hunt for justice and the battle against the forces of darkness and social decay.

I believe the evidence, as presented, speaks for itself. He's clearly Batman, and I shall refer to him as such henceforth on the blog. Needed a nickname for him anyway. In any event, I think the city is better off for his efforts. There's been a recent string of purse snatchings, not to mention the random armed suicidal mental institution escapee wandering te streets. So go forth, Dark Avenger, and protect the unwitting city! Godspeed, Dark Knight!

That about does it for tonight. Next time, I shall regale you with stories of Spousal Hire and my eternal struggle to not just leave lecture in disgust.

Oh, and in case anyone cares, I'm looking for a Wednesday night tv show to consider, now that Lost won't be on until February. Right now, my schedule seems as follows:

Monday -- Chuck (on a trial run) and Heroes. (No Journeyman, however. I liked that show when it was called Quantum Leap, and won't sully my memories.)
Tuesday -- Reaper. (This replaces my lost love, Veronica Mars.)
Wednesday -- ???
Thursday -- Smallville and Supernatural (the latter of which really started to bring it hardcore at the end of last season).
Friday -- Drinking.
Saturday -- Drinking.
Sunday -- Whatever I've got from Netflix

So till next time, I leave you with the following advice: You can't go around London asking people to pretend to be Gussie Fink-Nottle...Well, you can, I suppose. But what a hell of a life.

Two Questions

2007-09-16T14:14:00.000-05:00

I promise shortly to blog about the Roommate = Batman theory, as well as telling you all of the wacky misadventures of Spousal Hire and the Lecture from Hell. But for now, two quick questions for the more knowledgeable out there.

1. What are your favorite places to take your parents when they come to Madison? Both for dining, and for entertainment, of course. My folks are coming in October, and I'm contemplating things they might enjoy.

2. Anyone have any recommendations for a good laptop? First and foremost, I'm not buying a mac. So don't suggest it. My folks want to get me one for Christmas, and they're contemplating the Dell Inspiron 1720 (my dad gets a discount on Dell computers through his work), so I wanted to see if anyone had any thoughts, as others are tech-savvy and I am not.

Thanks, and more enjoyable posts forthcoming.

Try to Remember the Kind of September

2007-09-11T21:36:00.000-05:00

Today was very close to a perfect day. This, in spite of the many many things that seemed to conspire to make it less perfect, including:

-The severe cold in my apartment this morning, due to all the windows being open all night during the 40 degree weather.
-The five hours of drunken sleep I got the night before (congrats TGD on the ABD).
-My dissertation chair's note that he'd have to leave after the first hour of my proposal conference, but that he was sure we'd keep the conversation going without him.
-My continued confusion as to how exactly The House of the Seven Gables fits the traditional Romance genre in the way that my instructor seems to think it does.
-My students' confusion in lecture as our instructor seemed to assume they had read the entire novel already.
-My state of near exhaustion throughout most of the day.

Yes, in spite of all that, it was nearly perfect. For the following reasons, each of which is ok in its own right, but together conspire to make the day great:

-I had perhaps the greatest cup of chai ever after lecture. The kind where you're cold, tired, sore, and slightly hungover, and the hot beverage just seems to seep into every bone in your body and take away the pain and the lethargy. I'm not a coffee drinker, but I imagine this is how they feel every morning.
-I set up a CLC listserv, which makes me look both helpful and important, increasing my status in the department ever so slightly (very, very, very slightly, but hey, take what I can get).
-I booked the room for my proposal conference and filled out the appropriate form, after a flurry of e-mailing during my office hours.
-When the sun came out on my walk home, it was absolutely gorgeous to walk by Lake Mendota. Because I'm a pretentious midwestern academic, I really like walking along in the fall carrying a jacket slung over my arm. It's one of the few times I actually feel like a professional coming home after work, not just some bum who can't get a real job. Plus it's got this whole scholastic/aesthetic feel to it. Or at least it does in my mind. Don't take it away from me.
-It was really really windy, just cold enough to feel the chill, but sunny enough to take the edge off. The wind made the lake all choppy and white-cappy (or as much as it can on a lake the size of Mendota--I still miss Lake Michigan sometimes).
-What can I say? I love the fall. Love it love it love it.
-I took a nap. Just an hour, but still.
-I watched quite an intriguing and entertaining film called Metropolitan, on loan from T. It's all about snobby preppie college age kids during the debutante season in New York (Quantum's people, in other words). It's mostly a lot of talking, a kind of Jane Austen-esque intellectual romance set in the early 90s. The acting takes a bit to get into, as they are all largely unknowns, but not in a jarring way. There isn't really much plot, just a lot of character interaction. And it's loads of fun. Thanks to T. for the suggestion. (Though I now have an overwhelming desire to read Mansfield Park. I hate it when movies make me feel culturally illiterate, despite having read several other Austen novels.)

Oddly enough, I think my tiredness was the exact precondition I needed to really appreciate both the weather and the movie. In my sleep-addled brain, I was in just the right state to really stop thinking about school and my dissertation, and just enjoy what was going on around me. Today, in all the good things that happened, the day was about celebrating sensation, from the hot chai to the cool breeze to the sound of the leaves rustling madly outside my window or over my head as I walked. And I think my near exhaustion was just the right way to approach a day like today.

So huzzah for fall! Down with the tyrrany of summer!

Next post, I outline my new conspiracy theory. In brief, I'm fairly certain that my roommate is Batman. More to come.

Who Would Win in a Fight?

2007-09-01T17:40:00.000-05:00

Well, the new semester starts up this week, and to celebrate, we've pretty much been drinking ourselves silly every night (beer margaritas = awesome; beer margaritas < scotch martinis). Madison, our quiet tranquil little town, is once again home to an infestation of young people, breathing my air and taking up my space on the sidewalks (sidewalk's for regular walkin', not fancy walkin'). I believe the situation was best summed up by the two obviously sketchy middle aged men I saw standing on State Street, one of whom remarked to the other "Well, all the co-eds are back." Yes, sketchy lecherous old guy, they are indeed. (See McJew's blog for further elaboration.)

I personally am looking forward to the new year, as I'm finally going to have a sit-down meeting with my advisor to discuss my dissertation proposal, and hopefully have my conference sometime early this month. And I'm apparently presenting part of a chapter from it in December for the CLC, so I should start writing it sometime in the near future. Plus, I need the structure in my life to counter the eternal ennui of being me.

My lecture this fall looks particularly promising. We're reading a book no one seems to have heard of called Rhapsody, my instructor has yet to give us a syllabus or tell us the theme of the course, and I have to teach The Autobiography of Malcolm X, which will both neuter any type of coherent discussion amongst my freshmen because of its obvious *gasp* problematic racial discussions and simply confuse them because it's a long, sprawling work that clearly is participating in and altering a dominant American tradition, which they won't care two licks about because they aren't familiar at all with that tradition. Oh, and the kicker: we're reading Hawthorne's House of Seven Gables. The title of the course? English 169, Introduction to 20th century American Literature. Yup, Hawthorne. He was in the 20th century, right? Right? Bueller?

Anyway, every semester I try to ask my students at least one pointless question on their "get to know you" survey. Traditionally, this question is "Who would win in a fight, Samuel L. Jackson or Batman?" (See here and here for past breakdowns.) But this year I'm contemplating breaking the pattern and finding a new question. Part of me wants to maintain the "fight" schema, as it provokes hilarious responses, so I need two new people to fight. But I'm hungover and unimaginative, and afraid I already peaked with the Jackson/Batman rumble. Any thoughts from you the readers? Or any other questions you're dying to hear answers to? (Nothing too obvious, either. I'm a huge fan of "What's the air speed velocity of an unladen swallow?", but that and questions of its ilk are a bit overused.)

A few other random notes before signing off:
-Happy Birthday to T. over at SpeakMemory, even if she didn't tell anyone. Drop over and send her a shout out.
-Read Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, which is as awesome as T. says. Though I still feel more strongly about Everything is Illuminated, even though I recognize Extremely as the better book. (Quantum, you as the fanatic about everything New York should definitely read it.)
-Saw Superbad. Captain Americanist says it best with his recent post "Superbad=Superawesome!" Personal favorite line, "Yeah, they told us about that in health class."
-God the new M.A.s all seem so young. Definitely starting to get that "sketchy older guy at the party" feel that predominated my last year in Evanston, when I wasn't a student but still hung out with them all the time.
-Just noticed L.A. Girl has given me a link on her new and improved blog. My empire expands!
-Last, if you're the one recalling all my books, please stop. I need those to sit on my shelf and not get looked at ever again.

Random Madison Question

2007-08-22T14:48:00.000-05:00

To my fellow TAs: anyone out there use GHC and wear glasses? I'm trying to decide if it'd be cheaper to buy glasses at the clinic, or go someplace like LensCrafters. Any thoughts or insights appreciated.

Also, if anyone knows how I can convince my landlord that it's his responsibility and not mine to pay for maintenance on the freakin telephone wires, please let me know.

Brian and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day

2007-08-16T17:41:00.000-05:00

You know that your day is going to suck when you wake up shivering on the floor of your friend's office after four hours of sleep with the stale aftertaste of a cigar in your mouth and an appointment at the mechanic's to prepare for.

Some background: Yesterday, I was homeless, and had been so for about 24 hours. All my things were in my new apartment, save a few scattered throughout my car and on TGD's floor, but I could not officially inhabit my new space until the 15th, due to the persistant inhabitance of the subletter. That night, after moving all morning (on about 5 hours' sleep), several of us went drinking and cigar smoking, which was awesome. I got loopy drunk, due more to the exhaustion than the drinking, as I only had 3 drinks (well, five including the two scotch martinis before we left, but to be fair I spilled half of those). But since we were at a cigar bar, we decided to go with the pure stuff, so I had me some very nice Basil Haydens and a glass of Macallan 12 year. We were out till 2, then stayed up till 3 to sober up a bit. When I went to sleep, it was pleasantly warm in the office, and I had my comfy comfy air mattress.

What I did not have, was a blanket. That really came back to bite me in the ass when I woke up at 7:00 and it was pouring down rain and it was freezing cold in the room. So I went to the Mitsubishi dealership to get my air system repaired (apparently it was so encrusted with gunk that the switches and whatnot couldn't even move). I was already irate with these people because they hadn't called me to let me know the parts I ordered two weeks back had come in (as they promised to do after taking $150 of my money). So it was with no small amount of shock that they told me it would take five hours to replace these parts. Apparently they had to pull out the entire dashboard to do so. Sadly, the dealership is far from my usual haunts, so there was nowhere to really go, and it was pouring down rain. So I sat, in their crappy waiting room, for four hours, attempting to read, and inadvertantly watching Live with Regis and Kelly as well as The View, both of which reconfirmed my hatred of morning television, and talk shows in general. Furthermore, as I was hungover, with cigar breath and taste in my mouth, I was particularly disgrunteled to discover that I didn't have any bills smaller than a $20, and thus the vending machines, not two feet from me, were woefully off limits.

After four hours, the rain stopped. Going slightly mad at this point, I decided to walk underneath the Beltline and go to the Culver's on the other side for lunch. Which was not bad, particularly since I've been dieting and thus not eating fast food for about 3 months now (all dieting restrictions went out the window during moving time, as I had no food and no patience to look for healthy alternatives). Unfortunately, as I began to eat my burger, it began to pour again. The dealership was a good 20 minute walk away (despite the fact that I could still see it out the window), because the closest crossing under the highway was that far. And I had no umbrella, as the two I normally keep around me were both in my car (the irony of which was not lost on me). So I waited at Culver's for an hour and a half, nursing my diet pepsi and cursing the heavens. (Seriously. We had a drought for two months. It couldn't stop raining for 25 minutes more?) Finally the rain stopped, and I made it back, to see my car sitting outsite, all ready to go. Again, they had not called my cell to let me know when it was done, as they had promised. For all I know, the car had been sitting there for three hours).

Of course, for the sheer time it took to pull my car apart and put it back together, I ended up paying over $500. Only to discover, as I was driving along the highway, happy as a clam, that the damn air system still didn't work. Turns out that the motor of the blower is on its last legs. Which is ironic, considering when I took the car in originally, I said I thought the motor of the blower was busted, and they should look at that first. How these professionals managed not to hear the deafening rattle it put out is beyond me, but I basically ended up spending about $775 to fix a problem that didn't even fix the problem I took it in for. Realizing their stupidity, they agreed to put the new motor in for me at no charge, once it gets here. Sadly, though, that won't be till at least next Monday, which means that I will be driving in St. Louis weather (highs in the 100s, lows in the 80s) with a busted air conditioner this weekend. Again ironically, this is the very thing I took my car in to avoid. I could live without a/c in Madison, as I never drive far and it isn't all that hot. But in St. Louis, especially on a 6 hour drive, it's a death sentence. Oh well, at least I paid a shitload of money to get screwed and then sweat a lot.

By this time, I could finally move into my new place, which I did. I've since been unpacking and organizing, which has been going well. The only downside is that none of the phone jacks work properly, thus negating the dsl and phone service I'm spending yet more money on. So I have no internet connection, which for me is like a slow kind of death. Hopefully this will be taken care of while I am out of town this weekend, or at least set in motion to be remedied at some nearby future date. But considering that AT&T is probably up to their eyes in service calls (considering everyone moves right at this time of year here in Mad City), I'm not holding my breath.

Oh, and there are lots of cracks in the paint in my bedroom. I had wanted to paint over these, but my landlord seems to feel his only contribution needs to be a single can of paint, left outside our door. No rollers, pans, cloths, brushes, or anything. We're going to have words. Unless the cracks drive me mad in the night.

Still, I've managed to survive the past two days for pretty much one reason. I just finished reading Everything is Illuminated; or, as I'm now calling it, The Awesomest Book in the History of Books. One of the plus sides of moving is that I don't have time for focused work, so I've put my proposal on hold for a week (considering my advisor told me to take the month of August off, I don't feel too badly about this move). As such, I've been reading for pleasure again, particularly books others have recommended. Finished Atonement (very good, even if it is British and made me deal with the fact that British Lit. is fundamentally different than American Lit., my professed love), finished The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay (quite good, particularly if you have any interest at all in comic books), and then yesterday at the dealership I started Illuminated.

Now, as a scholar of literature, I've discovered I have different modes of appreciation for literature. There are the books you recognize as great and appreciate both aesthetically and intellectually (Atonement was like this for me); there are the books you see as stylistically or technically innovative, or genreically innovative, and thus merit appreciation (for me this will always be Ulysses, just because I can get no sense of poetry from it, a statement I know many of my readers will profoundly disagree with); there are books you see as important or enjoyable because of the way they deal with a particular issue or topic (much of my reading of Vietnam War fiction falls in this category, though the best transcend it); and then there are the books you see as important in some other way, but aren't really all that good (i.e. you'd never read them outside of a class or for a dissertation).

Then there are the books like Everything is Illuminated. Reading a book like this is akin to a sucker punch to the gut. The book takes your breath away with its beauty, its brilliance, its emotional or spiritual or intellectual resonance. You don't read these books; you consume them. Even if you take breaks between sections, or go off and do other things, you still feel like you're devouring the book when you return to it. Then, when you're finally finished, you can't do anything else for the day, at least not with any degree of mental focus. Finding books like these made prelims summer enjoyable, as they would be the gems within the pile, books that you could just love even before you began to analyze, dissect, or plan responses to. The Iceman Cometh was like this last summer; Catch-22 has been that way for me since high school; In the Lake of the Woods (along with pretty much everything else by Tim O'Brien) is basically the reason I came to grad school, and shoehorned a dissertation around a specific topic. This type of book demands a lot from the reader, but it also demands an audible silence at the end, a moment when you can't do anything but marvel at the fact that you just read something so wonderful.

All this digression is a longwinded way of saying that I liked the book.

Seriously. You should read it. It's awesomely wonderful. It's funny, poignant, sad, and devastating, and it's written in a style that is both technically innovative and accessible and not showy. At it's core, it's about a young man's journey to find a woman who may or may not have saved his grandfather from the Nazis in 1941. It's also a history of a Jewish shtetl in the Ukraine, and the tale of another man's relationship with his family, particularly his grandfather and his dog. It's about translation and mistranslation, the humor of the everyday and the complexities of memory. It has the best joke about the Burning Bush I've ever read. It made me laugh out loud more often than I could count, which earned me many weird looks at the car dealership. I could go on and on as to what it's about. Or you could just read it. I'd recommend the latter option.

Ok, it's late, and I want to leave my office and go eat, then go home and hang a few more pictures. Hopefully I'll return next week with wacky stories from St. Louis. And hopefully my car won't explode on the way there.

Historical Archives

2007-07-27T19:08:00.000-05:00

This is pretty much a stopgap post, designed to fill the void until I can blog about tomorrow's experiences at Scotch Martini Night.

While cleaning out my closet in preparation for my move, I came across an old notebook. Amidst my own personal notes on Sebald's The Emigrants and my notes from my American History course, I find the following page, which I reproduce here for your amusement. I have attempted to conjecture explanations where appropriate, in italics.

***********************
Library Date (The page opens with this mysterious heading, which is crossed out vehemently. Given the location of said page within my notes, I believe we can safely place it within the context of English 100 Winter Semester Training. Furthermore, the crossing out of the heading indicates that we never did in fact learn when our library dates were at that time. Not surprising, given just how little we actually learned during that training.)

Gwen, are you sure I can't convince you to go see Tristan and Isolde instead of Kong? (I can only assume that I am speaking here to my colleague Gwendolyn Fungy-Phipps, a noted scholar of 17th century Polish folk music and deep lover of the works of Mozart's second cousin, Bartolomius. The movie reference of course indicates my desire [as yet unfulfilled, alas!] to see Tristan and Isolde, the epic tale where James Franco tries desperately to be a leading man and not just Harry Osborn or the child of some other, more famous actor [see City by the Sea]. At the time, I maintained that, given our proclivity for adaptations of famous works of literature, we should see this movie with all alacrity. Clearly, I was outvoted in favor of a giant ape.

I do, but I've seen it already. (Here Gwendolyn apparently attempts to entice me into seeing Kong by offering to show me her collection of spores, molds, and fungus which she keeps in the office we share, safely contained in half-empty Coke bottles. Having had to throw out several specimens at various points throughout the year, I was not to be dissuaded from my desire for brilliantly adapted medieval romance.)

It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it.
And I feel fine. (Clearly I had just seen the film The Day After Tomorrow, in which I learned that if I just stayed inside, global warming wouldn't kill me, no matter how many ice storms and cgi wolves it unleashed. This most likely led me down my usual train of thought, how to survive inside Helen C. White during the apocalypse. Which, I do not doubt, led to its corollary, how to survive inside HCW during a zombie infestation. I often dream about fortifying our concrete bunker of an office building, as we could most likely defend it indefinitely against any kind of undead attack, provided we managed to secure provisions and weaponry at the first sign of trouble.)

SSSHHH! (I assume here I was deeply engrossed in the training, and Ms. Fungy-Phipps was talking incessantly, as is her wont. Either that, or I was again imagining myself to be a steam vent, or some kind of gas leak slowly suffocating the occupants of a small, two bedroom home with a leaky gas stove, in a race to see which would kill them first, the gas itself or some sparking appliance that would incinerate the gas and all occupants of the house. Such thoughts of murder and death being common during English 100 training, after all.)

Why do we care? (Here and with all notes following, I clearly actually started listening to whomever was speaking.)

No, really, why do we care? (My question remained unanswered, I assume.)

Will she ever shut up? (Here I deduce that the speaker was either female or a very effeminate male, either of which was talking too long. Sadly, this doesn't rule out anyone that tried to "train" us during 100 training.)

She's gotta be over time. (Time is clearly demarcated in 100 training, using the standard system of seconds, minutes, and hours. Yet during training an odd phenomenon has been noted several times: during each speaker, the space-time continuum manages to bend fractionally, localized entirely within a two foot radius surrounding the speaker. Within these temporal vortexes, time manages to flow more slowly, to the effect that each speaker is remaining within the allotted time while ensconced within the vortex; yet to everyone outside, time moves at the normal rate and thus the speaker inherently goes far far far over time. Such phenomena have been noted by Dr. T. Grant Dancer in his recent study "The Effects of Microscopic Black Holes on the Educational Institutions of America: A Study in the Mismanagement of Time and its Effects on the Quantum Mechanics of English Teacher Training.")

My God! Shoot the woman! (Clearly she was preventing us from going drinking. Or, perchance, just wasting our time with one inanity after another. Oh, wait, that would be every aspect of the training. In any event, I don't recall a shooting, so clearly no one listened to my writings.)

(The notes here break off into random drawings of yin-yangs and circles with arrows indicating which direction to trace the circle. These cabbalistic symbols bar any attempt at translation, lest I summon forth some kind of demon from the nether world to teach me more about how to not teach composition to freshmen. Peruse them at your discretion, reader.)

What Is All This Crap on My Head?

2007-07-09T18:55:00.000-05:00

Those of you who know me understand that I don't embrace change all that often. Politically, ethically, morally, religiously, and culturally, I'm a somewhat conservative sort of person (though thankfully no longer culinarily so). Not freakishly so, and not flauntingly so (or so I like to think about myself), but fairly conservative nonetheless.

Which is why I can't stop thinking about this damn goop in my hair.

Last Thursday, I went out and got a haircut (as discussed previously), altering a hairstyle that has remained constant for about 14 years now. Post-barber, my hair is really quite short, with no discernable part, and I'll be damned if I don't contemplate my hair at least once an hour now. See, the beauty of my old hair style was that it was very low maintenance. As long as it wasn't in my eyes, I was fine with it. I could manage it, I knew what it looked like, when it was messed up, and how to fix it. Now, however, all reference points have been lost. My knowledge set has been lost, and have no clear understandings or viable points of comprehension. My head has gone postmodern.

I'm not saying I dislike the haircut. At times, I quite enjoy it. I just have no idea how it looks. I have no idea how to style it, and when I try to style it, I feel like a shmuck. Is it too flat? Does it look too styled? Does it look like I'm wearing a goddamn helmet on my head? Is it too messy? Or too stylistically messy? Or do I just look like a moron who can't figure out what to do with his head? (Currently, on the advice of the barber, I'm trying to "pop it up" in the front, which when she did it looked spiky and a bit messy and kinda cool, but when I do it largely involves several clumps of hair sticking together and sliding back along my scalp, as if I were trying to slick my hair back a la Friends' Season One Chandler Bing, which I'm not. Also, I think my hair still remembers the old style, as it still has a tendency to lean to the right, and look thinner on the left, which may just be my mind playing tricks on itself.)

Largely, it's this crap that goes into the process that I despise, what we in our era of infinite wisdom and lexiconical mastery have given the generic term "product". As in, are you using product? Do you have product in your hair? What product do you generally use? I really hate product. Hate hate hate. In the first place, something about its usage as a noun bothers me to no end. Why can't you just say gel or mousse or spray, or whatever? Product is such a generic noun that we can use it to signify just about anything (What's your product? We produce monkey tranquilizers!), and yet we also see fit to use it for the specificity of hair product (as opposed to say, Bucky Badger Cheese Product). I don't know why, but I get very irritated just by the word as a word.

And second, having expressed my distate for it as a signifier, I also can't stand using it in my hair. I never know if I'm using enough, too much, too little, the wrong kind, or how to use it to effectively style, as opposed to making my head look like a helmet of goop. And furthermore, my head now smells. I don't really know if it's a good smell or a bad smell. All I know is I'm aware of it in ways I never was before. But apparently, based on the advice of those much more fashionable and respectably stylish than myself, I need to use it. Damn it to hell.

So basically, through the course of this blog post, I've revealed the fact that I apparently am as self-consciously vain as a 16 year old girl. Do you see what happens when you ask me to change? I become neurotic. So if you have any advice on style or product, feel free to share it with me. If I look like a moron, tell me. I won't take offense. And if you have tips on what to use or how to use it more effectively, I'll be your friend forever.

And I promise, the next blog post will be something hilarious about drinking, not this whiny little girl crap about hair. My apologies to my readers.

A Sense of Style

2007-06-28T12:36:00.001-05:00

So I'm told by numerous people (granted, many of them inebriated) that I need a new hairstyle. As I have no personal sense of style, I can only assume they must be correct (as many of them are, in fact, quite stylish, and not just a bunch of shlubs). And while I'm fairly certain I'm not going to follow one line of thought and get my head shaved, I'm in the market for a new hairstyle. So I open the floor to you, gentle readers, to solicit your opinions. Feel free to comment with links to appropriate pictures, vague descriptions, or any other feedback.

Homo sapiens senilius

2007-06-25T13:47:00.001-05:00

I had the unique experience of encountering two very amusing old men yesterday.

The first, on library mall, was wearing black dress shoes, black socks pulled all the way up, khaki shorts, a white polo shirt, and a pith helmet. Yup, an honest to God pith helmet. As if he were preparing to breach the jungles of the subcontinent in search of Dr. Livingston. But he had the dark socks and dress shoes just in case a formal event broke out. Which they tend to do in darkest Africa, or so I'm told. Wasn't that the point of Heart of Darkness?

The second, a seemingly innocuous old timer, was hanging around a gas station I stopped at to get a bottle of water. As I was out for a walk, I had my portable cd player with me. This fine specimen of old timery wisdom noted my equippage, and informed me rather stridently that pieces very similar to my little Sony originally cost $1500. That was the entire bulk of our conversation, and yes, I can call it that, because he emphasized the point several times. You know, so I'd appreciate how valuable my cd player with the crappy radio reception really was. Or I'd just appreciate how old he was, as he can remember back to a time when these things were apparently made out of gold.

Nothing really more to say. I just find the elderly amusing.

Oh, question for my Madison folks. Do any of you know of any competent movers in this town?

Second question for my Madison folks. Do I want SSF as a third reader in my dissertation? TS seems to think this is a good idea, as she can fill in my large gaps in narrative theory. Of course, I could have printed his entire e-mail to me as a blog post in and of itself, as it is quite amusing in its brevity and its powerful use of all capital letters embedded in my own text. But that's another story for another day.

Monday Musings: The Efficacy of Lumber

2007-06-18T14:54:00.000-05:00

Teddy Roosevelt famously said "Speak softly, and carry a big stick." I personally feel this would serve as a great mantra for my life. Specifically, my life in the dissertation proposal stage, where much of my existence is spent at libraries and coffee houses reading books. If I were to adopt this as a guiding rule, then I could nicely explain to all those around me that they, as well, should speak softly, and not in a loud, shrill, high-pitched voice that grates your senses until you just can't concentrate on the obscurely-written theory in front of you and you just want to scream. Or else, you know, I'd hit them with my big stick.

Recently my work at my coffee house of choice (Espresso Royale, home of the addictive chai) has become beleagured by addle-pated ninnies who seem to think that a coffee house is a great place for their loud, rambunctious, inane chatter. Never mind that there is a studious-looking individual reading a book about trauma theory right in front of them. But if there was a studious-looking individual reading a book about trauma theory with a big stick right in front of them, I bet they'd think twice.

I find myself fantasizing about that scene in The Untouchables, where DeNiro's Capone just clubs a man to death with a baseball bat. Seems like an effective way of getting some damn silence, or at least a muted conversation.

Other applicable uses:
-People who come to the Writing Center and demand you proofread their obscure scientific text. Learn the damn language or learn where to hire an editor, lest yet get smacked with my stick.
-People who feel that the perfect time to go for a long run is right before your Writing Center appointment, so that you reek to high heaven just in time for a studious-looking individual to sit very close to you and sit almost with heads touching while you together read your crappy personal statement that you clearly wrote the night before in about fifteen minutes. Seriously, on what level is that a good idea? Stick-whacking for you!
-People who talk in the theatre.
-Slow drivers. (This would be more difficult, as you'd have to account for windows, range, and uneven surfaces. Maybe some kind of hood-mounted car paddle.)
-People who have air conditioning in their public buildings and yet refuse to turn it up, even though it is insanely hot and humid.
-The organist at our church, who clearly has no sense of tempo, no idea of what genre of song is appropriate for a specific part of the mass, and who seems to delight in finding all the variations on the same melody, thus leading us to constantly singing the same tune with different words week after week after week. (Granted this is a religious institution, so the stick-beating would not be as fierce. Maybe a ruler-knuckle rapping, a la nuns.)
-Hugh Jackman.

I'm an Idiot

2007-06-11T14:00:00.000-05:00

So I just got to the office, excited to finish revising for the day and actually send a draft of my proposal off to my committee members, when I realized that I hadn't e-mailed the file from my home computer to here. I wrote about 8 pages this morning, and now rather than sending them off in a timely manner, I have to go back home to do so. As I had planned to spend several hours on campus reading, this is a major inconvenience. All because I'm too stupid to realize that just because a file is on one computer, it may not be on the other. Yeah, I'm a putz.

Granted, this really in no way causes problems beyond the slight alteration of my schedule. I've missed no deadlines (other than a personal one), and will incur no wrath. So really I'm just whining at my own stupidity because it slightly makes me change my schedule. Feel free to mock me if you wish.

But on the plus side, I think I finally have a handle on what the fuck anything has to do with Vietnam. Or at least, I can bs my way into a convincing answer. Hah!

Oh, The Places I've Been

2007-06-05T00:04:00.000-05:00

Well, there's really only two. Two places. Chicago and St. Louis. And not nearly long enough to warrant this Brownsoxian dearth of posts. Mea culpa, mea culpa.

Anyway, school's out now, and I'm in dissertation proposal mode full-time. But it wasn't always so. Once I traveled the world. And by the world, I mean the upper midwest localized around the Wisconsin-Illinois-Missouri area. Yeah, I'm just cool like that.

A few weeks back was the Freshman 15 spring concert, "Epic Show." Considering there were going to be more alumni at the show than actual members in the current group, I wasn't about to miss it. So I proctored my exam that Saturday morning (7:45am!), then drove down to good old Evanston, IL. This, I'll say, was kind of freaky, as for the first time Evanston felt like this strange town, rather than my college town. I guess five years away will do that to you. Not to say I didn't enjoy walking around campus, watching rehearsal for Shakespeare at the Rock, and then lazing around on the lakefill for a few hours. The shows were awesome, including an epic cameo by Hodgkins as Hades, and we would go on to prove that night that yes, we can still act like we're in college. Which means, of course, lots of beer pong, excessive drinking, and staying awake till 7:30am because someone simply has to talk with you once everyone else has gone to sleep (which was fun, granted, and there's no conversation like the 6:30am drunken conversation that you don't really know what the hell it's about and you won't remember it entirely the next day anyway), but the fact that I only got 3 hours sleep that night was sorely felt the next day when I drove back to Madison. Mad shoutout to all my F15 boys; you still know how to party.

A few days following, I returned to the place of my birth to celebrate my 3^3 birthday with my family. St. Louis, as I've said before, is always kind of odd now, because most of the folks I know who lived there have since relocated to better climes. So it was mainly me and my parents who, god bless em, can't quite party like they used to. But they did buy me a very excellent steak dinner. And I got to see my oldest friend from high school with his new house (awesome) and his new baby (which totally weirds me out, as my friends from high school should not be parents yet, regardless of how cute said baby may be). I had planned to blog from St. Louis during my massive downtime, but apparently DSL means "Damned Slow and Laggy" at my familial manse. When it's difficult just to check your e-mail, blogging is out. So I was stuck reading a lot of non-essential books (mostly Isaac Asimov robot stories, one of my dad's favorites that he had lying around the house) and watching their satellite tv (ah Veronica Mars, it was bitter to watch you end, but sweet to watch it on DVR, skipping mirthfully over commercials).

So now I'm back here in Madison, and will be until August (unless I end up jaunting to Chicago again to see Bluesman). We went out for the cubed birthday, and while we did travel to several bars, it was mostly because they were all too crowded to be fit for human occupance. We started at The Local Tavern, which promises "Good food, good beer, good friends, good cheer." Well, the food was mediocre, or so I'm told, but the beer was good, as were the friends and cheer (I imagine it didn't hurt that we were practically the only people there, and we were a party of at least 20 at one point, so the waiter was fawning over us). But then sadly, I led a valiant charge to Karaoke Kid. Unfortunately, apparently this Saturday was "Every Undergrad in the Tri-State Area Go to State Street and be Drunk and Obnoxious Night." There was no karaoke to be had, and we spent the majority of our time scouting out other possible bars, before walking almost all the way back to where we had started. We stayed out till closing time, then I apparently went home and made hot dogs and watched Batman Begins. I know this because there were two hot dogs less in the fridge, my grill was clearly used, and Batman was on the tv screen. I have no recollection of any of these events. But apparently I was cogent enough to hang my clothes up rather than sully my newly cleaned room (when you're only other option is to read dissertation stuff, you find ways to fill the time).

And now I spend my days reading about Holocaust survivors and thinking about Vietnam, trying valiantly to answer the Dude's question "What the fuck does anything have to do with Vietnam?" All I know is that I didn't watch my buddies die facedown in the muck to not write a disseration proposal. At least, I'm assuming they died in that muck. I never actually stopped to check, because I'm lazy and don't like to get muck on me. But then, Brownsox hasn't posted in a long-ass time, so he may still be muck-bound.

In closing, a brief representation of the kind of theory I'm reading these days, as illustrated by Saturday night / Sunday morning. I'm reading a lot of trauma theory, and this is what I gather from it: The traumatic event is something that the mind itself cannot cope with during the instance. For example, the cooking of hot dogs and the watching of Batman Begins. The mind is too scarred by the event, and cannot fit it into a linear framework of causality, and therefore rejects it, as clearly demonstrated by my inability to remember said events. However, the trauma does not disappear; rather, it constantly haunts the mind, forcing re-enactment on a literal and psychological level. This is clearly demonstrated by the fact that, Sunday eve, I made more hot dogs and re-watched the end of Batman Begins, because I had no memory of doing so, yet I felt the compulsion to see the end of the movie I've already seen at least 20 times. So Sunday was, literally, a revisiting of the previous forgotten events in an attempt to reconstitute them into the awakened psyche. And now, this blog serves as the witnessing of the trauma, as I seek to cast my message and my testimony out in search of what Celan refers to as "an addressable you." My witnessing will neither be complete nor psychologically fulfilling unless it is heard and witnessed by others (i.e., commented upon). Whether the Other can ever really be addressed, or whether it is even desirable to find this Other, remains to be discussed by my dissertation.

Oh, and see Knocked Up. It's awesomely good.

May Madness

2007-05-12T21:01:00.000-05:00

It's May, as you may have noticed (god what an awful pun). May always means fun things: the end of the semester (still no proposal, but a good idea what I need to do this summer), papers to grade without commenting upon, exams to grade in a laughably quick manner, a trip to Chicago next weekend for the F15 show (If anyone I know is still in Chicago, I need a place to crash Saturday the 19th since Bluesman is out of town. Any takers?), and my birthday, arriving just in time to place me within the triumphant realm of the May Geminis and not within the lesser, enfeebled ranks of the May Tauruses (Taursi?).

Today, to celebrate both the end of the semester and the onset of my 27th year, I went shopping. Rather than let my parents buy me things that I only marginally like, I just took their cash and bought things that I myself actually like. I have decided I'm a blue person. I enjoy the color blue, particularly in shirts. Now, shopping is something I traditionally abhor and shun as if it were a certain crystal-reading gorgon my New York friends will know all too well. Even when shopping for myself, I tend to be the "strike quickly and get out before the echo fades" kind of shopper. So what makes me go shopping, even when I have money to spend? Well, I found something I didn't want to do even more: grade papers. Yes, when it comes down to grading papers or shopping, I choose shopping. But it's still a close race.

For my birthday proper, I'm still planning what to do. And for that, I need your help, dear readers. Birthdays are traditionally a time of great, mind-erasing drunkening for me. I highly doubt I'll top last year's birthday, when the director of our graduate program bought me the glass of bourbon that sent me over the edge, but I still plan to give it my best. And for that, I've got three options in mind. Please offer your comments.

1. Dinner at Dotty's and drinking at a bar with larger seating afterwards. This plan has the beauty of being simple; I get to eat at Dotty's (some of the best burgers in Madison, for my outsider friends), and then lots of people will buy me drinks. Odds are I will get drunk and shout crazy things in the streets. Not much more to it, but what more do you need?

2. Drinking and then karaoke: This is a variant of plan 1, but with karaoke. I've never been karaoke-ing, but it sounds fun. And I hear some of the younger generation of grad students are hot hands on the mike.

3. 15 bars in one night. This is the challenge set forth by my New York friends, who tried and failed to do the exact same feat. I think they made it to 12, but then were sabotaged by both the need for food and the negative influence of their friends (correct me if I'm wrong, Quantum). Ours would be a slight variant, becoming 15 bars in one day, which isn't quite as cool, but we have a good deal of walking between. This plan has perks and detriments. The perks: my birthday becomes a day-long event, starting with brunch and drinks, and basically continuing drinking all day long. It will be an epic event, suitable for the last cubed birthday I'll have until I'm 64 (when I will be more worried about someone needing me and feeding me than I will about 15 bars in one night). And it'll be as much an intellectual exercise as it will be a drunkening. The detriments: it'll require a lot of scheduling, so people can join up if they want later in the day. It'll require a hefty time commitment. And we may die of alcohol poisoning. Plus, we may be so focused on getting to the next bar and staying on schedule that we might not be open to spontaneous fun (though I highly doubt that will be an issue the more we drink). Part of the joy of the birthday bar time is sitting in one place, gathering many many friends around, and watching them all drink with you (not to mention buy you drinks). I feel that if we're constantly hopping bars, we won't get that solid group effort that I really appreciate.

Ok, so those are my three options at this point. If you have other suggestions, feel free to add them. Or just offer advice, ideas, etc., on how to make sure my 3x3x3 birthday is quite spectacular.

Oh, and if you know you're going to be out of town for a time at the end of May, let me know. I'll try to schedule accordingly, but I can't accomodate everyone I already know.

Comeuppance?

2007-05-08T16:17:00.000-05:00

So this fall, I actually do have a job (praise to Buddha and Colonel Sanders, who sits at the left hand of God feeding him popcorn chicken). I'll be teaching English 169, Modern American Lit. (yay!) at 8:50 in the morning (still better than the 8:00 slot I have now). It's a pay cut, but not much of one. Sadly, though, I'll be teaching for the professor that many of us simply think of as "Spousal Hire."

You see boys and girls, in academia, we have this thing called "spousal hire." It means that if your husband, wife, life partner, etc. is really talented and the university wants him or her badly, they will offer you a job as well, if you are in fact an academic. This can lead to good things, as several of my friends are (facetiously or seriously) contemplating their role as the spousal hire, despite the fact that they are all excellent scholars in their own right. It's often a great boon for the university, gaining two top notch academics.

Sadly, this is not always the case. I'm teaching for one of the exceptions come the fall.

Oddly enough, though, I was supposed to teach for this person my very first semester as a PhD student, but the couple went on leave for a year, and I was reassigned. Perhaps this is just the Universe's way of righting itself, in a bizzare academia-based version of Final Destination. Which will be awesome, but only if it has Ali Larter in it.

Stopgap Post

2007-05-07T10:28:00.000-05:00

Longer post coming soon, but for now this brief post to appease my ravenous fans and keep me from going the absentee route of Brownsox.

First, we threw a kegger in our department building a few weeks back, to celebrate our conference. Highlights include the beer pong, the flip cup, and our immediate hush when campus security showed up at the building. Then magically we made it all disappear the next morning, roughly 20 minutes before we used the same room to run panels all day. Though I think the faculty is under the impression we were kicked out of the building, which we decidedly were not. Not that they'll tell us this openly, as that would admit that they knew we had a kegger, which violates the "don't ask don't tell" policy we all seem to have mutually agreed on.

Second, saw Urinetown this past weekend, which the University Theatre was putting on (two of my students were in it). The show itself is great, and is now added to my list of awesomely good musicals. The production was good, but not stellar. The director was going for some overly stylized stuff, trying to echo stuff like Threepenny Opera and The Cradle Will Rock; some of it worked, some didn't, and some just looked plain dumb. Not really the fault of the actors, just a director who wouldn't pull things back when they needed it. The male lead, while suitable for the part, wasn't really selling the higher register stuff, which seems necessary for the role. Although maybe that critique comes just because of my own girlishly-high vocal range. But if you're hired for a tenor part, you shouldn't look like you need to stop acting just to hit the high notes. And overall the sound was kind of messed up; the orchestra sounded like a recording for some reason, even though I could see them playing, and the choral numbers just didn't have that much oomph to them. Not to blame the chorus, as they were clearly putting their all into it and doing some very nice dance work. I think it was mainly a sound issue. Oh, and that theatre is a deathtrap waiting to happen. There are no aisles, people! It's just one long row that wraps its way around the entire house! Madness!

But the play itself is great, and you should see it if you get a chance. Very dark and yet hilarious at the same time.

Third, saw Spider-Man 3 last night. Again, good but not great. It wasn't Spider-Man 2, but then again, it wasn't X-Men 3 either. Everyone seems to have a different critique, though most seem to agree there are too many villains. I personally just don't buy Sandman. I almost laughed whenever he was on, as Venom and Harry Osborn made much better villains for me. I can see why they kept all 3 in there, but it was just too much. They should have focused much more on the Peter/Harry infighting, as that was my favorite part of the movie. But Bruce Campbell again rocked out his cameo, which leads me to point four.

Fourth, am in the process of renting and watching The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr. If you've never seen it, this is a Bruce Campbell t.v. comic western that was on Fox for all of 26 episodes back in the early 90's. Phenomenal stuff.

Fifth and last, watch Heroes. If you aren't, you're a chump. Cause it rules. Quantum will back me on this, unless the ants have already taken over his brain (see Bourbon Samurai's blog for elucidation). New episode tonight, and only 2 more after that. Embrace your inner geek!

For next time, a meditation on what to do for my birthday. Should I accept the challenge of 15 bars in one night? Or save that for a more random time this summer?

Dubsgiving; or, One Man's Journey into the Abyss (Part II)

2007-04-22T22:54:00.000-05:00

Rather than grade papers, and to get my mind out of the funk it's been in all day long, I offer you the conclusion of my recent sojourn to the city that never sleeps.

Day 4

Day 4 was the day that had been long prophesized. For on this date, my generous hosts had scheduled the second installment in their developing attempts to add new depth and coordination to drinking endeavors. Earlier in the year, I believe, they had hosted an event called "Let's Go to a Bar Night," in which they, to wit, went to a bar. To accomodate my schedule, they had arranged for the sequel to occur; thus, Monday became the day of "Let's Go to a Bar Night 2: Return of the Revenge of the Blood." My friends pulled all the stops. They arranged to get off work on a Monday (basically by telling their boss they weren't coming in). They had spread the word via that most inexorable scheduling device, the E-vite. And they had even made plans for at least one actual female to attend (a rare event, I'm told, and one of which they were quite proud). The stage was set for a truly wonderful soiree. But first, we had to go shopping.

The original "LGTABN" had, I was told, begun with a barbecue. We decided to continue this tradition, only it turned into grilling burgers indoors, as the weather was dodgy. That morning, then, Quantum, Bourbon Samurai, and I, took a trip to Costco, a magic land of bulk and wonder. There, one could make a meal on free samples of food (or so tradition tells, though this day the sample givers were few and far between). There, we ended up buying enough jumbo ketchup bottles to last several years, because you had to buy that many. There, the checkout man told us we could not buy the bag of bagels we had in the cart; we had to buy a second one, or they would not sell it to us at all. We were off the map, and my midwestern mind was blown.

Following that trek, we went to Teach's apartment, cooked the burgers (each of which ended up being roughly 1.25 pounds of meat per patty, and of which we each ate two), and then set off for the Continental, gleefully exclaiming "Let's go to a bar!" every few minutes. Now, there are high class bars and there are low class bars. Then there are dives. The Continental, unfortunately, was one of the latter. The place looked 5 minutes from falling down on us. The stall in the men's room was an excercise in contortion. There was only one tv, and a really crappy jukebox. They didn't take credit cards at all. Though, on the flip side, the bartenders (bartendresses?) were fairly attractive, and one of them appeared to be wearing a bandana rather than an actual shirt. We stayed there for hours, in spite of their lack of multiple televisions showing baseball games, for two very simple reasons. One, the e-vite said to meet there, and the rest of our party was staggering in at various points throughout the night. And two, they have an eternal deal where you can get five shots of anything for $10. So the four of us sat there, watching the Red Sox game, playing spades in our booth, and alternately drinking Bud Light and doing shots of Jim Beam. Over the next few hours, we were joined by Uber260, Brownsox, Sketchrock, Hubris, and multiple others whom I either had never met or cannot remember (and, lo and behold, there were several females over the course of the night, though one was a terrifying gorgon of mythic proportions).

Eventually, full of cheap beer and as many shots as we could muster, we crossed bars, rounding the block in order to go to a place that actually had food as well as boozeahol (I believe it was called the St. Mark's Alehouse, though my NY compatriots can correct me). We dined and drank, we had crazy conversations, we marvelled at the whimsy of Fate, who had basically recreated one of the most humorous and disturbing episodes of our college career in the form of a new couple, but with similar names (it's too complicated to explain here, and it might end up with the arrest of several of my friends). At one point, Bourbon and Sketchrock went outside to have a fistfight, because it seemed like the thing to do. Neither of them would throw the first punch, though, so Hubris socked Sketchrock in the ear in order to provoke the fight. Sadly, it did no such thing.

The evening boiled down, to the point where it was just Teach, Brownsox, Bourbon, Quantum, myself, and a latecomer female that Brownsox was apparently trying to engage in conversation (for the full and tragic details, see his post about that night). As we retired to the bar for one last round, my friends all turned into their conversations, while I, on the end, was engaged by the advances of who we would later refer to as "Crazy Carolina Girl." This Southern Belle was clearly under the influence of massive amounts of alcohol, and regaled me with the tale of her and her friend, Necktie Girl, who had travelled from the Deep South in order to seek jobs in some sort of Human Resources related field. Having worked in HR myself for a summer, I recognized immediately that anyone who would actively seek to work there is either A. moronic or B. batshit crazy. Though we did have a nice bonding experience when I mentioned I was from Madison, Wisconsin, and she immediately started talking about the joys of cheese curds, which squeak when you eat them, and are apparently the best or only memorable thing about this city that I love. This sealed the deal, and I tactfully withdrew to use the restroom rather than throttle her with my bare hands. As I left, I noticed she tried to engage Teach in conversation, who in turn introduced her to Quantum, but gave Q. his own name (i.e. Quantum was "Teach" and Teach was "Quantum"). Quantum, recognizing the crazy drunk, backed off quickly. As I returned from the restroom, I found Teach and Carolina engaged in what was unarguably the most one-sidedly offensive conversation ever. Teach was asking her point blank questions about how she valued human life, whose lives she would choose to save over others, and assorted questions, all of which seemed destined to pick a fight due to their obnoxiousness. But she never even noticed, and plowed gamely through the conversation, much to our amusement/horror.

Around this time, I retired to the other end of the bar, lest I burst out laughing in her face. Brownsox had ordered a beer, but the bar had a $15 minimun for a credit card purchase. Rather than actually reach into his wallet and get physical money, he bought me a glass of Macallen's 12 year. I toasted him, and he endeavored to return to his conversation. Unfortunately, as he notes, he was deftly cut out of the fair maid's attentions, and moved to join us, leaving poor Carolina girl all alone with her friends, to the great rejoicing of us all. Well, except for Bourbon, who had been chatting up the waitresses, sharing their contempt for the drunken Carolina and her friend. Brownsox, like a rampaging bull, crashed into their conversation and ruined all chances for our dear cohort to ever seal any kind of deal. Thus chagrined, we all fled into the night, where Teach and the girl ended up in one cab, and Bourbon, Quantum, Brownsox, and myself all together in another. Bourbon, in a show of rage, railed at all of us drunkenly for not capitalizing on our opportunities of the evening, blatantly ignoring the mediating circumstances and relative drunkenness of us all. But then we got home and watched the end of Galactica again, which soothed us all into sleep.

(This concludes my memories of LGTABN2:RotRotB. But my friends are free to add their own remembrances and qualifiers, as I basically drank from 2pm [giant beer at Teach's] until we left the Alehouse at around 2am [hefty glass of scotch].)

Day 5

The rest of the trip from here on out may seem anticlimactic, for the simple reason that my friends had to work the other days of the week. (Not that this would stop them from drinking in the slightest; it just meant we couldn't go on more all-day benders.) On day 5, they departed for work around 10:30am or so, further cementing my notion that they have the greatest job ever. I messed around their apartment for a bit, slept a while longer, did laundry at the laundromat, had a truly excellent bagel, and then went into the city. I was attempting to go to "Top of the Rock," the observation deck of Rockefeller center, as my mother had been telling me for months that I needed to go there. Quantum's directions were ever so helpful (take the subway to 5th Avenue, then go south a while), so I ended up very lost. I did find St. Patrick's Cathedral, and spent some time there admiring the temple to my risen lord, then found another subway station with a map. I made it to the Rock, where, oddly enough, I encountered one of my current students atop the building. She was there with her family, and we had a wonderful "What the hell are you doing here?" moment that was only slightly awkward, further testimony to my teaching abilities and rapport with my students. Quantum called while I was atop the building, having just gotten off work (around 4:30), so we met up for a drink or two.

That night we saw O'Neill's A Moon for the Misbegotten with this man and this one, as well as a truly phenomenal actress who is apparently very well-known in British theatre circles, but not popular American film or tv shows. There was a snafu with our online ticket order, so we got better seats for less money (a Dubsgiving Miracle), and ended up about 10 rows from the stage. It was a spectacular performace all around, the best theatre I've seen in years (definitely the best since my last trip to NY and I saw Albee's The Goat). Not that this is all that spectacular, as I don't see much theatre, and most of what I saw was college productions of things. But still. Awesomely good.

After the subway ride back to Astoria, we met up some of our fellows at yet another bar (which oddly enough shared a name with our pal Irish McJew), and drank more cheap beer until around 1:30 or 2:00.

Day 6

Perhaps the most uneventful day of them all. It rained, so while my friends were at work, I stayed at their place and watched a lot of tv. The rain ended around 3:00, so I ventured into the heart of the Upper East Side, and went to the Met. This was not nearly as eventful as my last trip there, where Quantum high-fived a priceless buddha statue and set off an alarm. But it was still quite nice. Met up with Bourbon, Quantum, and Brownsox for drinks afterwards, as their work was nearby, then went to the theatre again. This time we saw a show called Spring Awakening, a phenomenal new musical that is most likely going to sweep all the major awards this year. I really liked it at the time, but I have since bought the soundtrack and elevated that "really like" into "outright love." The music is powerful, moving, and electric. The story concerns a group of 14-15 year olds in 1890s Germany, coming to terms with their developing sexuality in the face of their repressive schooling and parents. It's based on a play of the same name, written at the turn of the century, which was banned in Germany for years afterwards. If you get a chance, I highly recommend seeing it. If not, I can lend you the soundtrack.

To conclude the events of Dubsgiving, we met at one last bar, where we actually drank very good Czech beer rather than the cheap crappy beer my friends seem to guzzle like water. I also learned that I am awesome at Big Buck Hunter when I've had a few drinks. And that Brownsox can't not hit a doe to save his life, and he gets amusingly irate the further and further he falls in the standings. I learned the history of the bar, where Quantum had both been kicked out at one point and embraced by the owner at another (apparently he was an Eastern European man who admired Quantum because he "looked like Gestapo," an irony they still puzzle over). The beer was good, and though we clearly stayed much later than the wait staff wanted us to, we did tip well.

Day 7

On the seventh day, even God rested. But clearly, God didn't have to travel back to O'Hare and then Madison. Or if he did, he didn't go out of La Guardia or into O'Hare. After bidding a fond farewell to my most gracious hosts, I got one last bagel for the road (this time hot with butter, as Quantum ordered, though sans shmear), then caught the bus to L.G. Quantum said this bus ride would take roughly an hour. Naturally, it took about 10 minutes. So I was there about 3.5 hours before my flight, which ended up being delayed another 2 due to high winds in, you guessed it, Chicago (oh sweet irony). But it was all ok, because we got to spend the last hour's worth on the plane itself, sitting on the runway. I slept through most of it, as well as the bus ride back, and got to my sweet sweet bed at around roughly 10:30, Madison time. Mad props to Nittany Lion for the ride from the bus stop.

Conclusions

Thus ended Dubsgiving, though I did learn several key life lessons:

1. Bagels are in fact better in New York.
2. My friends, who taught me in college to be snobs of all things alcohol (unless drinking games are involved), now subsist almost entirely on cheap beer.
3. Cab drivers are crazy. Seriously.
4. Tall beers are better than regular beers.
5. The e-vite is considered a binding social contract.
6. You can apparently buy 1000 lb of sand at Home Depot for very little, and it doesn't cover quite as much space as one would imagine.
7. The prank value of 1000 lb of sand may still outweigh the drawbacks.
8. I can actually survive for a week in NY without getting shot, mugged, beaten up, or having my teeth stolen while I lie bleeding in a gutter. Though I still will check my back pocket every few minutes, just to make sure my wallet is still there. What can I say? I'm just a smalltown midwesterner at heart.

Dubsgiving; or, One Man's Journey into the Abyss (Part I)

2007-04-18T22:49:00.000-05:00

Over spring break, I discovered the single most terrifying thing on the face of the planet: the New York cab driver. These men (and women, I suppose, though all of ours were men) race about with reckless abandon, ferrying merry bands of drunks (and others) to and fro. They don't seem to work strictly in the world itself. They certainly don't obey the laws of God or man. Lane markings? Pshaw! Street signs? Scoff. "Oh my God, you can't possibly fit between those two cars!"? A wry glance and a stomp on the accelerator. While I was very grateful for these brave souls (particularly that first night, as you shall read), I was kind of scared witless when I actually looked where we were going and how we were getting there. People say the subway's dangerous; clearly they've never taken a cab at 2am from the Village to Astoria.

This slight diatribe is my long way of introducing my trip to New York, which my merry band of reprobate friends named "Dubsgiving" in my honor. Dubsgiving has sacraments (mostly drinking-related), various feast days (Let's Go to a Bar Night 2), and a theme song, which they gleefully improvised my first night there. I'll attempt to chronicle these days as best I remember, but my memory is rather uncertain in places, so I invite commentary from my fellow celebrants.

Day 1
To begin, I got into La Guardia around 5:00pm, Friday. I was at Quantum's apartment by about 5:20. By 5:30, we were on our way to a bar.

The weekend was starting off so very right.

Along the way, we picked up one Hubris, fellow rapscallian and committed Dubsgiving celebrant, although he was not in fact drinking during our time there. This above all you must remember, dear reader, lest nothing else appear strange and wonderous. The three of us went to a place called "The Irish Rogue" several blocks away from Times Square, which is supposedly the bar from which one cannot be kicked out. Apparently my compatriots had, at various times, crashed private parties, started fistfights, and generally raised all manner of havoc, without ever being asked not to come back. So naturally this was as good a place as any to kick off our holiday.

En route, the lads sereneded me with an imprompteu version of "New York, New York," which they believed would foretell my week's sojourn in the Big Apple. I don't remember all the lyrics, but I believe it ended with me lying dead in a gutter, with someone running away, having stolen my teeth.

So at the bar, we began by ordering their traditional drink, the Beer Boat (or Beer Bone, or Beer Bong, depending on who you ask). Basically, the BB is a 74 oz glass tube, with a spigot on the bottom. You fill said tube with beer (St. Pauly Girl), and let gravity do it's work. This of course serves as a wonderful conversation piece; all manner of people will come up to your table and ask what that giant tube of beer is for, and then look both bemused and disgusted at your reply. This does not in any way make up for the fact that you're drinking cheap beer out of what is probably an unwashed glass tube, which slowly gets warmer and warmer as the night goes on. But then again, you're talking to men who used to combine tabasco sauce with various alcohols, and who once put gin and soy sauce in a glass together. We are not to be daunted by trifles like that.

Throughout the course of the evening, the cast of characters would grow and shrink, as various friends came and went. We three were originally met by Bourbon Samurai and his parents, who were going to the theatre. They left, and we were in turn met by Uber260. Later, Bourbon came back sans parents, to aid in our drinking. So, over the course of the night, note that the drinkers consisted of Quantum, myself, Uber260, and Bourbon, and that Bourbon was only really drinking during the later portion of the eve. Hubris, as noted, did not drink, but instead pounded diet coke and egged us on.

The result: 5 tubes consumed. 370 oz of beer, split between about 3.5 men. Over a tube a piece. Plus the shots, and Uber260's Irish car bomb.

Why did we drink five tubes, you ask? Why not stop after two, as I originally suggested? Quite simply, because our waitress told us that the bar record was four. Four tubes. I believe she told us this on our third tube, and by that point, we'd already drunk three tubes of beer. We were drunk with power (and St. Pauly Girl), and decided to go all the way. I don't remember if we finished the last tube. I don't remember actually leaving the bar. I do remember the drunken rendition of the St. Crispen's Day speech from Henry V that we all gave, huddled around our beer boat, glasses raised in the air (with photographic evidence taken by Hubris). I don't remember Uber260 falling into the table of frat guys, though I'm told it was quite hilarious. I remember getting into the cab home with Uber260 and Quantum, and Bourbon telling 260 to go ahead and sleep in his (Bourbon's) bed, as I was sleeping on their couch (Quantum and Bourbon live together, for all you non-NY folk). And of course, I remember thinking what a good idea it was that I had eaten dinner at the bar.

In hindsight, this last takes on special meaning, as we all concluded that food was the only reason a dire fate was not a shared dire fate. I ate dinner, and a large one at that. Quantum did as well. Uber260, sadly, did not. Therefore, it is only slightly surprising, in hindsight, that Uber260 ended up vomiting all over the cab floor. Luckily, for us, it was a mini-van-esque cab, rather than a traditional, and so we did not end up with vomit on our shoes. Even luckier, the cabbie was cool, so that when Quantum did what he does best and threw money at him, he was willing to wait and take us the rest of the way to Astoria. I barely hesitated when Quantum asked me for more money to pay the cab driver. Yes, I was on a tight budget. Yes, I had hoped to make my money last, and not blow it all the first night. And yes, I ended up adding about $80 onto Quantum's $120, to appease the cabbie.

It's amazing how things like this can instantly sober you. There we were, nursing our friend home, I cursing myself for spending so much money already, but figuring that this was how my friends rolled in the big NY. In my small-town mindset, I could see Quantum routinely paying cab drivers over $150 a ride. In my mind, Quantum's finances are akin to those of a decent-sized nation state. So we got Uber260 back to Astoria, where he promptly vomited on Bourbon's jacket (which, to be fair, was on the floor). This kicked off a streak of destruction, as Uber basically managed to vomit on everything Bourbon owned, including his bed during the middle of the night. Quantum's possessions, remarkably, remained entirely untouched, as did anything communally owned. Even the floor was spotless, said jacket having absorbed all regurgitation. It was as if there was a vendetta of vomit against Bourbon Samurai, and he was not there to fight against the tide, so to speak. We put Uber260 to bed, I crashed on the couch, and Quantum retired to his room.

Thus ended the first day.

Day 2

Day two is more of a sea of images than anything else. The most joy came from awakening and realizing I wasn't at all hungover. Again, dealing with a friend's breakdown really picks you up. The rest of the joy came from the absurdity of what had transpired the night before. This was where we realized the truth about Bourbon's possessions and their magnetic vomit properties. This was where Uber260, in the most shamefacedly way possible, laundered all of the despoiled goods. This was where Bourbon finally came home, to change to go see another play with his family, and Quantum's first words were "Don't be mad." Which prompted a look of brief caution, and then outright laughter. Bourbon was too amused to be mad, though I think the lingering smell of vomit on his bed was slightly 0ff-putting. Throughout the day, we took stock of the situation, rehashed the night before, ate delivery food, and watched a lot of Battlestar Galactica, as they had it and I needed to catch up on the season.

That night was rather more mellow. I met up with my high school friend The Baker and his new girlfriend (new in the sense I hadn't met her before), who took me out to a delightful Thai dinner in Hell's Kitchen. Supposedly one of the best Thai places in town, a claim I won't dispute. We then went to another bar (Divine, I think it was called) and, in a snobby way, drank flights of wine (rather than cheap beer, a nice contrast to every other night). We chatted, and they had to leave around 11:30, so I basically hung out in Times Square until my drunken friends were done with their late dinner. We met up in the Village (prompting once again my small town fears of riding the subway after dark), threw back a drink or two, then once again returned to Astoria. Here was where I first encountered my supernatural dread of cab drivers, as described above. Seriously. I thought we were all going to die.

Day 3

Day 3 was Sunday, and I sadly could not continue our streak of sleeping in until roughly 1:00. As it was Palm Sunday, I needed to find myself a Catholic sanctuary and holy myself up. Seeing how Astoria contains the second largest Greek Orthodox population in the world (after Greece), naturally there was a Catholic Church about five blocks down the road. After attending mass, I bummed around Astoria, as both of my hosts were out of the house. I got some reading done, explored their local coffee houses, wandered the streets, and ate a spectacular corned beef sandwich from the local deli. Quantum, returning from the children's theatre show he had just seen because a friend was directing it, encountered me outside a local coffee shop reading a book, drinking an italian soda and eating a scone. He quite rightly mocked me for being a pretentious academic, and we retired to their apartment to conclude the BSG season, which was 90 different kinds of awesome. It reaffirmed my faith in television, myth, Bob Dylan, the electric sitar, and the Easter Bunny. Seriously, if you like good tv, excellent stories, great acting, and kickass moments of transcendent brilliance (not to mention awesome lawyers who wear sunglasses and are Irish in space), please check this series out.

Following the viewings, Bourbon made meatloaf and a soup out of what appeared to be a pteradactyl bone, three kinds of bacon, and various other animal parts. I won't describe it further, but I invite him to do so in the comments section. Needless to say, it was all excellent, and we were joined by Rockstar and girl whose nickname I don't know, to feast and watch the opening game of baseball season. The Mets shellacked my poor Cardinals, and Quantum threatened that they also planned to burn my city to the ground. I'm not sure why, other than New Yorkers are apparently full of rage and like burning cities to the ground. Luckily, St. Louis still stands. I think the Mets' bloodlust was sated by stomping the Cards in every game of the series. (Oh, and Sergio, Quantum wanted me to give him your cell phone number so he could call and gloat. I rightly refused, so you owe me.)

I believe we watched the last four minutes of BSG twice more at the end of the night. This would be a recurring practice for the rest of the week.

(Ok, this is already unwieldy and long, and I'm not even to day four yet. I'll add more tomorrow, when I chronicle the events surrounding "Let's Go to a Bar Night 2: Return of the Revenge of the Blood".)

The Vigil Blog

2007-04-10T14:09:00.000-05:00

I figure it's worth it to blog about something uplifting and soul-enriching, before I blog about the depths of hell we went through in New York. Plus, I'm at the office right now and have limited time before a student shows up. Don't worry, I'll blog the full experience of Dubsgiving in a day or so. But for now, the blog of Easter Vigil.

First off, this vigil differed from previous years, in that all of my Catholic friends chose to abandon me for lesser masses, due to baby, travel, family, etc., all of which are just excuses that lead down that slippery slope to Protestantism, or as I like to call it, damnation. So there I sat, alone, in my spiffy new jacket, hoping against hope that this mass would be just as amusing as last year, if not quite so heretical (see last April's "Where Was Moses When the Lights Went Out" for details). We began strongly, with a fair showing and a solid lighting of candles, with no small child arsonists this year. Sadly, the seminarian singing the Exsultant this year was not quite so strong as last year's singer, the little man they kept in the closet until Easter. He had a nice tenor, but it was relatively weak, and seemed rather wishy-washy about the ultimate salvation of mankind.

Until the fire alarm went off.

You'd think that Holy Mother Church, in its infinite wisdom, would have realized having hundreds of people holding candles might set off the alarm, and would take preventative steps. You'd be wrong. We stood there, with the lights flashing and the sirens blaring, listening to that one singer. But then, as if inspired by the Divine Himself, our cantor kicked it up a notch from "lame" to "Divine Champion and Herald of Christ's Resurrection." With a nod from the Bishop, he got louder, more self-assured, and infinitely more passionate in his singing. He challenged that fire alarm as if it were Lucifer and he was Piers Plowman, fighting at the Tree of Life. And he won out. Of course, to acknowledge his victory and the ever-present power of Christ, the alarm shut off right when the entire congregation came together for the "Amen." (For you non-Catholics out there, this was after about seven minutes of solo song.) It was as if God truly blessed our mass and silenced our opposition.

From there, the mass itself was much more well-constructed than last year. It was as if the Bishop had read my blog and responded to my critique. The trilling was present, but much less noticeable. The homily was not heretical, nor was it completely tied in with the bashing of the gays and the abortionists, as is his usual idiom. There was a fair amount of generic social critique, but nothing that raised my ire as a free-thinking libertarian ensconsed in a world of crazy liberal academics.

There were only two other main points worthy of notice throughout, as the bishop kept things to a sane 2.5 hours. First, while I acknowledge that it may be part of the ceremony to bless the cross with the incense, I could not help but imagining the Bishop going around and saying, a la Cool Hand Luke, "Holying up the cross here, boss." I nearly lost it when that popped randomly in my head, and stared at my feet resolutely for a minute after the fact. Though I do think that kind of speech would really bring the ceremony home to the common man. "Holying up the bread here, boss." "Transubstantiating the Eucharist here, boss." "Washing my hands here, boss." Etc.

Second, during the baptismal, it is customary for the Bishop to move throughout the church, scattering holy water onto the congregation. Our bishop. though, has not a mitre that holds water, as at my old church, but what is best described as a bundle of reeds tied together, soaked in water. This bundle manages to hurl large quantities of water out over the crowd in large droplets, and this year the Bishop seemed to take a kind of manic glee in aiming directly for the faces of small children. It looked like an insane Santa Claus bringing gifts, except instead of presents, you got a faceful of water flung in extreme violence. I myself caught the full brunt of one such toss, which nearly drove one of my contact lenses out of my eye. Though my eye did feel very holy afterwards.

That was pretty much it. Not as eventful or mirthful as last year, granted, but still full of its own unique brand of charm. I'll stop here, as my student should be here any moment, and leave you with my yearly Easter condemnation of the Hebraic people. That means you, McJew. See what happens when you mess with the Son of God? You're just lucky Jesus didn't bust out his mad vampire-slaying kung fu. Alleluia, bitch. (God, I'm going to Hell, aren't I?)

Blog! The Musical

2007-04-07T17:05:00.000-05:00

After a very lengthy hiatus, I'm back to hit the ground running. Shortly, I plan to post about my recent trip to New York and chronicle the hilarity that ensued. But first, I must fulfill SpeakMemory's request and compile a list of musicals I find awesome. (As a side note, I'm looking for a nickname for her and Renaissance Man's newborn child. My question, to the more literarily-inclined of my brethren and sistren, is which author would you have if you combined Spenser and Nabokov?)

Ok, please note, this list is in no particular order, nor is it exhaustive. It's merely my impressions of shows that people should see, if they get the chance. Also, please note my own bias. I'm aware that there are many older musicals that people consider good. I just don't like them as much. Particularly of the era of Rogers and Hammerstein, whom I acknowledge as innovative for their time, but who don't particularly do anything for me. Also, please note I'm trying to stick to stage musicals here, thus excluding both older fare like the Fred Astaire movies as well as newer things like Disney musicals or Moulin Rouge.

Musicals that are Awesome

1. Anything by Sondheim. You really can't go wrong with the man, but I'll list here two that I've actually seen and enjoyed multiple times.

1a. Into the Woods: This fractured fairy-tale, as penned by the brilliant Stephen Sondheim, tells the combined stories of Cinderella, Jack and the Beanstalk, Little Red Riding Hood, Rapunzel, and various other stock characters in more supporting roles. It centers around the quest of a Baker and his wife to have a child, and weaves between all the traditional stories, so that all are happily ever after by the end of the first act. Then, everything goes to hell. It's a profoundly beautiful piece of work that deals with storytelling, childhood and adulthood, magic beans, runaway cows, and all the issues of modern life. Probably my favorite musical of all time, and my favorite show I was ever a part of.

1b. Assassins: My second Sondheim choice, this play tells the stories of the successful and failed presidential assassins of our time. It questions the nature of what makes an assassin an important figure, the power we read into them through a historical lens, and the motivations of figures we might dismiss as merely crazy. "The Ballad of Booth" is a singularly strong piece, as is "The Gun Song," a four-part harmony, sung at times without instrumentation, that requires perfect timing and tone. Also of note is "Unworthy of Your Love," a duet between the guy who shot Reagan for Jodie Foster and the girl who tried to kill Ford for the love of Charles Manson.

2. The Fantasticks: A particularly simple and stirring play. Boy meets girl. Boy and girl fall in love, in spite of fathers' feud. Fathers actually staging feud to make boy and girl fall in love. Fathers hire man to rape daughter so that son may save her and end feud. Wackiness ensues. Feud ends. And, in act 2, all again goes to hell. This play is beautiful for its simplicity, for its earnestness, and for the openness of emotion that it isn't afraid to deal with. It examines the nature of growth, the necessity of pain, and the foundations of a lasting love. It's one of the most moving love stories I've ever seen set to song. But please avoid the film version, which is soul-suckingly bad.

3. A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum: The single funniest show I've ever seen (well, been in, technically). It's laugh out loud funny. Seriously, words cannot describe how funny this show is. See it.

4. Man of La Mancha: I love this show because it's different from anything else I've seen. The Spanish flair they bring to the tale sets it apart musically in a way I haven't seen duplicated elsewhere. And you can't listen to "The Impossible Dream" without feeling stirred in some way. Plus, it appeals to all the literary junkies out there, though the actual tale has very little to do with Don Quixote the novel.

5. Pippin: Pippin has some catchy songs, an interesting ending twist, and loads of fun. But really, you see it because of all the Fosse choreography. It's stylistic and slick, sensuous and seductive, and there are pyrotechnics in the end.

6. Wicked: Say what you will about Wicked. I can see why some people might have problems with the music. Or the dialogue. Or whatever. It's still one hell of a spectacle, which is half of what a good musical should be. I personally enjoy it, and think that when it's strong, it's insanely strong. The closing number of the first act ("Defying Gravity") alone overcomes most of the detriments of the show.

7a. and 7b. Andrew Lloyd Weber has precisely two good musicals in my mind. Jesus Christ Superstar and Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat. Superstar has a very distinct sound, and the rock elements of it make up in many ways for Weber's usual shortcoming, that almost all songs are variations on one another. I've seen it multiple times, and enjoyed it every time. Also, the roles of Jesus and Judas are a dream come true for a high tenor. Joseph, in turn, is just fun. You can't not smile while listening to it. It invites you to not have a care in the world while you're watching the show, and it succeeds more often than it fails. Like Fantasticks, it's a simplistic show, and gains strength from that.

Musicals that are Not Quite as Awesome, But Still Worth Seeing

1a. &1b. Les Miserables and Miss Saigon. By the same pair, whose names I don't have in front of me. These shows are constantly hyped, and musical snobs will often disdain them as being too popular (and thus not good). I can see this criticism, and I recognize that there are truly awful parts to them (the choreography of "One Day More" in particular comes to mind). But I've enjoyed them both times I've seen them, and I still occasionally listen to the music. Worth checking out.

2. 1776: John Adams was apparently a badass. And Thomas Jefferson? Nearly didn't write the Declaration of Independence because he was getting it on with Mrs. J. And there's a really cool song where the southern representative accuses the north's complicity in the slave trade. Only seen it once, and I don't have any of the music, but I remember really liking it.

3. Little Shop of Horrors: It's fun, what can I say? Check it out.

4. Rent: I love this musical every time I see it, and I'm torn as to whether or not to put it into the "Awesome" category. But it loses points for being too trendy, a bit too simplistic, and for a truly atrocious movie version. Again, see the snob category. But if you get a chance to see it with a decent cast, definitely do so.

5. Songs for a New World: This doesn't make the "Awesome" list just because it doesn't really have a plot. Or any cohesion. It's more of a collection of songs than a musical. That being said, the songs themselves are entertaining, energetic, and at times very moving. Give it a listen and see if you don't agree.

6. Godspell: I've been in this show twice, and seen it twice more. It's campy, good clean fun. The songs are nice, energetic, and occasionally beautiful. But avoid the movie version, which drains all the fun out of it.

Musicals I've Never Seen, But Whose Music I Enjoy

1. Avenue Q: Told by puppets, it's as if the muppets grew up and lived in New York. The opening number is entitled "What Do You Do With a B.A. in English?" and goes on to meditate upon whose life sucks the most. Also includes such numbers as "The Internet is for Porn," "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist," and "Schadenfreude." Also very stirring are "I Wish I Could Go Back to College" and my personal favorite "There's a Fine, Fine Line." Never seen it, hear it's awesome, and I love the songs.

2. Children of Eden: I still am upset that I didn't see this when it was done at Northwestern. The first act tells the story of the creation of the world, of Adam and Eve, up to the death of Abel and the banishment of Cain. The second act tells the story of Noah and the flood. It deals with fatherhood, children, and the price of freedom and creation. I love the music, and highly recommend it.

3. A New Brain: By the same man who brought us March of the Falsettos and Spelling Bee (I think), it's a musical about a neurotic songwriter who has to have brain surgery. (Also largely autobiographical, so I'm told.) The music is fresh and innovative, and the interplay of "Heart and Music" is particularly intriguing. Probably highest on my "check these out" list whenever I get a chance.

4. Cabaret: I tried to see this when it came to NU, but it was sold out every time I went. Cabaret singers, Nazis, what more do you want?

5. Ragtime: I've never seen it, but I have all the music memorized. I acknowledge the critique that there is very little actual ragtime music in it, but it's very stirring in its own way. Of course, part of that may be coming from my love of the source material, despite the fact that the musical ends on a much happier note.

6. Hairspray: I've only heard a few songs from this, but they were all pretty cool. Not cool enough to make me buy the soundtrack, but enough to make me anticipate the forthcoming movie. Of particular note is the closing number "You Can't Stop the Beat," which is just hands down a great way to end a show.

And with that, I end my lists. I'm sure there are some I'm forgetting, but c'est la vie. True aficionadoes out there will note that my list is somewhat mainstream. I apologize, but I don't get out to much theatre anymore, and most of what I saw at NU was bad dramatic theatre, not musical theatre. So I invite you to correct and augment my list via comments. Particularly those of you out there actually involved in the theatre industry.

Better to View in Hell, then Read in Heav'n

2007-03-06T19:02:00.000-06:00

I know I promised I'd blog about my favorite musicals next, but this is just too hilarious to pass up. (May require registration.)

I believe my favorite part is when the producer who is all keen about the film claims that the poem was written in old English (much like many 215 students, I imagine). Though he does echo my own sentiments upon reading the epic, desiring "less Adam and Eve and more about what's happening with the archangels." And I agree, that much nudity would be a problem for a major studio film. Though the speaker clearly demonstrates a flawed grasp of the poem as a whole, claiming there's a nudity "problem" in Eden. Any right-minded scholar could tell you that the nudity problem was only a concern after the Fall. Shame on you, Mr. Producer.

Of course, the glee I take from this article only increases when you look at who's attached already. The writer (or re-writer) has as his only credit at TV sci-fi movie called "Riverworld," and the director is best known for "The Exorcism of Emily Rose" and "Hellraiser: Inferno." Oh, and the original writer? His logic for making the film is as follows: "We figured someone’s going to make a movie of it someday, and it might as well be us." That's..... that's just awesome logic. I wholeheartedly support that logic.

Anyway, I'm going to take immense glee in showing this to all the Miltonists I know. It might actually make them cry. And, come opening day, I'll be there in the theatre with my Riverside Milton in hand, laughing uproariously. (Said Riverside Milton having been hollowed out to smuggle in bottles of alcohol.)

A Series of Ruminations to Defer Grading

2007-02-27T22:38:00.000-06:00

Long time, no post. And I'm grading papers, so still not a long one here.

First, in general. Has anyone ever really heard or used the word "embolden" before? I can't seem to get away from it now, as it has become a watchword in republican talks about the Iraq war. Not that I follow the war, but there was an "embolden" montage on the Daily Show, and I watch clips of it online instead of doing work. And I just now saw a news post that claimed a recent 60 Minutes show about military people petitioning against the war would also "embolden the enemy." Well, I don't care what your politics are. "Embolden" is a damn stupid word. You sound like a moron if you say it. It sounds like a made up word, even though it might very well be an actual word. But it's still moronic, and I die a little inside each time I hear it.

Second, aside. In our lecture last week, the professor asked the class what a firecrotch was, as he was discussing Lindsey Lohan. He honestly didn't know. I laughed and laughed.

Third, to my New York people. You keep saying something crazy went down this past month, and that stories are forthcoming, yet I see no stories. In fact, I'm convinced that nothing happened. You're all probably just staying sober and watching tv. I refuse to believe your vague, unsubstantiated reports. Give us stories, or admit your falsehood.

Fourth, to my Madison people. Are students stupider this semester? Mine sure are. I'm giving almost all of them horrible grades because of the absolutely stupid things they say in their papers. Who knows, maybe it will embolden them to do better? (See, it still sounds stupid.)

Fifth, to everyone not living in Wisconsin. We had us a blizzard this weekend, and it was awesome. Snow, thunder, lightning, and a trek to the bar amidst the first waves. Good times. Now, when I am an old and venerable professor, I can refer back to my memories of "The Great Blizzard of Aught Seven." And then whack people with my cane for not paying attention.

Ok, must go grade more. Next post, I'll offer SpeakMemory and her cohorts her requested list of my favorite musicals, which will hopefully spark responses from my more theatrically-inclined friends.

And don't forget, New York people, I'll be out there come March 30. I expect to be feted like royalty.

It's Like Living in a Cave

2007-02-13T13:13:00.000-06:00

My Tuesday has been crippled up to this point by a lack of electricity. You know, that stuff that powers my alarm clock. And my heat. And my hot water heater. And my microwave. And my lights. And my computer.

So basically, I overslept (luckily nothing I had to do today required a specific time deadline), I couldn't shower, couldn't make a hot breakfast (and yes, I do actually have ingredients here for such an endeavor), couldn't respond to those student e-mails I planned to, nor write my own that I had also planned, and couldn't really leave the comfort of my bed for fear of frostbite.

Power just came back on, so my day can begin. My brief foray into the pre-electrical age has only taught me how quickly I would die should technology ever fail us. A few more hours, and I would have been forced to burn my books for fuel. And then I would have tried to rig up a book-burning-driven generator to power my Xbox and my computer. Which would have led to hilarity, or the incineration of me.

So huzzah for Ben Franklin and all his heirs. Even that dastardly Thomas Edison who, as The Prestige has taught us, was a mean old man whose goons brought down the work of Nikola Tesla in the manner befitting a mafia don.

Still damn cold in here, though, so back under the covers I go.

Random Thoughts as I Wait for the Simpsons to Come On.

2007-02-05T17:20:00.000-06:00

Randomness first. Two phrases I uttered today that now strike me as somewhat ludicrous:

1. "He's the greatest rake ever." (Really only amusing because no one but an English grad student would ever put these words together in this order. Referring to Major Sanford from The Coquette.)

2. "Oh, it's only -6 below. That's not so bad." (When it's -16 with a -30 windchill as you leave in the morning, -6 seems like summertime. Until your eyes start to freeze. But hey, we got above 0 today! Take that, arctic wind!)

And the weirdness: In my apartment building, we have no mail drop box. We just leave mail on top of the row of boxes, and the mail-person takes it. I left a Netflix envelope there on Saturday, and I'm fairly certain one of my neighbors took it, ripped it open, watched the dvd, then resealed it and returned it this morning. The perfect crime! (It was The Descent, by the way, which is really awesome and worth seeing.)

And now, a brief post regarding economics. When my parents visited me last, while walking down State Street, we were accosted by men trying to sell the Socialist newspaper. My parents, being goodly God-fearing Republicans from the midwest, assumed these men were Communists, believed my entire city to be nothing but a hotbed of radical activism (partially true), and bemoaned that their innocent child shouldst be so corrupted by these influences. I didn't have the heart to mention to them that Marxism is one of the foundational ideologies of the field in which I study. I think my mother might have fainted.

But it occurred to me recently that the indoctrination against market capitalism began much earlier in my life. Indeed, one of the foundational texts of my youth presented perhaps the polar opposite of Marxist Socialism, while still inspiring children to imitate one of the greatest enemies of the Free Market. Ladies and gentlemen, how many of you are familiar with this figure?

You may know him as Scrooge McDuck, or Uncle Scrooge. But what few of us realized in our impressionable youths is that this Scottish feathered fiend, were he an actual person, would singlehandedly do more to cripple the economy of any nation-state than Marx or Lenin could dream of. Picture it: He lives in his palatial estate, hoarding riches away from the common man. This is all well and good, until you consider the fact that he does not, in turn, invest his vast wealth back into the market. Instead, he keeps it in a self-styled "money bin," a repository for his riches that serves as nothing more than a swimming pool. Those zillions of coins, rather than supporting new businesses, fostering loans and greater investment capital, or even earning basic interest, are instead stagnating atop a hill in the metropolis of Duckburg.

How dare you, Mr. McDuck. A successful free market hinges upon investment, the free exchange of capital, and so forth. And instead of allowing your money to circulate, you stash it away, withdrawing it from the market for your own private amusement, probably causing the economic collapse of several banks and perhaps even a small country or two. And we, as children, were asked to accept this economic criminality with a smile and a laugh, hoping and dreaming that some day we too could have enough money stashed away to swim in.

There you have it, folks. Indoctrination from youth. The Disney corporation teaching us to ignore the fundamental laws of Adam Smith Economics and help contribute to failing markets, depression, and economic chaos.

Next time, we shall turn to the much maligned adversaries of Mr. McDuck. Champions of the market and the redistribution of wealth.

You may know them as the Beagle Boys (and Mom). Criminals, yes. Inept, certainly. Proletariat economic warriors? Mayhaps.

New Semester, New Post

2007-01-26T13:25:00.000-06:00

So since several of my fellow members of the blogodrome have been criticizing my recent absence, I've decided to appease the masses with this brief office post. Sorry I haven't written much recently, but since it has been break, I haven't been doing all that much that is worth posting. But just this week I moved much further in the phases of life my parents have ingeniously set forth:

Phase 1: Buy XBox 360
Phase 2: Buy new 27" flatscreen tv
Phase 3: Buy new tv stand for said tv
Phase 1b: Get replacement 360 for broken one

That's as far as I've gotten thus far, but the path set forth before me is fairly clear:
Phase 4: Move to new, better apartment (possibly selling phases 1-3 to pay for said apartment)
Phase 5: Buy new sound system to go with new apartment for new tv
Phase 6: Find desirable mate and woo said mate with promise (lie) of financial stability, as evidenced by phases 1-5
Phase 7: Buy house to settle down with said desirable mate
Phase 8: Produce offspring to appease parents
Phase 9: Finish dissertation
(Phase 9 may be moved around to suit circumstances)

In other news, I taught my first discussion sections today. This is my first time teaching an English major course, and the students all seem very energetic, particularly for early Friday morning. In my second section, two fights broke out. One was over the merits or lack thereof of the musical Wicked (thus revealing who the theatre major snobs were) and the other was over the merits or lack thereof of Mean Girls. If they can get this passionate during introductions, I can't wait till we talk about actual literature. Cause there's nothing closer to an 18th century version of Mean Girls than The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin. Unless it's Clarissa. (I can totally see Lindsey Lohan as Clarissa, can't you?)

I gave my students the same questionnaire that I gave out last semester, with some interesting responses. I found out one of my students went to my high school. And another of them hopes to get out of my class an A, a greater appreciation of American Literature, and a girlfriend. And, as last semester, the ultimate showdown ended predictably. Of my 34 students, 21 believed Batman could take Samuel L. Jackson in a fight, whilst 10 felt badass Jackson could best the Dark Knight. One claimed indecision, one poor sod felt that Arnold Schwarzenegger as Mr. Freeze could take them both, and one pried deeper, inquiring as to Jackson's motivation for fighting the Bat in the first place. This Freud-in-training felt that if Jackson were fighting for his family, his children, or some greater cause, he could win, but if he were just fighting for his life, Batman would edge him out. Some of their more intriguing responses were:

-Several chose specifically George Clooney's Batman, as he was too sexy to lose.
-"...and I know that deep down Samuel L. Jackson is just a puff ball."
-Samuel L. Jackson lost points from several for appearing in Unbreakable.
-Batman apparently has superpowers (little did I know...)
-"Probably Frank Miller's Batman, 'cause he was hard." (I think I need to have a talk with this student about proper word usage.)
-One student felt Adam West would win out over all the others, and I admire him for his gumption.
-"Samuel L. Jackson -- total BAMF."
-"Sam L. Jackson, because I'm picturing it as a debate and he's a really smart man! *plus he's older and wiser."
-One student claimed Jackson in Pulp Fiction would win, but any other Jackson would lose.
-"Batman hesitates to actually kill his opponent. Samuel L. Jackson has no such qualms."

That's all I've got time for now, but I do promise to post more regularly now that school has started again. What else am I going to do, dissertate? Yeah, that's a laugh.

(Oh, and if you're on Xbox Live, my screen name is Doombear14. Add me if you want to play some Halo 2 or some Gears of War or...well, that's about all I own at this point.)

I am a Lemming

2007-01-09T03:21:00.000-06:00

Because everyone and their brother is posting movie lists from the past year, I'm firmly jumping on that bandwagon. I'm doing this primarily to rectify a few gross overlooks I see on others' lists, but also to show you some of the pure crap I've watched this year. So these aren't really in any order, but they're divided into two categories: drek and non-drek. Also, there are quite a few I'm leaving out, as others have commented on them to death, so I won't bore you unless I disagree with my colleagues Speakmemory and Captain Americanist.

Drek
BloodRayne: I saw this on video, so I was saved the $8, but that's not enough. Sweet Jesus did this movie blow. It was like someone had given an 8 year old with a vampire fetish a movie camera and a list of B-grade actors to play with. And why, Billy Zane, why? You were a cool dude, and knew what you were talking about! At best here you had snide contempt for the fact that you were getting paid to be in this worthless dung heap of a film.

Silent Hill: I saw this with the Joycean, and we had no idea what had happened when the movie was over. Then some random dude told us the video game was the same way. There was fire, and smoke....and demons.....and crazy fundy Protestants....and I don't know what else....

X-Men: The Last Stand: Basically they ruined the X-Men franchise and all the brilliance of X2, and then undercut all that in the last five minutes of the movie. As I have noted elsewhere, Ratner deserves to be kicked square in the nuts.

Superman Returns: Granted, I might not give this movie a fair shake. I was forced to see it at a drive-in with some friends from out of town, rather than on the UltraScreen in sweet sweet Dolby sound. My windshield was kinda dirty, and we were far away. And that little tinny speaker was no good. So I was a thoroughly irate Dubs by the time this picture started. Still, it seemed like he took the cool parts from the first Superman movie, and did them again. And it had Kumar, from Harold and Kumar. Only he didn't speak. But boy, Kevin Spacey sure did. A lot.

Clerks 2: I enjoyed this when I saw it with Nittany Lion, but looking back, I can't remember why. Maybe it just made me nostalgic for the Clerks cartoon series. "Who's driving?" "Oh, Bear's driving! How can this be?"

The Black Dahlia: See Speakmemory for all you need to know about this one. It was like two movies, neither of which made sense. And Harry Potter's aunt was in it as a raving nutjob. For some reason.

The Non-Drek (in somewhat increasing order of awesomeness)

Underworld: Evolution: This movie didn't so much have a plot as a lot of cool stuff. Which is all I really wanted from it. And Kate Beckinsale? That girl works out. Seriously. And it had Derek Jacobi, which makes it all the more awesome. He's the definitive film Hamlet, and here he was fighting with the hybrid vampire-werewolf. I love the world in which we live.

V for Vendetta: I enjoyed this movie, and I don't care that Natalie Portman was older than the little girl in the comic. But it lost me in that the Nazi-esque conservative state was too easy a villain to ever believe in. No matter how bad things get, when people look that much like Hitlerites, they're never gonna get power.

Crank: Loads of fun, and a strong showing for a summer action flick. I believe we agreed that it was like five college kids got really drunk and thought of everything that would be cool to have in a movie, then put it in a movie. If all you expect if Jason Statham running around a lot, killing, having sex, and otherwise getting into hilarious situations that involve his adrenaline, you'll go far with this film.

Snakes on a Plane: This was our pre-prelims movie. Yes, it could have been better. No, there was no real reason for the crime boss to know kung-fu (it was the loaded gun of the movie that never went off). But Sam Jackson was Sam Jackson. Again, all I wanted out of it.

Inside Man: Quite a solid heist film, with a nice manipulation of the formula. And it wasn't too Spike Lee to be enjoyed on levels beyond a Spike Lee movie. (See Captain Americanist for further discussion.)

Cars: Loved this movie, even if it basically wasa rehash of Toy Story and Toy Story 2 with cars. It was gorgeous to watch, and earnest without being cloyingly sappy (though there were overtly sentimental moments, it pulled them off in the way Pixar movies can). And, like all Pixar movies, it wasn't a bunch of dribble with the actors overshadowing the film (see the entire animated works of Robin Williams for counterexample).

Pirates of the Carribean 2: People give this film too much grief. Yes, it was too long. Yes, you didn't really need that first section. But it was freakin awesome the rest of the way. The Pirates movies seem to understand exactly what swashbuckling means, and throw it at you every step of the way. And lay off the stupid natives. It's a staple of the genre, so don't get all uppity-postmodern and say it's racist. Cause then you're just overthinking instead of acknowledging the homage to its precursors, from Errol Flynn to Herman Melville. So all you haters out there, just shut up and go watch your artsy fartsy documentaries.

The Good Shepherd: If you don't mind the fact that there's no real through-narrative, this movie becomes a fascinating character sketch. And despite the extremely superfluous Angelina Jolie, the movie works as a mix of suspense, tragedy, and inevitability that captures the Cold War quite intelligently. Worth checking out, as long as you resign yourself to the fact that it's long, and it damn well knows it.

Brick: I heard about this one after the fact, and recently caught it on video. It's a hard, tough film noir, set in a high school. Think Veronica Mars without any of the cute redeeming humor or nice guys. No one is nice here. It's like watching The Maltese Falcon with minors. And it completely works, from the noirspeak to the believable villans and situations. Cause only two kinds of people take themselves that seriously: criminals and high schoolers. If you're a fan of noir or of mysteries, you need to see this movie.

The Prestige: Far and away the best movie I saw this year. So good I saw it twice, which enhanced the experience. Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman, Batman and Wolverine, go at it as rival magicians in Victorian England. Michael Caine and Scarlett Johansson are in there too, but they don't count. Bale and Jackman give riveting performances, and the twists and turns of the story are fascinating to watch. What can I say, I loves me my Christopher Nolan movies. Oh, and it has David Bowie as Nikola Tesla. Seriously, I can't believe none of my friends have this on their lists. See it. It's awesome.

Others that were awesome but have been talked to death in the blogodrome:
Little Miss Sunshine (fun and Proust jokes)
Talladega Nights ("There's nothing more frightening then driving with a live goddamn cougar next to you.")
Stranger than Fiction (Anytime literature is in the movies, we all win.)
Casino Royale (great but with a too-long and disappointing ending)
Children of Men

Whodunit?

2007-01-08T15:48:00.000-06:00

Quick post now, as not much new to talk about.

During break, I like to read non-essential books. It frees my mind up and gives me things to peruse as I'm trying to fall asleep. At the moment, my mind turns to mystery novels. I've read all of Chandler and Hammet, and pretty much all the Christie I can take, so I'm looking for suggestions of new authors to start. What do you folk enjoy or recommend? And if it's a series, what book should I start with?

More amusing posts coming in the future, I promise. For now, take joy in the fact that I slept in till 3pm today.

A Dubs Family Christmas

2006-12-28T22:05:00.000-06:00

Christmas this year was quite the treat. I won't say much about Christmas eve, as I have described our family's rituals in detail already. It was quite enjoyable (roast beast, gifts, fire, etc.). Christmas day, however, was one of the more surreal holiday experiences of my life.

In St. Louis, my father has no relatives. My mother, on the other hand, has enough relatives to populate a small nation, and every holiday these relatives all converge upon some hapless sucker's home to celebrate the holiday with feasting and drinking. (Emphasis on the drinking. These people are of Polish-Irish descent, and they know how to have a good time.) Some highlights of this year's event include:

-Mistiming the turkeys on the grill, so that dinner was two hours late.
-Setting said turkeys on fire, unbeknownst to any of the partygoers, except...
-My father putting said turkey-fireballs out with his beer.
-The giant $10 jug of Carlo-Rossi.
-Filling the drinking chalice (giant glass bowl) with said Carlo-Rossi and passing it around the table, forcing people to chug whilst the others sang the Mexican Hat Dance song.
-Forcing my cousin's new boyfriend to chug twice, as he was "the new guy."
-Draining the chalice twice on my own to defend the honor of my scion of the family line.
-Celebrating another cousin's 16th birthday party with 22 candles on the cake.
-Sending other cousins out to buy a bottle of Bailey's, only to have them return instead with a bottle of Jagermeister.
-Watching the tivo'd porn in between plays of the football game with my cousin standing guard over the stairs to make sure his young children did not stumble in.
-The slightly uncomfortable period where my brother explained the plot of the porn to me, while his girlfriend helped fill in details (they apparently had seen it before).
-The very surreal experience of eating mashed potatoes, stuffing, and ham (as noted, the turkey was late).

All in all, one of our more enjoyable Christmases. We left at the appropriate time (before the music started to blast for two hours), and I managed not to get drunk, opting instead for "kinda sick" due, no doubt, to the aforementioned chugging of Carlo-Rossi.

Saturday I return to Madison, and not a moment too soon. I adore my parents and enjoy spending time with them, but my God, I need to leave this house before I murder them in their sleep. I believe my mother has brought up no less than 30 times the fact that some day I'll be able to have these fun family experiences with my own children, and I have been told by at least four of my relatives that I need to "find some nice girl and settle down somewhere."

To rectify this tension and questioning of my life choices, I've decided to have wacky Madison fun on New Year's Eve. I don't know what it is yet, but I'm open to suggestions. Whatever it is, it has to top last year's sword brandy (which won't be hard, except in terms of sheer absurdity). So Madison folk, I take it upon you to come up with hilarity and debauchery to ring in 2007. Keep me posted.

Note to Self: Never Live Like That Again

2006-12-22T22:20:00.000-06:00

Ok, so the last few weeks have been rather hellish.

Two weeks back, I could see everything was coming to a head. I had a 15 page research paper due that I had barely worked on at all (on the research level, not even starting the writing), and I had 52 papers to grade. I had planned to write the paper by Tuesday the 12th, then take the rest of the week to grade the papers.

Instead, I discovered that I could find episodes of Scrubs available online. So, in the time between Friday the 8th and Tuesday the 12th, I managed to watch all five seasons of the show. It was pretty sad, actually. Since each episode is only 22 minutes long, I would justify to myself that I could afford to watch one more. Then, as time ran on, I would say that I would get more work done if I only got to the end of a season. Well, it kinda worked. Once I had watched every episode of every season, I did feel like I could get more work done.

Unfortunately, by that time it was Wednesday evening, and I was just getting home from a Writing Center shift. So, in the hours between 11:00pm Wednesday and 1:30pm Thursday, I managed to write a 15 page paper, complete with research. The requirements consisted of 3 giant cans of Monster energy drink, a bag of pretzel rods, a half of a leftover pizza, and a cast-iron stomach that helped me fight the urge to constantly regurgitate the junk I was putting into it. Sorry, stomach. I promise to make amends with sweet purifying alcohol over break.

Following that, I had about 30 papers left to grade by the next day (Friday). Which I did, finishing the last one between discussion sections that afternoon. Again, Monster energy drinks, pretzel rods, and lack of sleep. My mood that Friday afternoon was best described as "jittery," or more accurately described as "bat-shit insane." But then came the office holiday party and sweet sweet alcohol, and even sweeter sleep.

All in all, that week I got about 12 hours of sleep between Tuesday and Friday, with no stretch longer than three hours. I also didn't eat an actual meal for about three days in there. All because I had to watch Scrubs. Blessedly, the addiction is passed, as I am caught up and the actual show is on opposite both Grey's Anatomy and Supernatural, so I can't even tape it. C'est la vie.

So the next week passed relatively benignly. I took my journalism final (done in 22 minutes), administered and graded my own students' finals, and discovered that I can also find episodes of Battlestar Galactica online, which I have now begun to watch in earnest. It's quite awesome, and I highly recommend it.

I now am home, having driven through fog and thunderstorm (seriously, a thunderstorm in Illinois on the first day of winter. What the hell?). I discovered moments ago that I passed both of my courses with flying colors, and thus I am forever finished with taking classes. EVER. NO MORE CLASSES. If I weren't so exhausted, I'd probably do a little dance. Next semester I can actually start work on my dissertation proposal, and live the sweet life that I've only dreamed about. (If it isn't in fact sweet, don't tell me. Let me have my dream a while longer.) And since I won't likely blog anymore before Christmas, some holiday shout-outs:

Madison People: You guys rock, and you kept me sane this semester, despite my clear hatred and contempt for the things I was doing. Those of you who will be there for New Year's Eve, we must do something completely insane. And actual insane, not grad school insane. Board games and wine do not count as insane.

Specifically amongst the Madison peeps (though mention here is not a slight against you):
T.: Thanks for the CDs. Made the drive so enjoyable, though I did nearly wreck my car I was laughing so hard at "6 to 8 Black Men." (For the rest of you, this is not racist. It involves mockery of the Dutch yuletide mythology.)
Officemates: Ours is the best office ever, even if you two are so smugly further in your dissertation process than I am (yes, I'm looking at you Red Headed Stepchild).
Puncher: Sorry no dumplings before I left. But you'll be there for New Year's, right?
Captain Americanist: I'm sad I'm no longer your TA. My new instructor might actually hold me accountable for things. And he damn sure won't let me intimidate the newbies like you did.
Hillbilly and CryptoJew: Sorry I won't be there to hear the fourth lesson of Advent with you. Though I looked ahead, and I believe that it's actually "Screw this patience thing. You have to go to mass again later tonight. Cause Jesus, he's a'coming."
TGD (I dislike your old nickname and need a new one): We must begin our drinking early next year, if I am to be in prime condition in April when I visit my:

New York Friends: That's right, I'm coming out there in early April, and staying a little under a week. We must get drunk and do crazy things. I won't rest until Quantum has actually either assaulted a celebrity or been arrested for rigging an election. Or both.

McJew: Stop the pretentious song posts. I hadn't heard of one of those damn songs. And if you think you've got it bad as a teacher, well, you do. Cause Michigan sucks. (I find alcohol and Scrubs viewings will help dull the pain of grading.)

Nittany Lion: I'm not certain, but I believe my friend Quantum left me a voicemail saying he got Joe Paterno so drunk he may die. You may want to check. And come back to Madison soon. I can't seem to win at poker while you're gone.

Sergio: Loved the Scrubs-related Charlie Brown Christmas link. Call me if you're home for the holiday.

Other Northwestern Friends: Do you know how I can get NU to stop asking me for money? I can't support them and my coke habit, now can I? Go Cats!

Random other folk who read this blog: Who are you? Why are you spying on me? Are you the people I see out in the shrubs every alternate Tuesday at 7:45pm? (Except for L.A. Girl. You're cool, even if you don't like Heroes. If you get a chance, punch Brett Ratner in the balls for me.)

The person from the UK who is viewing my blog for some reason: Happy Boxing Day.

I began this month's posts admitting what a sucker I am for Christmas and all it means, in an un-ironic way. So Merry Christmas to you all, even if I forgot to mention you here by name. I wish you nothing but the best for the holiday season, and I hope the new year finds you happy and prosperous, or at least content with your poverty (i.e. an academic or a drunk).

Quickie at the Office

2006-12-14T11:10:00.000-06:00

Even bad cookies are good with lots of icing.

So I've got a stomach full of Monster energy drinks and bad cookies with icing. Working on 2 hours sleep. I have 11 pages of a 15 page paper, and I plan to finish before my 2:30 class. Then I have to grade 32 5-6 page essays by Friday at noon.

Will update more later.

(Oh, and on an episode of Scrubs I just saw, it actually was lupis. For all you House fans out there.)

God Bless Us, Everyone

2006-12-04T22:01:00.000-06:00

How many versions of "A Christmas Carol" are out there, do you think? As I begin to tabulate part two of my Christmas blogging (thanks for the massive response on the first post), it occurs to me that two of my entries are variations on that theme (though oddly none of them are traditional tellings of that tale). Do you think the British find it amusing that the dominant American narrative of Christmastime is one that makes us all nostalgic for a Victorian-era London? Lousy snobbish Brits, I guess so. Wouldn't put it past 'em. So here, with a bit more ado, is my companion piece, on the truly great holiday movies and tv specials.

First, a bit of background. In my family, there are really two big moments of Yuletide cheer: the day after Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve. On the day after Thanksgiving, we chop down our Christmas tree and sing a rousing chorus of "Oh Christmas Tree" over it's fallen husk. Of course, we don't know the words (well, they don't. Being the authority on carols [see previous post] I know it in both English and German), so our version goes something like this:

Oh Christmas tree
Oh Christmas tree!
Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree.
Oh Christmas tree! Oh Christmas tree!
Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree!
Oh Christmas tree,
Oh Christmas tree!
Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree!

Then my brother and I drag the tree back to the road, while singing the monkey guard chant from The Wizard of Oz, and the tractor comes and takes it back to the parking lot.

As to Christmas Eve, we all gather together for dinner. My father, since his two children went away to college, has rediscovered a love of and talent for cooking quite excellent meals, and so every December 24th he strives to outdo himself. Last year involved a Crown Roast (or roast beast, as I called it), roasted potatoes, squash and carrots, asparagus tips in a creamy butter sauce, followed by a key lime pie (my mother's contribution which, while not exactly Christmasy, was nonetheless excellent). Following the great feast, we kick back for drinks and watch our traditional holiday fare, which consists of three parts:

1. The somewhat serious: "A Charlie Brown Christmas". This, while funny of course, still strives to have some kind of heartfelt sentiment about it, and so we appreciate it as such (of course with a healthy dose of irony alongside it, as my brother and I together are the most irreverant pair in the world). Besides, nothing is cooler than that kid who dances by putting his arms out in front of him and walking in place, like some crazy Frankenstein's monster celebrating the birth of a God who came to save everyone but him (as he is an unnatural creation). That and Snoopy doing all the farm animal noises. Love that.

2. The really funny: "A Garfield Christmas". This is ironic humor at its finest, as Garfield, Jon, and Odie go to Jon's parents' farm for Christmas, and Garfield learns to put aside his sarcasm to celebrate the holiday. Includes the wonderful opening song "Gimmie Gimmie Gimmie", as well as Garfield's lines "Things, stuff, boxes, greed, avarice, I love it. Now this is what Christmas is all about!", and a fair amount of hokey songs, all of which we sing along with. Granted, we've got a few drinks in us at this point, but we think we're the funniest people on earth. It's an odd mix of ironic amusement and actual nostalgia.

3. The truly absurd: "Mr. Willowby's Christmas Tree". I'm fairly certain we're the only people in the world who watch this. One year, after taping Charlie Brown, my brother came running downstairs and told me to start recording again. The result: Mr. Willowby. The story follows three mice, a father, son, and daughter, on a quest to get the perfect Christmas tree. In this endeavor, they encounter humans (guest stars Leslie Nielson, Stockard Channing, and Robert Downey Jr. as Mr. Willowby), bears, and owls, each of whom wants a Christmas tree, and takes theirs, only to find out it is too tall. Each person cuts off the top and "throws it away," only to have it recovered by the next pair, until finally it is a perfect mouse-size. And all of this is narrated by Kermit the Frog.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Yes, this sounds like the most moronic thing ever. And you're right. It is. It's absurd beyond the dreams of Beckett. There are faceless lumberjacks who bring the tree to Willowby Manor (singing "We tromp and crash through ice and snow, we're lumberjacks that's all we know. We cut and chop and saw and hack, the perfect tree we whack whack whack"). Willowby himself is quite possibly insane, saying things like ""WHERE on earth on this most Christmassy of Christmases can my arboretum arbor vitae BE?", "Oh, what a categorical impartation of absolute smartitude!", and other things that make you wonder just how high Downey was at the time. Leslie Nielson, his butler Baxter, is stuffy and stodgy, and wears at one point a wreath of candles on his head. Channing, "poor Miss Adelade," the upstairs maid, is lonely for her far off home in Sweden (home of the horrible Swedish accent that sounds vaguely Transylvanian), but finds romance with Baxter as they dance together (when she asks where he learned to dance, he replies "Madam, have you ever been to Buenos Aires?"). The bears dance. The owls sing. And the mouse father maintains steadfastly throughout that he knows exactly what he is doing (much like our own father would in times of trouble).

All in all, it's an excercise in absurdity. It makes no sense, there's no real tension, or plot for that matter. And we eat it up. We sing every song. We recite the lines along with it. And we quote it after it's done. The men of the Dubs household all go nuts, whilst our dear mater looks on askance. And I'm fairly certain my brother's girlfriend seriously considered our sanity and her relationship with my dear frere after seeing that little display.

After this comes presents and midnight mass, followed by more drinking and me generally reading by the fire whilst my parents fall asleep. I'm not one to waste a good fire, and I generally try to read something Christmasy (mayhap a bit of Dickens' old tale). So that's our Christmas Eve, used solely as an excuse to list the three main televised specials that top my list. Two others to consider are:

-"Muppet Family Christmas". The muppet gang goes to Fozzie's mother's farm, and everyone is there, including the Sesame Street Gang and the Fraggles. The Swedish chef attempts to cook Big Bird. Fozzie does vaudville with a snowman. and Miss Piggy tries to fight her way through a blizzard. It's awesome, and I suggest you see it.

-"A Claymation Christmas". If you can ever find this one, let me know. It had the California Raisins, an endless debate about what it means to "Wassail", ice skating walruses that terrorize penguins to the tune of "Angels We Have Heard on High," and the best "Carol of the Bells" ever, with one clueless bell who could never remember to ring himself. They stopped showing this one years ago, but I still remember it fondly.

As to movies, I highly recommend and watch every year:

-A Muppet Christmas Carol. Perhaps my favorite rendition of the tale, featuring Gonzo the Great as Charles Dickens (and Rizzo the Rat as his narrator sidekick, who gets off such great lines as "Hoity-toity, Mr. Godlike Smartypants" in response to Dickens' omniscience in his own tale). Michael Caine is a wonderful Scrooge, the songs are fun, and the metafictional possibilities are excellent.

-Scrooged. The second retelling of "A Christmas Carol," featuring Bill Murray as an evil tv executive. Opens with a trailer for the program "The Night the Reindeer Died," where Lee Majors seeks aid fighting terrorists from Santa Claus. And it just gets better from there. No one does evil and sardonic like Murray. And I always laugh when the Ghost of Christmas Present hits him with that toaster.

-Miracle on 34th Street (the original, not the bastardized remake). Santa Claus makes a mockery of the legal system, and we celebrate him for it. The Post Office commits a federal offense, and we love it. And Fred Mertz from "I Love Lucy" plays a savvy political advisor. How can you not adore this movie? It's a classic, and I defy you to say differently.

-Holiday Inn. Bing Crosby, Fred Astaire, and various women who dance and sing around them. You get to laugh at Bing trying to dance. And while technically it's a year-long movie, not just a Christmas one, the featured song is "White Christmas," and it opens and closes with Christmas, so we watch it at Christmas. Deal.

-Love Actually. One of my new favorite Christmas movies. It's a romantic comedy that isn't sappy or overly contrived. Just loads of fun. Bill Nighy as a crazy rock star, Hugh Grant as Prime Minister, and Alan Rickman as Alan Rickman. Oh, and Colin Firth speaking Portuguese is the single greatest moment of subtitles ever utilized in a film. This one is particularly fun because it makes explicit the link between romance and Christmastime, which most movies just hint at as they discuss the worth of man, the childlike spirit of Christmas, blah blah blah. And it's got a killer soundtrack, excellently utilized in the film (where I first discovered Norah Jones' "Turn Me On," perhaps the most sensual song ever).

-Home Alone 2. Going out on a limb here and supporting the sequal over the original. Yes, it's mostly the same jokes. But this one has Tim Curry. And it isn't quite so vulgarly stupid as the first one. At any rate, this is the one I was raised on, so I appreciate it more.

-The Bishop's Wife. Cary Grant plays an angel who teaches David Niven to appreciate life by stealing his wife. Nothing else to say about that one.

-Die Hard. Best "Ode to Joy" ever. And again, Alan Rickman.

I'm sure there are others, but this post is already too long. Also, I'm sure people are going to criticize me for not including Christmas Vacation or A Christmas Story. Well, I hate the Vacation movies as a series, so I've never seen the Christmas one. And A Christmas Story is just stupid. Plus, TBS shows it 12 times on Christmas Eve, which makes me hate it even more.

So Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and God Bless Us, everyone. Except the Jews, who killed my savior. (Just kidding, love ya McJew.)

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

2006-11-27T22:17:00.000-06:00

Thanksgiving has come and gone, and I won't say that much about it. My family was fun in that awkward and uncomfortable way that families are. My brother and his girlfriend, while not engaged per se, are talking about choosing engagement rings, and what they might name their firstborn child. This is all well and good, but it led to the inevitable hints that my mother is quite concerned that I haven't found a nice girl to settle down with and raise a family. This is particularly fun around the holidays, as every event becomes a prompt for "Just think, some day you'll be doing this with your own kids." Though this did reveal some confusion my mother seems to have about my future, as she seems to think a professorship at a small midwestern college will involve me owning land, riding a tractor, and planting crops (winter wheat, my father contributed with a wry smirk). I could have disabused her of these notions, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. Instead I fled back to my Madisonian Fortress of Solitude and sought catharsis through blogging.

Anyway, as I said, Thanksgiving is come and gone, and now I am free to revel in my own secret obsession: Christmastime. It's hard to decorate and show it outwardly when you live alone in a pit that isn't appropriate for parties, but inwardly, I'm a Christmas nut. Love it. Adore it. I completely buy in to all the sappy, sentimental drek that I am so content to mock the rest of the year. Part of it, of course, is the extreme hubris that comes when your faith has made the entire world recognize the birth of its savior as a holiday (whether or not they worship it themselves). In fact, I still take great joy that we seized the season from both Haunakkah and the pagan rituals of the Winter Solstice (take that, druids).

But mainly, it's because of Christmas Carols. Those who know me understand my deep affiliation with the musical aspects of life, and carols are the most freakish and unmanly manifestation of that inner connection. Let's face it, most Christmas carols, particularly most modern carols, are overly sentimental, full of cliches, and no self-respecting cynic would ever enjoy them. We all know that the drivel in Christmas songs is stuff and nonsense, pretty words to say or sing once or twice a year, then ignore. Yeah, that may be true. But I say humbug to that claim, all the same. Give me my carols, let me sing along, and I'll be happy for the entire month of December. (My car radio, tuned constantly to 107.3's Festival of Lights, a month of carols. I'm not ashamed.)

And, oddly enough, I enjoy many of the more "contemporary" carols. While I can appreciate the old Bing Crosby-esque era of carols, the more traditional renditions, I heard (and sang in choir) these songs so often, now I gravitate more toward less conventional fare. Of course, this does not excuse the majority of modern renditions, which are simply American Idol-ized versions of older carols, where the singer simply sings the song more slowly and with more warbling in his or her voice. But there are a lot of songs I just adore that are fairly recent. For example, that song from Polar Express, by the guy who sings songs about Jesus but the radio station pretends they aren't about Jesus so they can get prime time air play. It's a really stupid song. Full of stupid cliches about belief and heart's wishes and nonsense. And I'll listen to it every time it's on the radio.

So, to ring in the Christmas season, here's a selection of my prime Christmas playlist, including both favorites and banned songs:

Good, both traditional and more recent:

"God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen" by Barenaked Ladies. It's fun and swingy and has Sarah McLachlan in it. How can you go wrong?

"It Came Upon a Midnight Clear" by Sixpence None the Richer. Same style as "God Rest Ye," and enjoyable for the same reason. A nice revision (note the word revision, not just slowing down) of a great song.

"O Holy Night" by N'Sync. Yes, everyone and their mother has covered this song. But I choose this arrangement because 1. It isn't American Idol-ized, unlike practically every other version out there. 2. It's got kickass harmonies in it, including a killer tenor track. 3. My college a cappella group sang it when we used to carol in the sorority quads. Gotta love it.

"Where Are You, Christmas?" by Faith Hill, from How the Grinch Stole Christmas. This is one of those songs I realize is bunk, overly sentimental clap trap. I don't care. I love it. I'm not too proud to admit it.

"New York Christmas" by Matchbox 20. This song is only ok, but it got me through some tough times. My first Christmas out of college, I was working at RadioShack. My second week there, I spent 8 hours at a time locked in an empty store, tearing things down, as the store had just changed locations. It was my job to take the old store apart and throw it away, all alone. It was just me, a mess, and a radio, and this song was one of the few Christmas carols they would play that was different enough for me to appreciate.

"All I Want for Christmas is You" by Mariah Carey. First off, this song is just fun. I defy you to say otherwise. Second, it has cultural value for the awesome role it played in Love Actually (see my next post, on top Christmas movies, for further elucidation).

"Carol of the Bells". We did a killer arrangement of this song in college, where we transitioned from the end of it into the beginning of an a cappella version of "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch." Really was quite badass.

"All Alone on Christmas". Not sure who the original artist is, but it's used quite effectively in the Home Alone movies and, again, Love Actually. It's kinda sad but with a driving beat nonetheless, and makes my list because it is unique and fun.

"The Christmas Song" by Nat King Cole. Only version of this song I'll listen to (well, except for a brief fascination with the New Kids on the Block version as a youth). A traditional song for the traditionalists out there.

"Happy Christmas (War is Over)" by John Lennon. I never heard this song until I was a senior in college, and loved it. It's different from practically every other carol out there, so props for that. And damn, the man was a Beatle.

"Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas". I love almost any version of this song. It's fairly indicative of my preference for the slower, sentimental carol. Which, again, doesn't give me many points in the manly department, but screw it.

"I'll Be Home For Christmas". See the previous entry. Also, very resonant during the year of RadioShack, when I thought I wouldn't make it home for the holiday. Had to threaten to quit the store entirely before they let me off for the holidays.

There's a lot more I could add to this list, but I'll spare you. Feel free to comment with your own selections, and I'll see if they make the playlist.

Bad:

"O Holy Night". Practically every other version. Seriously, singing it more slowly and soulfully is not an improvement.

"Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time". I hate this song. God, how I hate this song.

"Little Drummer Boy". Worst. Song. Ever. Pa rum pa pum pum. Smack you upside the head with your lousy drum. Biznitch.

"Santa Baby". No, it isn't cute. It's annoying. Deal.

Can't think of others at the moment, but they're out there.

No child has ever meddled with the Republican Party and Lived to Tell About It

2006-11-07T16:22:00.000-06:00

"Your liberal conscience may force you to vote democratic, but deep down you long for a cold-hearted Republican to lower taxes, brutalize criminals, and rule you like a king!" - Sideshow Bob

So today was election day in Madison (unlike the rest of the country, or so I seem to imply). As a member of an extremely liberal profession living in an extremely liberal city, it's sometimes very awkward or downright off-putting to be a Republican, as people make all sorts of assumptions about your personal views, your choices on key issues, and your frequent deals with Satan. Plus, when I tell my parents that I'm voting against the Grande Olde Partie on some key issues, they of course blame my choices upon some kind of "liberal infection" that I get from living in Madison, where *gasp* Communists roam the streets handing out newspapers, where no one likes the president, and where we'd all ride the country into an immoral hell-hole if we had our way (not that my parents care predominantly about the moral issues, for while they are both stalwart Papists, they are far more concerned with their economic focus on my father's continued employment within the aerospace industry, a place that does particularly well under Republican rule for some reason). So basically, I often get mocked by all sides, to the point where sometimes I just dream of turning all of Wisconsin into a nature preserve where my friends and I can hunt the most dangerous game of all, Man.

Like I said, I'm a republican that way.

But way back at the get-go, I swore this blog would not be about politics, so it won't be. I just don't have that much else to say about other things with any kind of coherence, so here's a lot of random stuff since I haven't posted in a while:

First, as to the story T. mentions in the previous comments, here's the short version. We were having our monthly Writing Center training meeting, discussing a scenario where someone had written a paper against reparations for slavery, which was for some reason abhorrent to the instructor. Already, I'm on bad footing here, as I myself am against reparations by that concept (Republican, remember?). But then the conversation devolves, as I could have told you it would long before, into a moral quandry of academic b.s. where we discuss what role we have in changing this person's paper and mind, to transform them from a redneck racist to a kind, all-loving liberal, just like us. There were several of us, however, who felt that to change the paper would be a disservice to our profession, as we always strive to make people's writing better, not writing their papers for them or telling them what to think. So I raised the issue by claiming that we wouldn't even consider changing the paper that drastically if it weren't a "hot button" topic like race. And, in my brilliant inventiveness that has already earned me multiple degrees, the best example I could come up with was: "What if, for instance, they were writing a paper on....the testing of 12-14 year olds....in the field of....umm....Molecular Biology?" Or some nonsense like that. Sadly, my own ire at the exploitation of our early teen scientists in the laboratories of the mad did not accurately convey itself to the rest of the group, who immediately continued their academic circle jerk, wasting my time when I could have been drinking. Or plotting raids on mad scientists. Or both. Luckily, that night led to about seven hours of drinking and drunken Halo.

I'll admit, that phrase doesn't look very funny now. But it did make the entire room laugh, thus cementing my position as Department Jester.

Second, I just found out yesterday that my father's aunt died. I didn't even know he had an aunt. Which brings to mind just how little I know about my father's extended family, which is apparently scattered throughout the country. Which leads me to question what horrible accidents of genetics have been passed on to me and kept hidden away thus far. For all I know, I may end up with superpowers. Or a predisposition to insanity. Or both, leading to wacky adventures and my continued persecution of the cast of That 70's Show.

Other points:

-See The Prestige. It's awesome beyond the dreams of Nazis.
-See Bourbon Samurai's carnivale of shows. And note that his theatre company seems to have simply transplanted the Northwestern class of '04 to New York and let them run mad with power. And people wonder why they refer to it as the Northwestern Mafia.
-Pray for me this weekend, as I travel to Michigan to join friends in their annual drunkfest. If I die, remember me as a peacemaker, and not as an agitator for the destruction of Uruguay.

Believe It or Not

2006-10-25T15:40:00.000-05:00

Believe it or not, I'm walking on air.
Never thought I could feel so free-ee-ee!
Flying away on a wing and a prayer!
Who could it be?
Believe it or not, it's just me!

Just saw a YouTube clip of the opening to Greatest American Hero, and felt like sharing with all of you. Awesomely catchy tune. (And yes, we've all seen the Seinfeld usage, no need to invoke it.)

So I survived yesterday, which was momentous. I had a midterm Tuesday morning, so naturally Monday night I had a Writing Center shift, studied for two hours, watched Studio 60, studied for an hour more, slept for 4.5 hours, studied more, went to WC Training (more on that to come), then took the midterm, went to class, then worked another WC shift until 8:00. All in all, a long and painful day, where I discovered that Red Bull does in fact give you wings, but tastes like ass and upsets your stomach. Though still not as bad as the time I pounded the ginormous can of Monster energy drink and jittered the rest of the day.

The midterm was easy, because I had studied. It was all multiple choice, based on rote memorization, and no real thought was necessary. As someone who survives by being able to write well about things I really don't remember or understand, I was personally affronted by a multiple choice exam for a 500 level course. But then, I also finished in 25 minutes. Still, I think that in a class on modern communication, where the first lecture emphasized the fact that changes in technology are good because it means people don't have to memorize as much, is extremely hypocritical for making people memorize a lot. Had I failed, I planned elaborately to throw the midterm down in front of the professor, spit at his feet, and accuse him of this very hypocrisy. Luckily, that didn't happen.

At WC training that morning, we discussed problems of racism and racial inequality in the classroom and in conferences. And, for the majority of the time, I just kept hearing Homer Simpson saying "I'm a white male, ages 18-45. Everyone cares what I think, no matter how stupid." He then pulls out a can that reads "Nuts 'n' Gum: Together at last!" I'm just happy I didn't laugh out loud, and get branded a horrible racist by my peers.

So my question for you all: what should I go as for Halloween? I'm pondering going as my alter ego from NBC Nightly News. Thoughts? Or other suggestions? It needs to be something cheap and easy, just like me.

Oh, and go Cards! Though I do look forward to Quantum attempting to burn St. Louis to the ground. But then, aren't we still slotted to burn down Minnetonka, MN, before anyplace else? Or have we abandoned that idea?

This is NBC Nightly News...

2006-10-18T15:35:00.000-05:00

My students took their midterms today. On one of them, under "Instructor", she wrote "Brian Jennings." Now, as insulted as I am that she couldn't remember my name (and it isn't a hard name to remember), I'm more amused that she remembered it was the last name of a newscaster, and just confused Brian Williams and Peter Jennings (or at least, that's what I like to think happened).

Unrelated, on Veronica Mars last night, they set up an entire intricate plot of theft and betrayal, including a villain named Larry, just so the wronged football player could storm in at the episode's end and say "Where's the playbook? Where's the playbook, Larry? You're entering a world of pain!" Any show that goes to such intricate lengths to toss in a Lebowski reference is clearly awesome.

God Bless America

2006-10-09T22:09:00.000-05:00

Once again, dear readers, I come to you after Studio 60, when I just don't feel like doing any homework anymore. This show has been catching some heat on some of the blogs I link to, and I can understand the criticism (mostly that people just don't seem to care about the drama of putting on the show itself). I respectfully disagree, part of which comes out of my own experience in theatre throughout high school and college, where the ability to get the show out there when it needs doing was always paramount.

Besides, tonight was just laugh out loud funny. The Baseball-Strindberg dual metaphor scene alone made the entire show. Not to mention the constant pitcher bashing, the scene with the exotic dancer and the boot, and the hookers, pimps, crips/bloods, and army men dragged in for the late night audience. Comic gold. And did I mention the Strindberg? Or the tripartite breaking window gag?

Anyway, an update on my time at the Writing Center. This past week I've come across some trying times, as for the first time I've had to deal with the people who, God bless em, just couldn't write their way out of a paper bag (with a very sharp and pointy pen, and a very thin bag). With these poor souls, we only normally get half an hour, and the paper is due the next day, so it's hard to say "You've got this all wrong, rewrite it," or "You clearly have no idea how to do a close reading," or "I'd fail this if I were your TA." I'm still not quite sure how to help these poor bastards, other than offering some basic things they can work on (This is what a thesis is. This is what you don't have.) and praying their TA is merciful. And, since these are English papers more often than not, I know who their TA is, and I know if I were grading it myself in their position, I wouldn't be all that merciful. Not with a first paper. But then, I'm cruel and sadistic that way.

Which leads me to my next point. Tomorrow should be fun, as we are discussing ESL (English Second Language) students in our training. For said training, we had to watch a video, the opening of which discussed the different styles of writing found across the globe. Naturally, when they repeatedly told us how they differed from American expectations, my response was "Because they're stupid. What moron would write a paper that way? Lousy country." Followed closely by "That's all well and good. But if you're in America, you'll write like an American, or fail my course." Followed by chanting of "USA! USA! USA!" I'm culturally sensitive that way. At any rate, it should make training fun tomorrow, provided I don't actually say these things out loud, and get fired faster than you can say "hegemony." Which was ironic, considering one of the books they showed during this video was a copy of Edward Said's Culture and Imperialism. (English joke.)

In closing, to all my friends out there, please update your blogs. McJew, you've been in Manhattan for the better part of two months now. I want to hear the further exploits. And Brownsox, you may have written something recently (recently for you, at least), but it's freakin insane. Have you ever considered a heavy drug regiment?

Oh, and the Tigers are in the playoffs. My world doesn't make sense anymore. But go Cardinals!