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.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
No TV and No Beer Make Dubs Something Something
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.
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.
Saturday, June 07, 2008
St. Louis Blues
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.
-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.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Everything's Coming Up Milhouse!
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.
-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.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
It's Amazing How Spending Money Can Make Things Better
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.
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.
Friday, May 02, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
So Cal is Where My Mind States, But It's Not My State of Mind
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.
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.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Purposeless Update
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.
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.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Another Friday Night, and I Ain't Got Nobody
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!
Monday, March 10, 2008
Wanna smash? Yeah, let's smash.
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.
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.
Saturday, March 01, 2008
Who Keeps the Martians Under Wraps?
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Meet George Jetson?
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Hollywood's Whipping Boy
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.)
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.)
Sunday, February 03, 2008
When We Have Found All the Mysteries and Lost all the Meaning, We Will Be Alone, on an Empty Shore
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
A Shorter Post, Because My Students Aren't Inventive
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?
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?
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Winter Break - The Highlights
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Side By Side By Side
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Peace on Earth, Good Will To Men
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.)
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.)
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
And So the Semester Comes to a Close
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!
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!
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Battle for Our Approval!
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!)
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!)
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