Solemnity and Levity

Well, it's awfully hard to find the words. I don't know where to start or what to talk about, and I certainly don't want to harp on things to gain credibility or to sell sensationalism. So, I'll keep it simple and move on. I have to smile and laugh, since that's how I cope, but I'll get the serious out, too, because I do, in fact, have that side as well. Frustration, fear, sadness, and every other emotion are running pretty high down here, since Blacksburg is close enough to have pretty extensive connections to students, faculty, staff, etc. I talked with each of my classes for a few minutes about how something like this feels, recalling my own feelings right after Columbine. I'm both extremely moved and severely put off by some of the things that have been said around campus over the last couple days since many comments have interspersed genuine feelings of empathy and emotion with asinine, even offensive jabs at this country and the American way of life (to put it broadly), and that doesn't even include the gun control issue. It's an ivory tower, and even now my love/hate relationship with it continues.

But, there's no need to rant as it never tends to help resolve anything. But Tuesday and today I couldn't help noticing the shadow this casts. It comes in various forms, like looking around campus at large groups of people. More frightening, though, is looking at the open door of my classroom (i always leave it open) and wondering, to myself suddenly and completely without warning or explanation, "Could I get there in time? Could I close and lock the door fast enough? There's no windows, where can my students go?" It's...odd.

So. Levity.

Looking at my blog it's really a study in white, bland, text on a page minimalism (the format, of course) juxtaposed with my compulsive obsession for inserting color photos in my entries. What does that even mean?

...okay, I'll admit, I haven't got the levity part right now. I'm sorry this is a downer, and next time I promise we'll be back to the lighter side. I hope everyone is well and my thoughts are with all of you.

Dire straights

Mega props to Geoff for pointing out my old fogey-ness. Very timely, actually. Though, to be fair, I kept saying "friggin" because I am, in a move that is somewhat out of character, trying to keep the rating on this blog a shade above an R. That's not easy to do, especially considering the number of F bombs I tend to drop on a daily (well, hourly) basis. I have a horribly foul mouth.

Anyway.

Two points come of this.

First, now that my week is over, I can look back and comment on last weekend. I went up to Chapel Hill and got to meet Sarah's brothers, both of whom were awesome. This was a good time. Seriously. It was great to finally get to meet them and hang out. We have a lot of the same interests and we got along very well. I had a great time all weekend.

Second, I learned a sad truth about myself.

For much of my life, I have used the term "rockin", or, more formally, "rocking" to describe a state of mind or being. It's also a handy verb, e.g. "So and so ROCKS!" I frequently part company with those I care for with an earnest encouragement to "Keep on Rocking in the Free World." Also, I like rock music. A lot. And, in a way, I have always, at least in some sense, believed that I, in fact, "rock" to a certain degree.

Well, bad news. I don't rock. ...as much, or at all.

This falls in line with the old fogey nature of my last post. I had never looked at the world from a "damn kids and their rock music" perspective before. Well, all that ended when I first played Guitar Hero I and II this past weekend.

I was terrible. Really, I'm, seriously you guys, terrible. God awful. It was lame to the extreme.

For someone who played a fucking (there, I said it) stringed instrument (for seven fucking years, I might add), and also considers himself a legitimate gamer, it was perhaps the most wretchedly pathetic performance imaginable. Fortunately, it was just Matt, Mark, and myself (though it was a little embarrassing to flop like that in front of two people I barely know), or I might have shamed myself beyond all reason.

I still shiver at the memory.

So, ultimately, I am not a Guitar Hero.

I hope and pray that this does not, however, hurt my chances of becoming a Jukebox Hero...and anyone who's been to The Pub with me will know that I can drop quarters into a jukebox with the best of them (and play the same three songs every time...Panama, Rock n' Roll, and When the Levee Breaks).

Still, my feeling about my own "rockin" nature has, yes, turned Cold as Ice. Though I'm not really willing to sacrifice anything.

Hot Blooded? Not so much, it would seem.

And furthermore, I promise NOT to threaten to take Jeff Prisoner of Love, especially not at his wedding.