Imitation

Okay. Had to get that last one off the top. Not much more content here.

(What? I'm at work! I shouldn't even be typing THIS!)

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It takes all kinds, I guess. How very postmodernly meta something.

Nerd Power

Just got the ball rolling on a teacher blog/discussion board/forum/chat room/speak-easy...and I feel...intense nerdly satisfaction...

If you want in and I didn't email you, let me know!

Gentlemen, start your -ism's

Two things have been on my mind of late (as in, you know, this morning).

First, my God...NASCAR is huge. I mean, really friggin huge. I knew before I moved here how big of a deal it is, but I didn't fully appreciate the overwhelming cultural influence it exerts on everyone around here. For example, I have students who, rather than soccer, baseball, football, etc, have always been into racing. That alone would be (and has been) a very interesting cultural shift for me, but I also happen to live just a couple miles from Lowe's Motor Speedway. Now, i drive by the speedway everyday to and from work. It's a little ways off of I-85, which I usually take, but it's right on NC-29, which I use to avoid rush hour traffic. It's an impressive structure to say the least. What I didn't appreciate fully was HOW impressive the track, the surrounding lots, and the fans actually are. The Coca-Cola 600 is this weekend, and it might as well be the World Cup or the Olympics (having attended both, I can verify the similarity). People started setting up RV's 2 WEEKS AGO. Now, there are several miniature cities set up all over the countryside around the speedway, and traffic is a nightmare (so much so that there is a sign on I-85 that warns about "Race Traffic"...which sounds amusingly awkward). For the first time, I actually paid a little attention to the parking lot signs. Of course, by parking lots I mean giant grassy fields which accommodate dozens (probably hundreds) of campers and RV's. The lots are labeled alphabetically. I drove by Z and AA yesterday evening. Yes. The entire alphabet is used...and then starts over. Meaning, as far as I can tell, there are 26+ gypsy cities set up in the surrounding countryside. Amazing.

I'm thinking of establishing both a new word and new ideology. I think I'll call it "disdain-ism": a mode of thought wherein the individual ascribes to a constant, passive feeling of disdain for his surroundings (primarily, the institution of employment). Nothing new, really, but it sounds fancy-ish.

Why do I need a new ideology? Oh, it's mostly because I have TO WORK ON MEMORIAL DAY. Yes, in academia, national holidays and other federal mandates/laws/etc. only count if they have a direct benefit for the institution. For cryin' out loud! I work for the friggin State of North Carolina and I don't get a national holiday off? Come on!

Disdain-ism is born.

Treason!

Way to go, Yahoo.com. Just tell the terrorists how to win.

Three random thoughts for the day [Feat. a bonus 4th thought!]

1) When I speak seemingly random, meaningless phrases like "Follow directions," what I REALLY mean is "Don't bother following directions. It won't fucking piss me off or anything."

2) So, if you've got some down time, pick up some of the Dresden Files novels by Jim Butcher. It's good shit. Wizards and noir and detective work and vampires and other crazy ass shit, all in Chicago. Good times. Plus, Butcher's Chi-town geography is pretty good, so as a former resident of the South Side, I was amused by the scene which featured raining frogs...in Jackson Park. I was NOT amused, however, when the titular character visited a bookshop (which resembles a cross between Powell's and 57th Street books) down the street from the campus of the University of Chicago... in LINCOLN PARK. Sigh. No one's perfect, I guess.

3) I ate a turkey reuben for dinner. It was fucking amazing, especially with the mango smoothie (w/ whipped cream, people!). The smoothie was a must, since it's getting all "summer in the south" here.

BONUS: I'm employed for the summer! I have an office job, and after 4 days of work I haven't been fired! Huzzah!

Spiderman 3: The Dashing of Hopes

Okay. Well. I saw Spiderman 3 yesterday. I waited until today to comment, and I'm glad I did. There is perhaps no greater (recent) example of the "really want it to be good because it SHOULD have been so good" syndrome which I have suffered mightily from in the past (see Star Wars: Episode I...or see it six times in the theatre, like I did).

But this movie is not so good. It really should have been. At first there were just a couple of scenes I didn't like:

1) The goofy musical interlude/montage THING leading into the über-ridiculous Moulin Rouge/The Mask style dance number. I mean, come on. Seriously. WHAT...THE...FUCK? That's about 10 minutes of my life I'll never get back.

2) The cheesy news anchor guy announcing the occurrence of the situation that leads to the final battle. In addition to this, the wretched, overblown, melodramatic dialogue that went with it: "This could be the end...of Spiderman." I shit you not.

Honestly, at first I thought those were the two blemishes on an otherwise okay movie. The rest was exciting, it was cool to see Venom and Sandman onscreen...action was good...but really, it's just too busy. It's not as cool as it SHOULD have been since it didn't get the sort of solid treatment that the stuff in the first two did. I like having multiple villains, but this fell sort of flat. Worth watching just to finish off the trilogy, I guess, but man, weakest movie of the three.

But, frankly, I'll probably buy it. I do have Episodes I, II, and III, which combine for just under 2 hours of worthwhile movie, on DVD. Ugh.

Sports mania!

Well, with the Avs missing the playoffs, the Nuggets getting bounced by the Spurs in five, and the routine mediocrity of the Rockies...

THANK GOD FOR THE NFL DRAFT!!!

Am I right, people?

So for Draft Saturday, a day when, surely, I had better things to be doing, I sat there in the bar at Dave and Buster's with John and his friend Drew, drank Coors Light, and pondered with wonderment the fascinating obsession with basically a nationally (poorly) televised, "pro" version of "picking teams" on an elementary school playground.

We stayed for the whole first round. Yes. The longest ever first round of the longest ever draft. We stumbled out of there almost 6 1/2 hours after sitting down. That, my friends, is dedication.

Or idiocy. Or a nice mix of both.

I have a number of lame excuses for staying the whole time... 1) we said we'd stay for the first round...I mean, you can't back out of something like that 2) our teams (Broncos and Panthers) both had trades that changed the draft order, and 3)...yeah, I don't have a three.

Regardless, we had fun. And Coors Light. Also, D&B's actually does have a cocktail drink called:

"The Schizzle"

I shit you not. Try it out. And forget what a nerd I am.

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.