I am still breathing. I promise.
I've just moved. I'll send everyone that info via email this week. If you don't get that email, pester me and remind me of my shortcomings, and I will send it to you.
Then again, if you don't get that email and I don't know you, I'm probably not going to send you my address. No offence.
Anyway, I am sorting/categorizing my books for the first time since...well, ever. I started out with five categories, then I'll go to sub-categories (by date, subject, region, etc). The big five are: teaching/work reference, general/other reference, non-fiction, fiction/poetry/literature, and comics/graphic novels. Sounds easy, right? Meh. A few things came to mind:
1) Jesus tap-dancing Christ, I have a lot of books.
2) It is sooooo tempting to put Foucault in fiction...
3) Hmmm...surrealism...where should I...
4) Wow, did I take a Henry James class?
5) Well, the cynic in me says anything satirical should probably be non-fiction...
6) EL CID!! I'm organizing these books in a fortunate hour! Ha ha!
7) Okay, well, if medieval chronicles go in non-fiction, surrealism does too, damn it!
8) I own two Thomas Mann novels. You'd think I would have read at least one.
9) Jesus tap-dancing Christ, I have a lot of books...
Perhaps this will be continued later.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Monday, May 5, 2008
Harvester of Sorrow
Well, maybe "Harvester" indicates too much agency.
Anyway, avid readers may remember (or not) that I had promised to write a new scene from my play, featuring Greg as himself in his very own scene. This, I have done.
Sort of.
No, I did, it's just more of a "scene with Greg" than "Greg's scene" right now. It turns out that I had to do a lot of work in this scene, and the overarching purpose wasn't enough to carry the thing much beyond a page and a half. Granted, there's a fair amount of direction, and plenty of wiggle room for the actor, but I'm thinking 7-8 minutes tops.
The problem seems to be that I need for Greg to have more to say. Which, of course, means that I have to think more about what Greg has to say. Which is, of course, somewhat problematic since Greg's primary problem is his lack of really insightful things TO say.
Plus, thinking about Greg makes me squeamish. He's like an emotional black hole, from which no light or feeling or love can escape. And that's the thing. Everybody LOVES Greg (well, technically, they love what Greg used to be, but that's another post), so their emotions sink into the black hole. Yes, that is the 'answer' if you were writing a paper about this half-written, contrived play. He is pretty much the point around which Sorrow is Harvested (see? no agency).
Naturally, he is completely oblivious. That's his "thing." He doesn't really know that Winnicott is more important to him than Sharon, which is the obvious point of his scene and, frankly, not enough to make it interesting. I did add a fun touch, though. Sharon screams from offstage a few times, reminding Greg that she's in labor. That was fun.
I need to re-read Greg's scene with Vaughn and recapture the magic. Then deal with Vaughn killing Winnicott with a cardboard mailing tube. Oh...yeah, spoiler: Vaughn kills Winnicott with a cardboard mailing tube. Sorry.
Okay, enough self-aggrandizing. Hope everyone is well. After all, the semester is almost Ooooooover!
***UPDATE*** Damn, 4min, 17sec. Grrrr...
Anyway, avid readers may remember (or not) that I had promised to write a new scene from my play, featuring Greg as himself in his very own scene. This, I have done.
Sort of.
No, I did, it's just more of a "scene with Greg" than "Greg's scene" right now. It turns out that I had to do a lot of work in this scene, and the overarching purpose wasn't enough to carry the thing much beyond a page and a half. Granted, there's a fair amount of direction, and plenty of wiggle room for the actor, but I'm thinking 7-8 minutes tops.
The problem seems to be that I need for Greg to have more to say. Which, of course, means that I have to think more about what Greg has to say. Which is, of course, somewhat problematic since Greg's primary problem is his lack of really insightful things TO say.
Plus, thinking about Greg makes me squeamish. He's like an emotional black hole, from which no light or feeling or love can escape. And that's the thing. Everybody LOVES Greg (well, technically, they love what Greg used to be, but that's another post), so their emotions sink into the black hole. Yes, that is the 'answer' if you were writing a paper about this half-written, contrived play. He is pretty much the point around which Sorrow is Harvested (see? no agency).
Naturally, he is completely oblivious. That's his "thing." He doesn't really know that Winnicott is more important to him than Sharon, which is the obvious point of his scene and, frankly, not enough to make it interesting. I did add a fun touch, though. Sharon screams from offstage a few times, reminding Greg that she's in labor. That was fun.
I need to re-read Greg's scene with Vaughn and recapture the magic. Then deal with Vaughn killing Winnicott with a cardboard mailing tube. Oh...yeah, spoiler: Vaughn kills Winnicott with a cardboard mailing tube. Sorry.
Okay, enough self-aggrandizing. Hope everyone is well. After all, the semester is almost Ooooooover!
***UPDATE*** Damn, 4min, 17sec. Grrrr...
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Small victories
Okay, so maybe the writing ain't goin' so hot... I've had a lot on my plate. No excuse, I know, but there it is.
Still, I did actually get a couple things done recently. Of course, by recently I mean on my drive to work this morning. Still, they're pretty important:
1) So, I finally solved Greg's problem. Greg's problem was, of course, that I couldn't get him in a scene with anyone...no character is allowed to share a scene with the person that is most important to them. So, no Winnicott, no Sharon, no Steve. Vaughn had a scene with him already, so that was out. So...eureka! Greg gets a scene all by himself, pacing nervously and trying to call Winnicott's house while Sharon is in labor. Ta da! (Okay, I know the whole no scene with important person thing sounds contrived, but it actually has worked really well so far...)
2) I picked a title! I'm thinking "Absentia" Of course, there's a bunch of "In Absentia" titles all over IMDB, but there you go.
Okay, that's progress!
Still, I only have Sharon in one scene while Vaughn and Steve have 3 and Greg and Winnicott have 2...
In other news, I'm teaching this image tomorrow (er...today):
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Fear my vengeance
It is normally my habit not to post about work for a number of reasons, but I thought I would share this with you:
A while back, I had mentioned in class that writing "etc." was problematic, as it is often unclear and rarely states effectively what the writer means (and in academic writing this is awkward to say the least). I believe the cap I put on the brief discussion was probably, something along the lines of "Geez I HATE etc." or "Man, etc. drives me nuts! I mean, what are you TALKING about?" or something to that effect.
This morning, while grading some rough drafts and peer review comments, I stumbled across a note left from one student to another regarding an instance of "etc." in the paper:
"don't piss Rob off"
Yes. My methods are crude, perhaps, but effective.
A while back, I had mentioned in class that writing "etc." was problematic, as it is often unclear and rarely states effectively what the writer means (and in academic writing this is awkward to say the least). I believe the cap I put on the brief discussion was probably, something along the lines of "Geez I HATE etc." or "Man, etc. drives me nuts! I mean, what are you TALKING about?" or something to that effect.
This morning, while grading some rough drafts and peer review comments, I stumbled across a note left from one student to another regarding an instance of "etc." in the paper:
"don't piss Rob off"
Yes. My methods are crude, perhaps, but effective.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Ruminations
There's a lot bouncing around in my head at the moment.
"ruminations" is my new favorite word. The best part is that it means what I've always understood it to mean (introspective meditation) AND to "chew the cud"...both figuratively AND literally!
Chew the cud, of course, means both "to recall and reflect meditatively on things said, done, or suffered" (OED online) and in reference to "The food which a ruminating animal brings back into its mouth from its first stomach, and chews at leisure" (ibid).
So, ruminate, then, means both to reflect on concepts and ideas in a meditative fashion AND to regurgitate and chew on previously swallowed food. THIS IS FUCKING AWESOME.
In other news, I need to start writing again.
In all honesty, it's very difficult to get back on the horse. I rather desperately want to dust off my unfinished play, mostly because I feel that Mr. Winnicott, his cat Geoffrey, and poor Steve (along with Greg, Vaughn, and whatever Greg's wife's name was going to be) finally need to have their story told and, in some cases, their misery ended.
The primary hang-up here seems to be my reluctance to go over what I've already written. This is because, honestly, I'm scared. To be fair, that may be because all that stuff is currently in the file box which is buried under a bunch of junk in my closet storage area, but there's another possible explanation as well.
I always felt, foolishly, that at some point I would either have to actively decide that my creative and academic sides would need to stay separate or that they would fuse together in perfect harmony (like two ninjas taped together to form one giant ninja). It turns out, I think, that neither of these possibilities were necessary. Instead, I believe that my academic side and my creative side have reconciled in some way in order to form a deadly, effective partnership, slaying, with efficient impunity, any target my mind may designate (or create). Of course, the problem is that I can't pinpoint the moment that this symbiotic construct came into being, leaving me without the delightful opportunity for laboriously over-involved introspection.
Shucks.
Or, more likely, I've been putting off getting to work because I'm lazy and can't motivate my sorry ass to move the stack of books off the damn file box. Pick your poison, I guess.
More importantly, I'm drinking some of the delightful pecan pastry green tea that Sarah (and mom) picked out for me. It's rather sublime.
Okay.
Time to construct a mix CD and finish this damn play.
***Update***
The mix cd:
Glen Miller-"In the Mood"
Metallica- "Harvester of Sorrow"
Dire Straights- "Romeo and Juliet"
Weezer- "Getchoo"
Led Zeppelin- "No Quarter"
Godsmack- "I Fucking Hate You"
Fuel- "Fall On Me"
Taking Back Sunday- "I Am Fred Astaire"
Korn- "I'm Done"
Van Halen- "Poundcake"
ZZ Top- "Two Ways to Play"
Peter Gabriel- "Secret World"
Avenged Sevenfold- "Unholy Confessions"
Disturbed- "Decadence"
Albinoni- "Adagio In G Minor"
***UPDATE 2***
HA! SHARON!
"ruminations" is my new favorite word. The best part is that it means what I've always understood it to mean (introspective meditation) AND to "chew the cud"...both figuratively AND literally!
Chew the cud, of course, means both "to recall and reflect meditatively on things said, done, or suffered" (OED online) and in reference to "The food which a ruminating animal brings back into its mouth from its first stomach, and chews at leisure" (ibid).
So, ruminate, then, means both to reflect on concepts and ideas in a meditative fashion AND to regurgitate and chew on previously swallowed food. THIS IS FUCKING AWESOME.
In other news, I need to start writing again.
In all honesty, it's very difficult to get back on the horse. I rather desperately want to dust off my unfinished play, mostly because I feel that Mr. Winnicott, his cat Geoffrey, and poor Steve (along with Greg, Vaughn, and whatever Greg's wife's name was going to be) finally need to have their story told and, in some cases, their misery ended.
The primary hang-up here seems to be my reluctance to go over what I've already written. This is because, honestly, I'm scared. To be fair, that may be because all that stuff is currently in the file box which is buried under a bunch of junk in my closet storage area, but there's another possible explanation as well.
I always felt, foolishly, that at some point I would either have to actively decide that my creative and academic sides would need to stay separate or that they would fuse together in perfect harmony (like two ninjas taped together to form one giant ninja). It turns out, I think, that neither of these possibilities were necessary. Instead, I believe that my academic side and my creative side have reconciled in some way in order to form a deadly, effective partnership, slaying, with efficient impunity, any target my mind may designate (or create). Of course, the problem is that I can't pinpoint the moment that this symbiotic construct came into being, leaving me without the delightful opportunity for laboriously over-involved introspection.
Shucks.
Or, more likely, I've been putting off getting to work because I'm lazy and can't motivate my sorry ass to move the stack of books off the damn file box. Pick your poison, I guess.
More importantly, I'm drinking some of the delightful pecan pastry green tea that Sarah (and mom) picked out for me. It's rather sublime.
Okay.
Time to construct a mix CD and finish this damn play.
***Update***
The mix cd:
Glen Miller-"In the Mood"
Metallica- "Harvester of Sorrow"
Dire Straights- "Romeo and Juliet"
Weezer- "Getchoo"
Led Zeppelin- "No Quarter"
Godsmack- "I Fucking Hate You"
Fuel- "Fall On Me"
Taking Back Sunday- "I Am Fred Astaire"
Korn- "I'm Done"
Van Halen- "Poundcake"
ZZ Top- "Two Ways to Play"
Peter Gabriel- "Secret World"
Avenged Sevenfold- "Unholy Confessions"
Disturbed- "Decadence"
Albinoni- "Adagio In G Minor"
***UPDATE 2***
HA! SHARON!
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Damn.
56%
Sheesh. I thought I would have done better.
Check it out: http://www.justsayhi.com/bb/zombie
**UPDATE** On the plus side, I could, apparently, take on up to 30 five year old kids in a closed space brawl. Whew!
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Take-home Litmus Test
So, got some crazy idea you're not so sure about? Thinking that, maybe, it's not the best idea in the world?
I hear ya. I mean, damn, I've had some bad ideas. But all that's in the past, thanks to this handy little litmus test I just came up with.
If you're not sure if it (whatever it is) is a bad idea, ask yourself the following question, and proceed based on the scoring system:
"Is it as bad an idea as a live action Dragonball movie?"
1) If yes: well, that pretty much shoots that idea down.
2) If no: well, you haven't proved much here, either. Best not to do it.
And that's that. And yes, writing this post is by far the least important thing I have on my to do list.
I hear ya. I mean, damn, I've had some bad ideas. But all that's in the past, thanks to this handy little litmus test I just came up with.
If you're not sure if it (whatever it is) is a bad idea, ask yourself the following question, and proceed based on the scoring system:
"Is it as bad an idea as a live action Dragonball movie?"
1) If yes: well, that pretty much shoots that idea down.
2) If no: well, you haven't proved much here, either. Best not to do it.
And that's that. And yes, writing this post is by far the least important thing I have on my to do list.
Friday, March 7, 2008
The Journey Begins
Well, today's the day. We set off a'drivin cross country this afternoon, planning to cross six states and 2.5 days to bring the new wheels to the house====>
The one pictured is a 2008 Escape, mine's but a lowly used 2007, but you kind of get the picture. (Mine's also not as nice.)
In other news, Denver has signed Linebacker Boss Bailey, brother of Broncos cornerback Champ Bailey.
The implications of this are obvious. A moderately improved defense and TWO Baileys on the field! The normal custom is to list the first initial before the name on the back of the jersey, i.e. "C. Bailey", but I'm hoping they'll just cut to the chase and use the first name only. That way, we have a Champ and Boss running around on defense.
Of course, I'm also hoping there's a third, lesser known but talented Bailey named Chuckles, but you can't always get what you want.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
We get it. Shut up!
Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre! Brett Favre. Brett Favre? Brett Favre!
BRETT FAVRE!!!!
BRETT FAVRE!!!!
Saturday, March 1, 2008
The Universe knocks me down a peg or two
...and things were going so well.
You know that all too familiar and equally unhealthy attitude about misfortune? The whole, "that only happens to other people...it could never happen to me" thing? Yeah.
Now, I know what you're thinking: "OH! You didn't! Ditech.com!? Are you serious? You weren't dumb enough to buy into that garbage and drain all the equity out of your home, were you? For shame!"
Actually, no, but don't think the idea of borrowing against the rental property I don't own hadn't occurred to me. That would be, you know, illegal (but WAY smarter than getting a home equity loan on a property I DID own).
No, really, I was thinking of something else. How many times have I said "What kind of idiot pours a whole cup of steaming hot coffee in his/her own lap?"
Yeah.
So there I am, in my off-white cargo pants, white t-shirt, and flannel button up, sipping my complimentary Diet Coke on the 4.5 hour flight from Charlotte to Phoenix. Then, the flight attendant comes around with the tray of coffee, and I think, hey, why not? So, I grab some. A few seconds later, she comes back with the trash bag. In my haste to relieve my tray table of the burden of the empty soda can, I very cleverly nudge the coffee over into my own lap.
Ouch.
Fortunately, I was in the back row right near the lavatory. The flight attendant got me a can of club soda, and the lady next to me (i was, of course, in the middle) was up and out of her seat considerably faster than I would have expected. I wasn't burned or anything, so that was a plus.
Still, a very appropriate Venture Bros. quote came to mind. As I had poured an entire cup of hot coffee on my crotch area (thank GOD for the absorbing power of flannel shirts!) It did, at the time, look like I had "hauled off and whizzed all over myself." And my pants. And my t-shirt. And my flannel shirt. But, fortunately, not on the seat or my neighbors.
Of course, we were about an hour into the aforementioned 4.5 hour flight. While this did give me ample opportunity to douse much of my midsection with club soda and let it dry, it did leave me sitting there a little damp for some time. You know that feeling when you've gone swimming, and your swimsuit isn't quite dry, but you put a t-shirt on anyway, and it gets kind of uncomfortably damp? Imagine that, only with coffee. Needless to say, I looked and smelled great for the rest of the flight.
There was a time in my life, I should point out, where I would have flown into a rage at my own stupidity, stormed into the bathroom, and probably burst into tears at the shame of it all.
I didn't. In fact, I wasn't all that freaked out by it. I was a little annoyed, sure, but I went back to my seat and was fine for the rest of the flight.
Of course, the single malt scotch on the rocks, compliments of the house (for "all I'd been through"), didn't hurt. A nutmeg of consolation, perhaps, but it helped me sleep through about half of the remaining flight, damp pants and all.
Good times.
You know that all too familiar and equally unhealthy attitude about misfortune? The whole, "that only happens to other people...it could never happen to me" thing? Yeah.
Now, I know what you're thinking: "OH! You didn't! Ditech.com!? Are you serious? You weren't dumb enough to buy into that garbage and drain all the equity out of your home, were you? For shame!"
Actually, no, but don't think the idea of borrowing against the rental property I don't own hadn't occurred to me. That would be, you know, illegal (but WAY smarter than getting a home equity loan on a property I DID own).
No, really, I was thinking of something else. How many times have I said "What kind of idiot pours a whole cup of steaming hot coffee in his/her own lap?"
Yeah.
So there I am, in my off-white cargo pants, white t-shirt, and flannel button up, sipping my complimentary Diet Coke on the 4.5 hour flight from Charlotte to Phoenix. Then, the flight attendant comes around with the tray of coffee, and I think, hey, why not? So, I grab some. A few seconds later, she comes back with the trash bag. In my haste to relieve my tray table of the burden of the empty soda can, I very cleverly nudge the coffee over into my own lap.
Ouch.
Fortunately, I was in the back row right near the lavatory. The flight attendant got me a can of club soda, and the lady next to me (i was, of course, in the middle) was up and out of her seat considerably faster than I would have expected. I wasn't burned or anything, so that was a plus.
Still, a very appropriate Venture Bros. quote came to mind. As I had poured an entire cup of hot coffee on my crotch area (thank GOD for the absorbing power of flannel shirts!) It did, at the time, look like I had "hauled off and whizzed all over myself." And my pants. And my t-shirt. And my flannel shirt. But, fortunately, not on the seat or my neighbors.
Of course, we were about an hour into the aforementioned 4.5 hour flight. While this did give me ample opportunity to douse much of my midsection with club soda and let it dry, it did leave me sitting there a little damp for some time. You know that feeling when you've gone swimming, and your swimsuit isn't quite dry, but you put a t-shirt on anyway, and it gets kind of uncomfortably damp? Imagine that, only with coffee. Needless to say, I looked and smelled great for the rest of the flight.
There was a time in my life, I should point out, where I would have flown into a rage at my own stupidity, stormed into the bathroom, and probably burst into tears at the shame of it all.
I didn't. In fact, I wasn't all that freaked out by it. I was a little annoyed, sure, but I went back to my seat and was fine for the rest of the flight.
Of course, the single malt scotch on the rocks, compliments of the house (for "all I'd been through"), didn't hurt. A nutmeg of consolation, perhaps, but it helped me sleep through about half of the remaining flight, damp pants and all.
Good times.
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