At work we once again took the kids trick or treating up the street. I did not rain, unlike last year (what a debacle that was). We stopped in at all the shops, and the employees oohed and ahhed over the kids in their costumes and gave them candy, and I took pictures. It does touch my heart to see how enthusiastic and happy kids are at Halloween; it reminds me that innocence and joy do have a place in this world somewhere.
After work and a brief nap, I drove up to State School. As I was waiting in the Halloween night traffic I got rear-ended on the way by some daffy old lady driving an expensive car. It was a fairly gentle bump, so I just took down her phone number and drove on. No need to report the idiot. She told me she was talking on her cell phone. What a world we live in. Looking back, I think she may have been a trifle tipsy.
I got all the way up to State School only to find a sign on the door saying that class was cancelled. Lame. There was no email notification sent, but then I hadn't checked my email anyway. Back in February when this happened, they very courteously called me at home to tell me; someone may have done that this time as well, but I haven't had my land line plugged in for months, so I wouldn't know. I only have a land line for DSL; I neither take nor make calls on it.
So I drove down to the Hangout, stopping briefly at work to pick up my camera, which I accidentally had left there. It's nice to have a key. I met Friar at the old watering hole, and we played a little video golf and ate bad fried food and drank. A Beatles cover band played. I'm not even a big fan of the real Beatles; the cover band was just kind of blah. Mr. Hangout wasn't too pleased with them, either. After a while, Friar and I went out to get something real to eat. We tried two places, including Cheesefries, but they were both closed. So we did something we haven't done in years and years. We went to --- gag --- Denny's. That got us reminiscing about our high school days, when our whole group would stay at Denny's nearly all night, acting like fools , drinking coffee and making a big mess ("I bet you can't hit the ceiling fan with this creamer by catapulting it off the handle of this spoon"). Good times, literally two decades back now. I'm so old and useless.
October is traditionally my most depressed month. A lot of seriously bad shit in my life has happened in October. It may be related to the cold weather and dark days, too, I don't know.
I may be starting the Prozac again. I've actually thought seriously about contacting a suicide prevention center. I'm not thinking seriously of offing myself, though, at least not for the time being. I've been trying to use my much-vaunted cranium and applying the problem of my depression to rational thought. It seems to me that if your life isn't making you happy, instead of ending it, the sensible thing to try first is to change it. So that's what I'm going to do.
And with that, this blog goes dark, at least for a month and perhaps longer. Detailing my spiral of failures and recriminations has not been helping me --- not that I ever thought it would, not that such was the "intent" of this blog, not that this blog ever had anything as concrete as an "intent." But the fact remains that this kind of electronic lexical catharsis has only depressed me; reading the archives is for me like watching a badly written and badly acted Shakespeare tragedy adaptation going in (painfully) slow motion.
So a break for November, then. And, inshallah, if I feel fine about it then, maybe longer. But I guess I probably will start up again next year, if only to document my tortuous path to public school certification. which reminds me, cutting out now means that I won't be able to record how the last of this semester went! Well, it's not like it's the outcome is exactly Hitchcockian in suspense. Let's just assume I'll get a trio of aces.
So anyhow, to my three faithful readers, Samurai Frog, NYC Educator, and Janet, thank you for your comments and links. I don't comment on your own terrific blogs as often as I'd like, but I do read and appreciate every post. See you in this space sometime later.
Locked in a room
Waiting til kingdom come
Although I felt elated
I felt like I was scum
I was carried away
Caught up in an affray
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,
Strong and content I travel the open road.
O death in life, the days that are no more.
The gale, it piles the saplings double,
And thick on Severn snow the leaves.
Shantih shantih shantih
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Monday, October 30, 2006
Ah, la politica
An Italian opposition MP and former showgirl has expressed outrage after meeting a transgender colleague in the parliament's ladies' toilets.
Now, why can't we have political representation as diverse as this here in America, the original melting pot? Politics would be much more interesting.
I guess for the same reason that in America, the same nudity and language that is presented with nary a raised eyebrow all over Europe is routinely censored. This once-great land, the supposed cradle of free speech, is ruled by terrified old tight-asses who make it their life's work to make sure other people can't see, say, hear, smoke, drink, or feel the same things normal adults all over the civilized world do.
Just one tiny inconsequential example, but for what it's worth, this is the item that set that little rant off.
I hate everyone.
Now, why can't we have political representation as diverse as this here in America, the original melting pot? Politics would be much more interesting.
I guess for the same reason that in America, the same nudity and language that is presented with nary a raised eyebrow all over Europe is routinely censored. This once-great land, the supposed cradle of free speech, is ruled by terrified old tight-asses who make it their life's work to make sure other people can't see, say, hear, smoke, drink, or feel the same things normal adults all over the civilized world do.
Just one tiny inconsequential example, but for what it's worth, this is the item that set that little rant off.
I hate everyone.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
i am one good dog
hello people i am killer, the dog of my daddy. right now he is stroking his gun and singing 'suicide is painless' to it. he doesnt feel like making a blog right now so he let me do an entry ok. yes ok.i am one fierce dog. i have killed squirrels grrrrrrrr just the word squirrel grrrrrrr makes me grrrrrrrrrrrr. they chitter and squeak and i have to shake them. shake them shake them shake them shake them. and then they dont chitter or squeak or run any more. ha ha grrrr.
also one time i caught a cat and i shook it too. shake shake shake. but my daddy got upset and yelled and the cat ran away into a tree. my daddy wrote about this before and i would refer to that entry but i dont know how to hyperlink as i am a dog. come to think of it its amazing that i can type so accurately with these paws ha ha grrrr.
and another time after that i saw another cat and i ran but daddy yelled and hit me. i dont know why because i just wanted to shake that cat and maybe bite it just a tiny nip or two and see what color its insides are. i think they might be red. red red red ha ha grrr.
ok where was i?
ok yes well one time after that time after the other time that i first wrote about up there, my daddy and i went on a walk and we met all the other dogs in the neighborhood. there are lots and lots of us and we are a big friendly pack. we are all named killer because we are all so fierce. it is quite a coincidence. it is always 'oh hello killer, how are you?' 'oh i am just fine killer and you?' 'hey killer, i see a squirrel' and then we are all running and shouting and ha ha. and then it is all 'that was a close one killer' 'oh yes, killer, didn't he just run?' 'good job killer.'
anyway it is all fine and dandy running and jumping and smelling tails and boxing with paws and chewing sticks and suddenly one of the killers and i got into a big argument. it was all shouting this and yelling that and snarl grrrrr! and the biting without the teeth so we were all both covered in dog spit and grrrr and ill show you! but no real biting of course because we are not savages!
anyway the people managed to separate us after a while but it was pretty fun while it lasted going grrrr and i showed that killer something all right. she was always kind of a snob anyway. daddy says killers mommy was angry. killers mommy was angry because her dog lost and was scared and ran away with her tail between her legs ha ha grrrr! daddy said he apologized even though he didnt have anything to apologize for but killers mommy was still kinda mad and had her lips pursed and isnt very friendly now and avoids us now. even though daddy says i am a gentle submissive dog who would never start trouble and its really that killer who is a territorial bitch. but he also says even though i never start trouble i sure know how to finish it. i am one tough fierce dog ha ha grrr!
daddy read this and said it amused him and he could go on living one more day now.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Ah, the eremitic life
I had tentative plans to join Waitress T and her boyfriend at a rock show, and K called to see what I was up to, but I thought I'd rather stay in and watch the third season of "The Wire." I think I made the right choice. The third season is the best one, and the show is the smartest on television, no question. Forget "the Shield," "NYPD Blue" in its prime, or "The Sopranos" --- "The Wire" is the grittiest, deepest, most thoughtful, most realistic, most biting crime show, bar none. It's not even about crime so much as the human (or at least urban) condition. It shows how everyone --- cop, crook, politician, family man, wife, drug addict, laborer --- becomes trapped in a specific system and falls prey to that system's rules and pressures. If everything on TV were even half this ambitious and clever, I'd own a TV.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
In no mood for meretricious musings
Head: hurting due to excessive (related to my current fatigue and lack of tolerance) revelry last night.
Work: shoddy.
Tutoring: fair to middling.
Stressed: out.
Mood: indigo.
Ugh.
***
"The Bells" is possibly the single most pleasurable poem to read aloud in the English language. For this masterwork, Edgar Allen Poe received the princely sum of fifteen dollars. A few months later he died of drink, or a brain aneurysm, or something.
So it goes.
Work: shoddy.
Tutoring: fair to middling.
Stressed: out.
Mood: indigo.
Ugh.
***
"The Bells" is possibly the single most pleasurable poem to read aloud in the English language. For this masterwork, Edgar Allen Poe received the princely sum of fifteen dollars. A few months later he died of drink, or a brain aneurysm, or something.
So it goes.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
I gotta straighten my face
The good thing about having a leisurely morning is that you can fix yourself a delicious hot bacon sandwich and a good cuppa hot tea for breakfast instead of cold cereal. It's a bone-chilling 53 degrees in the mornings nowadays.
Anyway. On to Art class. We had a quiz, which I felt I did quite well on. We had to analyze a given illustration from a children's book in terms of five art elements (line, color, shape, texture, space, and form). Now, a quiz on facts from the book I've never read? I might not do as well as possible on that. But a quiz where I'm given a setup and told to "analyze" (read: BS) the holy hell out of it? That, my friends, is where a man with a philosophy degree is in his element. We're specially trained to be able to write convincingly any number of pages on any topic. It takes a certain kind of vacillating blowhard to handle the true philosophizin' skillz.
I drove home after a truncated class, finsihed up the various Diagnostic Reading assignments that have been stressing me out all weekend, and then drove back up to State School for class. I can't even begin to express how boring, yet enraging, this class is. Dr. C is the most maddeningly obtuse, flighty, obstinate ditz I have ever had the misfortune of calling a "professor." We watched a video on a word recognition program at a special school, which although slightly boring was nevertheless pure entertainment manna compared to Dr. C's contradictory, confusing, confrontational lecture style.
***
After school, I stopped by the Hangout, something I haven't mustered up the energy to do for a good while now. An acquaintance of mine runs a karaoke show with full band, and has installed herself at the Hangout for the last few weeks. This was the first time I saw it, and I enjoyed it. The Friar was there, of course, and Sonar, and the guitarist for Auric's band was a judge. Only one singer was bad, and most of the people were surprisingly good --- I was surprised to hear a brother rocking the joint with a note-perfect copy of "Highway to Hell" --- but the show started and ran late, and I've been exhausted all week. I left as the singer for one of Friar's bands was drunkenly mangling "Folsom Prison Blues."
I had asked both K and the Maddening Angel to attend as well, but they declined. MA is dating a new guy and has no time for such shenanigans, but K was just home watching TV and still didn't want to go! I was under the impression that the ladies loved karaoke. I may have to adjust my entire worldview.
Anyway. On to Art class. We had a quiz, which I felt I did quite well on. We had to analyze a given illustration from a children's book in terms of five art elements (line, color, shape, texture, space, and form). Now, a quiz on facts from the book I've never read? I might not do as well as possible on that. But a quiz where I'm given a setup and told to "analyze" (read: BS) the holy hell out of it? That, my friends, is where a man with a philosophy degree is in his element. We're specially trained to be able to write convincingly any number of pages on any topic. It takes a certain kind of vacillating blowhard to handle the true philosophizin' skillz.
I drove home after a truncated class, finsihed up the various Diagnostic Reading assignments that have been stressing me out all weekend, and then drove back up to State School for class. I can't even begin to express how boring, yet enraging, this class is. Dr. C is the most maddeningly obtuse, flighty, obstinate ditz I have ever had the misfortune of calling a "professor." We watched a video on a word recognition program at a special school, which although slightly boring was nevertheless pure entertainment manna compared to Dr. C's contradictory, confusing, confrontational lecture style.
***
After school, I stopped by the Hangout, something I haven't mustered up the energy to do for a good while now. An acquaintance of mine runs a karaoke show with full band, and has installed herself at the Hangout for the last few weeks. This was the first time I saw it, and I enjoyed it. The Friar was there, of course, and Sonar, and the guitarist for Auric's band was a judge. Only one singer was bad, and most of the people were surprisingly good --- I was surprised to hear a brother rocking the joint with a note-perfect copy of "Highway to Hell" --- but the show started and ran late, and I've been exhausted all week. I left as the singer for one of Friar's bands was drunkenly mangling "Folsom Prison Blues."
I had asked both K and the Maddening Angel to attend as well, but they declined. MA is dating a new guy and has no time for such shenanigans, but K was just home watching TV and still didn't want to go! I was under the impression that the ladies loved karaoke. I may have to adjust my entire worldview.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
It's not about two clean kids who play pranks
We had our second of three tests in Math tonight. I suppose I did fine. My mind was on other matters. As I walked away, the teacher whispered that she had been looking forward to reading my creative word problems all week. I said she might be disappointed; I didn't do anything silly this time around. Not depressed, exactly; just harried, and morose, and lacking lustre.
***
***
Speaking of the classics, he seamlessly segued, I recently finished listening to The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn in my car. It's long been a favorite of mine, nearly a perfect book. I won't presume to "review" the greatest American novel of all time here. I will make the following observation, though. I think that if you asked most people, they would describe Tom Sawyer as one of literature's clever characters, a sharp trickster always one step ahead of the common, deluded ruck of people. I further imagine that conventional wisdom holds Tom Sawyer to be a noble and good character.
Actually, at least in this book, Sawyer is a complete dunderhead, an ill-informed fool whose infatuation with his own fancies puts his friends' freedom and lives at needless risk. Worse, although he does volunteer to help (though he doesn't actually help) Huck free Jim, he does it only because he knows that Jim's "rightful" owner has died and granted Jim freedom in her will. Yes, it seems to me that Tom Sawyer's a flag-flying square, believing everything he reads and not caring whose skins he risks as long as he has a little fun. He's the ancestor of the frat boy, the protester-basher, Uncle Sam's favorite cannon fodder. It's actually Huck --- unschooled, unclothed Huck, to whom lying comes as natural as breathing --- who is one of literature's most clever and compassionate characters. Huck feels sorry for all those hurt or hunted, even the frauds (who try to sell Jim behind Huck's back) when they are tarred and feathered. (Tarring and feathering as a historical punishment was generally not a joke; hot tar burns skin.)
In short: fuck Tom Sawyer.
***
I'm so tired.
***
Awaking from the long night of what seemed, but was not, nonentity, at once into the very regions of fairy-land—into a palace of imagination—into the wild dominions of monastic thought and erudition—it is not singular that I gazed around me with a startled and ardent eye—that I loitered away my boyhood in books, and dissipated my youth in reverie; but it is singular that as years rolled away, and the noon of manhood found me still in the mansion of my fathers—it is wonderful what stagnation there fell upon the springs of my life—wonderful how total an inversion took place in the character of my commonest thought. The realities of the world affected me as visions, and as visions only, while the wild ideas of the land of dreams became, in turn,—not the material of my every-day existence-but in very deed that existence utterly and solely in itself.---the narrator of Edgar Allen Poe's short story "Berenice," describing me to a perfect T. Hopefully I won't be performing any needless dental work on unwilling loved ones, unlike that guy.
***
Speaking of the classics, he seamlessly segued, I recently finished listening to The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn in my car. It's long been a favorite of mine, nearly a perfect book. I won't presume to "review" the greatest American novel of all time here. I will make the following observation, though. I think that if you asked most people, they would describe Tom Sawyer as one of literature's clever characters, a sharp trickster always one step ahead of the common, deluded ruck of people. I further imagine that conventional wisdom holds Tom Sawyer to be a noble and good character.
Actually, at least in this book, Sawyer is a complete dunderhead, an ill-informed fool whose infatuation with his own fancies puts his friends' freedom and lives at needless risk. Worse, although he does volunteer to help (though he doesn't actually help) Huck free Jim, he does it only because he knows that Jim's "rightful" owner has died and granted Jim freedom in her will. Yes, it seems to me that Tom Sawyer's a flag-flying square, believing everything he reads and not caring whose skins he risks as long as he has a little fun. He's the ancestor of the frat boy, the protester-basher, Uncle Sam's favorite cannon fodder. It's actually Huck --- unschooled, unclothed Huck, to whom lying comes as natural as breathing --- who is one of literature's most clever and compassionate characters. Huck feels sorry for all those hurt or hunted, even the frauds (who try to sell Jim behind Huck's back) when they are tarred and feathered. (Tarring and feathering as a historical punishment was generally not a joke; hot tar burns skin.)
In short: fuck Tom Sawyer.
***
I'm so tired.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Those wacky Mohammedians!
See, when a woman doesn't cover her head, men can't help but act on their innate desire to rape everything that moves. So the slut's asking for it. Or so says this douchebag, a Muslim cleric in Australia (though he's wily enough, it appears from the story, to use the Western system to his fullest advantage; he understands that a quick apology keeps the heat off for a bit, and then it's okay to preach his seditious and destructive hate again).
Which is just another in a long line of anecdotes that make this argument so palatable. Note that a stance against against the burqa in the West is not dictating what people should do behind clsoed doors, just arguing that propriety works both ways. I would never enter a Jain temple with shoes on. I would also never place a child of mine in a classroom where the teacher wore a face veil. There's a connection that's lost when the face is hidden, a connection too important between teacher and student for the teacher to wear a mask.
We ought to face our problems head-on.
Which is just another in a long line of anecdotes that make this argument so palatable. Note that a stance against against the burqa in the West is not dictating what people should do behind clsoed doors, just arguing that propriety works both ways. I would never enter a Jain temple with shoes on. I would also never place a child of mine in a classroom where the teacher wore a face veil. There's a connection that's lost when the face is hidden, a connection too important between teacher and student for the teacher to wear a mask.
We ought to face our problems head-on.
Just like when two fireflies fluoresce
I was watching a TV show I really like on DVD and there was this sort of romantic moment between the two characters and suddenly my good pal Auric's voice started singing the wistful fragile love song soundtrack and it kind of ruined it and made me depressed because, you know, I've never accomplished anything.
So there's that.
So there's that.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
I'm junk but I'm still holding up this little wild bouquet
Time to do another of those spam survey things. This one is fifty questions about the music.
1. What are you listening to right now?
Police, "Message In a Bottle."
2. What song makes you sad?
So very many. The one that springs immediately to mind is Billy Bragg's "You Woke Up My Neighborhood." Not only is it about the dissolution of a tumultuous relationship, that song is intensely connected in my mind with the morning of a very bad break-up of my own.
3. What is the most annoying song in the world?
I tend to tune out things I don't like rather than sit and absorb whatever crap MTV wants me to "grind" to, so I don't know many songs that I would dislike. But I did recently have to listen to that "My Humps" song. Lord Krishna, what utter garbage. And people get wealthy for that kind of talentless waste.
4. Your all time favorite band?
Can I narrow it down? I'm not sure, but I guess the Clash.
5. Your newly discovered band is?
It's not all that new, but The Hold Steady. I've mentioned these guys a time or two before. True genius.
6. Best female voice?
I don't listen to many female artists, because, frankly, I don't really enjoy the typical female singing voice. My favorite female voices are rather rough around the edges, like my favorite male voices: Liz Phair, Amy Ray of the Indigo Girls, etc.
7. Best male voice?
Bob Dylan, of course.
8. Music type you find yourself listening to most?
Punk.
9. What do you listen to, to hype you up?
Punk.
10. What do you listen to, to calm down?
The more folky stuff, children's music, They Might Be Giants, humorous music like Tom Lehrer.
11a. Last gig/concert you went to?
The Hold Steady. I blogged about it here.
11b. Last BIG band that you saw live?
The Hold Steady are getting pretty famous --- they've got a 4 1/2 star review in Paste Magazine and were interviewed in the Onion AV Club this week alone. But more famous than them are the Flaming Lips.
12. Band you find yourself listening to the most?
Lately, the Hold Steady. In general, Rancid.
13. Most hated band?
I tend to ignore stuff I don't like. I'm sure I'd hate most of the new (sorry, nü) throwback cock rock that the music congolomerates are pushing to the kids these days. I can't think of a band I'd actually give enough of a crap about to muster up genuine hatred. Maybe a white power act.
14. Song that makes you think?
All the music I listen to makes me think. I'm a thinker.
15. Band that you think the world should love as much as you do?
The Hold Steady.
16. Coolest music video?
What the hell is a music video? You mean those little films they used to show on TV when they played the songs? Okay, I'll give three answers. (1) Straight-up coolest of all time: A-ha's "Take On Me." Shut up, you know it's true. (2) Video I watched a lot with some cool cred: Johnny Cash's version of "Hurt." (3) Current nifty (but possibly uncool) video: Weird Al Yankovic's "White And Nerdy." Hee hee, funny.
17. Can you play a musical instrument?
I'm learning to play the recorder for a class in State School. So, no.
18. Ever been in a mosh pit?
No, I haven't been to too many concerts where a mosh pit arose, and also, I'm a wuss.
19. Are you in a band?
No, because I lack even the tiniest shred of understanding of what is meant by key, pitch, rhythm, or tone.
20. Ever dated a musician?
Nope. This survey is making me out to be a bit of a gormless old bore, innit?
21. Do you wish yourself that you were a musician?
To some degree. I think most people do, because of the enormous cool factor attached (not to mention the accompanying chick magnetism). But if a friendly genie gave me a choice of dream careers with fame and respect perks, I'd pick writer over musician.
22. Last song that you heard on the radio, etc?
Couldn't tell you. Haven't listened to commercial music radio in literally years except for hearing a co-worker's radio every once in a while.
23. What do you think of classical music?
I ought to listen to more, because I do like it (at least stuff by the all-time greats) when I hear it, but the rock and roll is just in my soul, baby. Classical is more like background music to me; I have no real connection with it, even if I can appreciate its beauty. Also, I like lyrics.
24. What do you think of country music?
Real country music (Johnny cash, Willie Nelson, Hank Williams, Dwight Yoakam) is great. The prefab pop they play on commercial country radio is pretty bad, and basically just today's pop sung with a southern accent by a guy in a big stupid hat.
25. What do you think of death metal?
I don't give it a thought.
26. Do you listen to music in foreign languages?
A bit. I love Georges Brassens and I have several compilations of other world music. I think I like the Afro-pop the best.
27. What famous musician would you like to have sex with?
Liz Phair.
28. Worst concert moment?
You know, I'm starting to think it was the Flaming Lips show. I was just kind of disappointed in the whole thing.
29. Funny concert moment?
The Hold Steady were funny all the way through, not from telling jokes or anything, but just from a carefree, tongue in cheek attitude they evinced. Their opening act Sean Na Na was unintentionally funny, because Friar and I made fun of them (and the singer's ass-crack) a lot. Jonathan Richman was funny. I guess I can't think of a funny moment.
30. Sad concert moment?
I can't remember being sad at a concert, except of course for times I happened to be dwelling on unrelated sad stuff in my life anyway. No concert has done something to make me sad.
31. Best local act you can think of?
Hmmmm. Sonar's very good. The now-defunct band on Friar's label was awesome. Auric's band is the best, but they're hardly local anymore.
32. If you were a musical instrument what would you be?
what kind of drum gets kicked? I'd be that kind.
33. Do you watch music TV?
Does this still exist? No. I don't have a TV in my house, but if I did, and if I had that really specialized cable that showed a variety of music video channels, I probably would watch it.
34. Do you follow the music charts, like the top 40?
There are few things in life that I care less about, honestly.
35. Have you met any famous musicians?
Yes.
36. Are any of your friends/family etc musicians?
Yes.
37. Lyric that best describes your feelings right now?
"I've thought so much about suicide, parts of me have already died." ---The Old 97's, "Lonely Holiday"
38. Lyric that describes your life?
"Oh Lord, if you made me, it's easy to see that you all make mistakes up above." ---Greg Brown, "Lord I Have Made You a Place In My Heart"
39. Do you know the names of all the band members that you listen to?
That would be quite a feat of memorization on my part. I can barely remember the names of people I've met.
40. Does a musician’s physical attractiveness play a role in the music that you listen to?
Not at all.
41. Favorite movie sound track?
Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?
42. What music do your parents listen to?
My mother listens to no music whatsoever. She hates all music. My father, while no audiophile, listens to French singers, Irish rebel songs, bluegrass and folk, German marches, Tom Waits, the Pogues, the Doors, Johnny cash, sea shanties, and a lot of other varied stuff.
43. Do you wear band T-shirts?
I have a few. When I go to a concert, I try to get a T-shirt as a souvenir.
44. What music sub-culture do you feel like you belong to?
The thirty-something, chart-ignoring, genre-spanning whiteboy genre. it is informed by '80s nostalgia, memories of '70s classic rock, and those blissful heady college years (cue up R.E.M.'s "It's the End of the World As We Know It...")
45. Do you sing in the shower?
Oh, no. See answer to #19 regarding my utter lack of skill.
46. Would you rather marry a musician or be one yourself?
I think being married to a musician might be stressful. The road offers many temptations to the touring artist, surrounded by adoring groupies...
47. How important is your partner's taste in music to you?
Well, I wouldn't want her to listen to white power punk, but if she liked stuff I hate, that'd be okay with me. We'd just have to learn to deal.
48. Hanson moves in next door to you, do you go introduce yourself, or do you arrange to beat them up?
I'd be perfectly pleasant. Their music is no more or less offensive than any other prefab pop. I would, however, loudly sing "Mmmbop" every time I passed one of them in the street, so they'd probably hate me.
49. Sex, Drugs or Rock 'n' Roll?
To tell you the truth, the only one I really couldn't live with is rock 'n' roll.
50. Now what are you listening to?
The Pogues, "Young Ned Of the Hill." This useless survey took thirteen songs to fill out.
1. What are you listening to right now?
Police, "Message In a Bottle."
2. What song makes you sad?
So very many. The one that springs immediately to mind is Billy Bragg's "You Woke Up My Neighborhood." Not only is it about the dissolution of a tumultuous relationship, that song is intensely connected in my mind with the morning of a very bad break-up of my own.
3. What is the most annoying song in the world?
I tend to tune out things I don't like rather than sit and absorb whatever crap MTV wants me to "grind" to, so I don't know many songs that I would dislike. But I did recently have to listen to that "My Humps" song. Lord Krishna, what utter garbage. And people get wealthy for that kind of talentless waste.
4. Your all time favorite band?
Can I narrow it down? I'm not sure, but I guess the Clash.
5. Your newly discovered band is?
It's not all that new, but The Hold Steady. I've mentioned these guys a time or two before. True genius.
6. Best female voice?
I don't listen to many female artists, because, frankly, I don't really enjoy the typical female singing voice. My favorite female voices are rather rough around the edges, like my favorite male voices: Liz Phair, Amy Ray of the Indigo Girls, etc.
7. Best male voice?
Bob Dylan, of course.
8. Music type you find yourself listening to most?
Punk.
9. What do you listen to, to hype you up?
Punk.
10. What do you listen to, to calm down?
The more folky stuff, children's music, They Might Be Giants, humorous music like Tom Lehrer.
11a. Last gig/concert you went to?
The Hold Steady. I blogged about it here.
11b. Last BIG band that you saw live?
The Hold Steady are getting pretty famous --- they've got a 4 1/2 star review in Paste Magazine and were interviewed in the Onion AV Club this week alone. But more famous than them are the Flaming Lips.
12. Band you find yourself listening to the most?
Lately, the Hold Steady. In general, Rancid.
13. Most hated band?
I tend to ignore stuff I don't like. I'm sure I'd hate most of the new (sorry, nü) throwback cock rock that the music congolomerates are pushing to the kids these days. I can't think of a band I'd actually give enough of a crap about to muster up genuine hatred. Maybe a white power act.
14. Song that makes you think?
All the music I listen to makes me think. I'm a thinker.
15. Band that you think the world should love as much as you do?
The Hold Steady.
16. Coolest music video?
What the hell is a music video? You mean those little films they used to show on TV when they played the songs? Okay, I'll give three answers. (1) Straight-up coolest of all time: A-ha's "Take On Me." Shut up, you know it's true. (2) Video I watched a lot with some cool cred: Johnny Cash's version of "Hurt." (3) Current nifty (but possibly uncool) video: Weird Al Yankovic's "White And Nerdy." Hee hee, funny.
17. Can you play a musical instrument?
I'm learning to play the recorder for a class in State School. So, no.
18. Ever been in a mosh pit?
No, I haven't been to too many concerts where a mosh pit arose, and also, I'm a wuss.
19. Are you in a band?
No, because I lack even the tiniest shred of understanding of what is meant by key, pitch, rhythm, or tone.
20. Ever dated a musician?
Nope. This survey is making me out to be a bit of a gormless old bore, innit?
21. Do you wish yourself that you were a musician?
To some degree. I think most people do, because of the enormous cool factor attached (not to mention the accompanying chick magnetism). But if a friendly genie gave me a choice of dream careers with fame and respect perks, I'd pick writer over musician.
22. Last song that you heard on the radio, etc?
Couldn't tell you. Haven't listened to commercial music radio in literally years except for hearing a co-worker's radio every once in a while.
23. What do you think of classical music?
I ought to listen to more, because I do like it (at least stuff by the all-time greats) when I hear it, but the rock and roll is just in my soul, baby. Classical is more like background music to me; I have no real connection with it, even if I can appreciate its beauty. Also, I like lyrics.
24. What do you think of country music?
Real country music (Johnny cash, Willie Nelson, Hank Williams, Dwight Yoakam) is great. The prefab pop they play on commercial country radio is pretty bad, and basically just today's pop sung with a southern accent by a guy in a big stupid hat.
25. What do you think of death metal?
I don't give it a thought.
26. Do you listen to music in foreign languages?
A bit. I love Georges Brassens and I have several compilations of other world music. I think I like the Afro-pop the best.
27. What famous musician would you like to have sex with?
Liz Phair.
28. Worst concert moment?
You know, I'm starting to think it was the Flaming Lips show. I was just kind of disappointed in the whole thing.
29. Funny concert moment?
The Hold Steady were funny all the way through, not from telling jokes or anything, but just from a carefree, tongue in cheek attitude they evinced. Their opening act Sean Na Na was unintentionally funny, because Friar and I made fun of them (and the singer's ass-crack) a lot. Jonathan Richman was funny. I guess I can't think of a funny moment.
30. Sad concert moment?
I can't remember being sad at a concert, except of course for times I happened to be dwelling on unrelated sad stuff in my life anyway. No concert has done something to make me sad.
31. Best local act you can think of?
Hmmmm. Sonar's very good. The now-defunct band on Friar's label was awesome. Auric's band is the best, but they're hardly local anymore.
32. If you were a musical instrument what would you be?
what kind of drum gets kicked? I'd be that kind.
33. Do you watch music TV?
Does this still exist? No. I don't have a TV in my house, but if I did, and if I had that really specialized cable that showed a variety of music video channels, I probably would watch it.
34. Do you follow the music charts, like the top 40?
There are few things in life that I care less about, honestly.
35. Have you met any famous musicians?
Yes.
36. Are any of your friends/family etc musicians?
Yes.
37. Lyric that best describes your feelings right now?
"I've thought so much about suicide, parts of me have already died." ---The Old 97's, "Lonely Holiday"
38. Lyric that describes your life?
"Oh Lord, if you made me, it's easy to see that you all make mistakes up above." ---Greg Brown, "Lord I Have Made You a Place In My Heart"
39. Do you know the names of all the band members that you listen to?
That would be quite a feat of memorization on my part. I can barely remember the names of people I've met.
40. Does a musician’s physical attractiveness play a role in the music that you listen to?
Not at all.
41. Favorite movie sound track?
Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?
42. What music do your parents listen to?
My mother listens to no music whatsoever. She hates all music. My father, while no audiophile, listens to French singers, Irish rebel songs, bluegrass and folk, German marches, Tom Waits, the Pogues, the Doors, Johnny cash, sea shanties, and a lot of other varied stuff.
43. Do you wear band T-shirts?
I have a few. When I go to a concert, I try to get a T-shirt as a souvenir.
44. What music sub-culture do you feel like you belong to?
The thirty-something, chart-ignoring, genre-spanning whiteboy genre. it is informed by '80s nostalgia, memories of '70s classic rock, and those blissful heady college years (cue up R.E.M.'s "It's the End of the World As We Know It...")
45. Do you sing in the shower?
Oh, no. See answer to #19 regarding my utter lack of skill.
46. Would you rather marry a musician or be one yourself?
I think being married to a musician might be stressful. The road offers many temptations to the touring artist, surrounded by adoring groupies...
47. How important is your partner's taste in music to you?
Well, I wouldn't want her to listen to white power punk, but if she liked stuff I hate, that'd be okay with me. We'd just have to learn to deal.
48. Hanson moves in next door to you, do you go introduce yourself, or do you arrange to beat them up?
I'd be perfectly pleasant. Their music is no more or less offensive than any other prefab pop. I would, however, loudly sing "Mmmbop" every time I passed one of them in the street, so they'd probably hate me.
49. Sex, Drugs or Rock 'n' Roll?
To tell you the truth, the only one I really couldn't live with is rock 'n' roll.
50. Now what are you listening to?
The Pogues, "Young Ned Of the Hill." This useless survey took thirteen songs to fill out.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Ashamed of a stupid Texan
Are people still talking about the Dixie Chicks' 2003 joke on-stage at a London concert about their feelings for our chowderhead president? Apparently the media is at least, I think because a tour film or something about them has come out recently. (I don't follow their music or their career.)
Typical of the media (and the American public) to make mountains out of molehills, while (to extend the poor beleaguered metaphor to the breaking point) pretending to themselves that the enormous volcanoes in their midst are pebbles.
It was a joke, son. A musician said something silly on stage. Is this anything for thousands of people to get their uptight little knickers in a twist over, or for the media to devote tireless days to?
There are two ways someone who is offended by this political remark of no consequence or weight, uttered by an entertainer of no consequence or standing beyond the entertainment world, can react.
First, one can deny the person's right to make such remarks, especially during "wartime," especially in --- gasp! --- a foreign land, citing damage to morale and "the troops" and suggest that it is close to treason to undermine Our Exalted Chimp President's authority in any way under these conditions.
Well, the only thing you can say about this reaction is that it is the provenance of deluded, very stupid hypocrites (because you know the people who make such objections to political protest didn't feel that way when it came to Clinton), and it's too bad those who react in this manner weren't born in China, where they would fit into the political climate a lot better.
The second way to react is to grudgingly admit that the entertainer has a right to make such remarks, but then vigorously assert one's own right to boycott the entertainer's product and to malign him or her long and loud.
Which is all very well and good and at least somewhat rational, but it sort of misses the whole point about free speech, which is, you know, the right to express oneself without fear of repercussion, whether it's being muzzled by the government or having futile economic sanctions imposed on you by tight-assed retards.
Hell, there are dozens of actors whom I think are clueless and misguided and say all kinds of stupid things. Should I refuse to go to their films and instead stay home sulking or perhaps writing furious letters to the local editor about what Must Be Done? Boy, that'll get 'em where it hurts. Well, no it won't, and more to the point, I wouldn't do that because it's okay to say things that I don't agree with. Because we live in America.
Oh, and between the two of them, our President Ape and Vice-President Ogre have three DUIs. Also, Laura Bush ran a stop sign when she was 17 and got in an accident that killed someone. No charges were filed. And Bush, after ignoring warnings about real threats, has gotten us into a needless war for his own personal reasons that has turned into an American bloodbath. This despite the fact that Bush and Cheney both weaseled their way out of military service (Cheney had "other priorities"), Bush not even bothering to show up for his safe domestic service. And Bush doesn't read newspapers and may be one of the least qualified presidents in our history; what's unarguable is that he proudly presents himself as a fool. And the Bush administration shows no respect for America's natural heritage or civil rights or education programs or health or even poor veterans of war, but a lot of respect for the ultra-wealthy.
So it seems like it's pretty normal to feel ashamed of Bush in particular and the whole lying bunch of them in general. Why would anyone even raise an eyebrow about saying it in the first place? If I met the guy, I wouldn't even shake his hand.
Typical of the media (and the American public) to make mountains out of molehills, while (to extend the poor beleaguered metaphor to the breaking point) pretending to themselves that the enormous volcanoes in their midst are pebbles.
It was a joke, son. A musician said something silly on stage. Is this anything for thousands of people to get their uptight little knickers in a twist over, or for the media to devote tireless days to?
There are two ways someone who is offended by this political remark of no consequence or weight, uttered by an entertainer of no consequence or standing beyond the entertainment world, can react.
First, one can deny the person's right to make such remarks, especially during "wartime," especially in --- gasp! --- a foreign land, citing damage to morale and "the troops" and suggest that it is close to treason to undermine Our Exalted Chimp President's authority in any way under these conditions.
Well, the only thing you can say about this reaction is that it is the provenance of deluded, very stupid hypocrites (because you know the people who make such objections to political protest didn't feel that way when it came to Clinton), and it's too bad those who react in this manner weren't born in China, where they would fit into the political climate a lot better.
The second way to react is to grudgingly admit that the entertainer has a right to make such remarks, but then vigorously assert one's own right to boycott the entertainer's product and to malign him or her long and loud.
Which is all very well and good and at least somewhat rational, but it sort of misses the whole point about free speech, which is, you know, the right to express oneself without fear of repercussion, whether it's being muzzled by the government or having futile economic sanctions imposed on you by tight-assed retards.
Hell, there are dozens of actors whom I think are clueless and misguided and say all kinds of stupid things. Should I refuse to go to their films and instead stay home sulking or perhaps writing furious letters to the local editor about what Must Be Done? Boy, that'll get 'em where it hurts. Well, no it won't, and more to the point, I wouldn't do that because it's okay to say things that I don't agree with. Because we live in America.
Oh, and between the two of them, our President Ape and Vice-President Ogre have three DUIs. Also, Laura Bush ran a stop sign when she was 17 and got in an accident that killed someone. No charges were filed. And Bush, after ignoring warnings about real threats, has gotten us into a needless war for his own personal reasons that has turned into an American bloodbath. This despite the fact that Bush and Cheney both weaseled their way out of military service (Cheney had "other priorities"), Bush not even bothering to show up for his safe domestic service. And Bush doesn't read newspapers and may be one of the least qualified presidents in our history; what's unarguable is that he proudly presents himself as a fool. And the Bush administration shows no respect for America's natural heritage or civil rights or education programs or health or even poor veterans of war, but a lot of respect for the ultra-wealthy.
So it seems like it's pretty normal to feel ashamed of Bush in particular and the whole lying bunch of them in general. Why would anyone even raise an eyebrow about saying it in the first place? If I met the guy, I wouldn't even shake his hand.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Informal Reading Inventory
I administered an Informal Reading Inventory to young W at the tutoring session today. Since Dr. C repeatedly warned us that it would probably take over an hour, I was surprised that it actually took about half that. W hit his independent, instructional and frustration levels in consecutive succession. His listening comprehension, on the other hand, took three readings, each one a lower level than the last. I think this is uncommon; students are supposed to understand more of what they hear read aloud fluently than of the material they read themselves. But oh well. I taped the whole thing and I'll review the whole thing this weekend and fill in all the paperwork about it (and there is a tremendous amount of paperwork).
I can't imagine a teacher of twenty or more kids putting this much effort into one student.
I can't imagine a teacher of twenty or more kids putting this much effort into one student.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
The drama I've been craving
In Art, the last two groups made presentations. The first had us make whales out of paper bags stuffed with newspapers and construction paper find. We used blue pipe cleaner for the water spouts. They ended up looking kind of boxy, but I'd make these with second graders or so.
The second group had us make butterflies in the usual way --- paint on one side of the cut-out wings, then folded over to make a symmetrical pattern.
After the art presentations, we were split into small groups. We were given a children's book and twenty minutes to write and practice a skit based on the plot. I thought ours was pretty good.
When all the skits were finished, Ms. M asked everyone if they'd had acting experience before. I told the class that I was a professional actor as a kid and that I'd been in lots of TV and radio commercials and plays and audio books. I don't know why I said that. I mean, it's true, but I usually don't share things about myself in class. I was probably still high from the skit adrenaline.
Diagnostic reading was an online class, supposedly time given to us to administer the IRI. I'll do it tomorrow.
The second group had us make butterflies in the usual way --- paint on one side of the cut-out wings, then folded over to make a symmetrical pattern.
After the art presentations, we were split into small groups. We were given a children's book and twenty minutes to write and practice a skit based on the plot. I thought ours was pretty good.
When all the skits were finished, Ms. M asked everyone if they'd had acting experience before. I told the class that I was a professional actor as a kid and that I'd been in lots of TV and radio commercials and plays and audio books. I don't know why I said that. I mean, it's true, but I usually don't share things about myself in class. I was probably still high from the skit adrenaline.
Diagnostic reading was an online class, supposedly time given to us to administer the IRI. I'll do it tomorrow.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Berated, castigated
Math class was a review of fractions, which most of the class doesn't seem to get.
After class, the teacher took me aside and said to me, 'I know you understand, but I'd ask you to watch your professional demeanor, because it's starting to affect classroom climate."
Apparently I'd been talking and laughing a bit too much with a classmate who also finds the material basic at best.
Whoops. I felt embarrassed and guilty. I don't mean to be unprofessional and I certainly don't want to insult the teacher with rude behavior, nor would I want to distract the less adroit students.
I take full responsibility because I ought to know better and I make no excuses... But the pretty girl was talking to me and saying funny stuff!
I'll be better in future.
After class, the teacher took me aside and said to me, 'I know you understand, but I'd ask you to watch your professional demeanor, because it's starting to affect classroom climate."
Apparently I'd been talking and laughing a bit too much with a classmate who also finds the material basic at best.
Whoops. I felt embarrassed and guilty. I don't mean to be unprofessional and I certainly don't want to insult the teacher with rude behavior, nor would I want to distract the less adroit students.
I take full responsibility because I ought to know better and I make no excuses... But the pretty girl was talking to me and saying funny stuff!
I'll be better in future.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Big heads and soft bodies make for lousy lovers
She said "You're pretty good with words
But words won't save your life."
And they didn't.
So he died.
--- The Hold Steady, "Stuck Between Stations"
Craig Finn is my new God. He demands beer and tribute and wants you to stay positive.
Chips Ahoy!
P.S: Bats have no bankers and they do not drink.
But words won't save your life."
And they didn't.
So he died.
--- The Hold Steady, "Stuck Between Stations"
Craig Finn is my new God. He demands beer and tribute and wants you to stay positive.
Chips Ahoy!
P.S: Bats have no bankers and they do not drink.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, 1931-1941
I watched the 1941 version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde starring Spencer Tracy. Then I watched the 1931 version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde starring Frederic March.
I thought the 1941 film was excellent. Tracy is absolutely superb in his dual role, playing the tortured scientist with the right blend of self-restraint and impatience, then really letting himself go as the unfettered maniac Hyde. I was amazed at how risqué, given the epoch, some of the scenes were. For example, when he first takes the potion, Jekyll has a brief dream full of wild imagery, representing all his repressed desires: at one point he's riding a carriage, laughing uproariously and whipping the inflamed horses. Then the horses are gone, replaced with the two women in his life --- they are drawing the carriage, and he's whipping them and laughing. Later, a seduction scene involving garters and a lot of exposed legs seemed to me, for the time, quite daring.
At first the 1931 version didn't hold my interest. Frederic March, of course, was an actor of his era, made up and hamming it up like he was on the Vaudeville stage. But soon I realized that the 1941 version is a completely faithful remake, scene for scene, of this earlier classic film (this made me revise my opinion of the later movie a bit). Yes, there are very awkward moments early on, such as the chemistry-free wooing scenes between March and Rose Hobart, his fiancée, replete with awkwardly close face shots, stilted dialogue and expressionless proclamations of love while one's nose is practically squished up against the other's.
However! March's performance grew on me, especially after he turned into Hyde. The makeup was a bit distracting (he looked like a cross between Grandpa Munster and Eddie Munster --- Hyde's not the Wolfman, for pete's sake!), but I suppose representative of the novel's intent to represent Hyde's moral evil physically, "giving a strong feeling of deformity." And March throws himself into the bad guy role, breaking out of his textbook Thirties Leading Man Type restraints and coming off almost frighteningly evil, even to the modern viewer.
And this version, too, wowed me with its risqué scenes. At one point, Miriam Hopkins (who plays doomed Ivy, object of Hyde's cruel lust) actually appears to be naked under the covers, which surprised me. She, too, shows a lot of gam in Jekyll's seduction scene. I didn't know the studio bigwigs allowed that kind of thing. A real old movie buff would know more than I about what was acceptable then.
In all, I have to give props to the 1931 movie for its terrific adaptation, March's joyously evil Hyde, and its apparently boundary-pushing subject matter. However, I'm a big Spencer Tracy fan, and I think the 1941 film's screenplay tightens up the drama in a few key ways (though it gets points off for lack of originality: not only are the scenes exactly the same and in the same order, some of the dialogue is taken from the March movie).
I thought the 1941 film was excellent. Tracy is absolutely superb in his dual role, playing the tortured scientist with the right blend of self-restraint and impatience, then really letting himself go as the unfettered maniac Hyde. I was amazed at how risqué, given the epoch, some of the scenes were. For example, when he first takes the potion, Jekyll has a brief dream full of wild imagery, representing all his repressed desires: at one point he's riding a carriage, laughing uproariously and whipping the inflamed horses. Then the horses are gone, replaced with the two women in his life --- they are drawing the carriage, and he's whipping them and laughing. Later, a seduction scene involving garters and a lot of exposed legs seemed to me, for the time, quite daring.
At first the 1931 version didn't hold my interest. Frederic March, of course, was an actor of his era, made up and hamming it up like he was on the Vaudeville stage. But soon I realized that the 1941 version is a completely faithful remake, scene for scene, of this earlier classic film (this made me revise my opinion of the later movie a bit). Yes, there are very awkward moments early on, such as the chemistry-free wooing scenes between March and Rose Hobart, his fiancée, replete with awkwardly close face shots, stilted dialogue and expressionless proclamations of love while one's nose is practically squished up against the other's.
However! March's performance grew on me, especially after he turned into Hyde. The makeup was a bit distracting (he looked like a cross between Grandpa Munster and Eddie Munster --- Hyde's not the Wolfman, for pete's sake!), but I suppose representative of the novel's intent to represent Hyde's moral evil physically, "giving a strong feeling of deformity." And March throws himself into the bad guy role, breaking out of his textbook Thirties Leading Man Type restraints and coming off almost frighteningly evil, even to the modern viewer.
And this version, too, wowed me with its risqué scenes. At one point, Miriam Hopkins (who plays doomed Ivy, object of Hyde's cruel lust) actually appears to be naked under the covers, which surprised me. She, too, shows a lot of gam in Jekyll's seduction scene. I didn't know the studio bigwigs allowed that kind of thing. A real old movie buff would know more than I about what was acceptable then.
In all, I have to give props to the 1931 movie for its terrific adaptation, March's joyously evil Hyde, and its apparently boundary-pushing subject matter. However, I'm a big Spencer Tracy fan, and I think the 1941 film's screenplay tightens up the drama in a few key ways (though it gets points off for lack of originality: not only are the scenes exactly the same and in the same order, some of the dialogue is taken from the March movie).
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Only a fool in here would think he's got anything to prove
I'm an unappealing nerd now, but in high school I was really an unappealing nerd. I'm talking mostly about physical nerdiness, here. Socially, I was okay. I had an equal number of male and female friends (and these latter were popular and attractive), and I had charm and social guiles enough to make my way in non-nerd society. So I wasn't a D&D playing outcast who could only talk about video games or Star Wars or something.
Okay, the guys and I played D&D one summer in high school. Oh, and were we the object of the girls' vituperation for that.
But anyway. Physically, I was a scrawny, ungainly, goofy anti-jock that, you might reasonably assume, no cute girl would ever notice, much less admire. But oddly, despite all my flaws and through no effort of my own, I received attention from a couple of very good-looking girls. No Lothario's or even an average high schooler's success rate, but pleasantly surprising given what I had to work with. So, why was I somewhat popular with the ladies? Because I was extremely intelligent. Even among a circle of privately-educated, literature-reading, creative and talented people, I stood out as extraordinarily smart.
(No false modesty here, just as no dissimulation in detailing my many failures.)
And intelligence, to women, is an aphrodisiac. Up to a point.
Because, although I'm only slightly more dumbed-down now (when you leave an academic setting, you stop being challenged mentally and so stop growing, no matter how many classics you read or cryptic crossword puzzles you do), my intelligence is now no selling point to women.
What's the difference? I'm glad you asked. Here's my theory. In high school and in college, I was still a potential waiting to be realized. My intelligence implied that I would make something spectacular of myself. So women (and in college this became true on a consistent basis) overlooked my ridiculous exterior and found my intelligence attractive: it was a possible path to power. "Men go for looks, women go for status." Smart men tend to make money, and, let's face it, chicks dig the money. So a young smart man? A good bet for a young woman.
Now, however, as I approach middle age but remain steadfastly rooted in mediocrity if not outright failure, my intelligence is no longer such a starring attraction. Indeed, it's almost like a freakish deformity: since my life is such a disaster despite my intelligence, my very psyche must be defective in some way. I'm like a child prodigy who never got any better at doing math or playing an instrument, and so ends up doing the same tricks and demonstrations that seemed so wonderful in a five-year-old, but are just kind of creepy in an adult. According to the theory, my current situation shows that in my case, intelligence will not lead to power or riches. Thus, it is not a consideration to the opposite sex.
All this raises and skirts the question of why, if I'm so fucking smart, I've made such a colossal mess of my life.
Okay, the guys and I played D&D one summer in high school. Oh, and were we the object of the girls' vituperation for that.
But anyway. Physically, I was a scrawny, ungainly, goofy anti-jock that, you might reasonably assume, no cute girl would ever notice, much less admire. But oddly, despite all my flaws and through no effort of my own, I received attention from a couple of very good-looking girls. No Lothario's or even an average high schooler's success rate, but pleasantly surprising given what I had to work with. So, why was I somewhat popular with the ladies? Because I was extremely intelligent. Even among a circle of privately-educated, literature-reading, creative and talented people, I stood out as extraordinarily smart.
(No false modesty here, just as no dissimulation in detailing my many failures.)
And intelligence, to women, is an aphrodisiac. Up to a point.
Because, although I'm only slightly more dumbed-down now (when you leave an academic setting, you stop being challenged mentally and so stop growing, no matter how many classics you read or cryptic crossword puzzles you do), my intelligence is now no selling point to women.
What's the difference? I'm glad you asked. Here's my theory. In high school and in college, I was still a potential waiting to be realized. My intelligence implied that I would make something spectacular of myself. So women (and in college this became true on a consistent basis) overlooked my ridiculous exterior and found my intelligence attractive: it was a possible path to power. "Men go for looks, women go for status." Smart men tend to make money, and, let's face it, chicks dig the money. So a young smart man? A good bet for a young woman.
Now, however, as I approach middle age but remain steadfastly rooted in mediocrity if not outright failure, my intelligence is no longer such a starring attraction. Indeed, it's almost like a freakish deformity: since my life is such a disaster despite my intelligence, my very psyche must be defective in some way. I'm like a child prodigy who never got any better at doing math or playing an instrument, and so ends up doing the same tricks and demonstrations that seemed so wonderful in a five-year-old, but are just kind of creepy in an adult. According to the theory, my current situation shows that in my case, intelligence will not lead to power or riches. Thus, it is not a consideration to the opposite sex.
All this raises and skirts the question of why, if I'm so fucking smart, I've made such a colossal mess of my life.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Popular permeation
The kids at work were arguing today about who was what superhero. They all wanted to be Batman. Naturally, I played the peacemaker (not the one with the gun) and assigned them roles. "You're Aquaman," I said, pointing to B. I made another one Batman, another Wonder Woman, another Hawkgirl, and so on. Then they asked me, "Who is R?"
Now, R is a child who is special, as in the Olympics. He's also rather hefty. He's not obese like some unfortunate kids; but he comes from East European origins and carries a lot of genetically-programmed weight on him. So I looked into his round, grinning face and said, "He's Bouncing Boy." And what do you know? One kid had heard of Bouncing Boy. I think he's on a cartoon about the Legion, but I've never seen it.
Anyway. I am turning my preschoolers into nerds.
***
Somewhat apropos, in that it deals with the permeation of popular icons and characters into the national consciousness, I received a spam email that contained a silhouette of a cowboy on a horse facing a silhouette of a camel. Above this picture were the words: "Which do you prefer?"
I only looked at the thing for the nanosecond it took to delete it, but in that time, I was baffled. Why would I have any preference between a cowboy and a camel? Was it, I reflected, giving the spam letter another picosecond of my precious mental attention, some kind of USA vs the Arab world thing, with the cowboy as America and the camel representing Islam?
A few dozen emails later, I got another of the same spam letters. This time, the screen had scrolled down a bit farther, and I saw that the images represented two brands of cigarettes.
I am so removed from the worlds of smoking and advertising (I don't have a TV and haven't listened to the radio in years) that this never would have occurred to me. I guess I'm not the target audience for that particular scam.
Now, R is a child who is special, as in the Olympics. He's also rather hefty. He's not obese like some unfortunate kids; but he comes from East European origins and carries a lot of genetically-programmed weight on him. So I looked into his round, grinning face and said, "He's Bouncing Boy." And what do you know? One kid had heard of Bouncing Boy. I think he's on a cartoon about the Legion, but I've never seen it.
Anyway. I am turning my preschoolers into nerds.
***
Somewhat apropos, in that it deals with the permeation of popular icons and characters into the national consciousness, I received a spam email that contained a silhouette of a cowboy on a horse facing a silhouette of a camel. Above this picture were the words: "Which do you prefer?"
I only looked at the thing for the nanosecond it took to delete it, but in that time, I was baffled. Why would I have any preference between a cowboy and a camel? Was it, I reflected, giving the spam letter another picosecond of my precious mental attention, some kind of USA vs the Arab world thing, with the cowboy as America and the camel representing Islam?
A few dozen emails later, I got another of the same spam letters. This time, the screen had scrolled down a bit farther, and I saw that the images represented two brands of cigarettes.
I am so removed from the worlds of smoking and advertising (I don't have a TV and haven't listened to the radio in years) that this never would have occurred to me. I guess I'm not the target audience for that particular scam.
Stomp a mudhole in my heart
After work, I had my second tutoring session with young W. I gave him the IRI locator test. This involves having a student read aloud lists of ten words each increasing in difficulty until he misses one. The highest level list on which he reads all the words without a mispronunciation is his level.
I started with the word list two grades below his, as is customary. He read the words so rapidly that I could barely ascertain that he was pronouncing them right. On the next grade list he did the same thing. On his own grade level he read them nearly as quickly with a pause before one word. Only on the list for the grade above him did he stumble, and then he mispronounced more than half the words. Which seemed odd to me, because the previous ones were such a breeze to him. It's not that much of a leap in difficulty level to the next list, so go figure.
Then we read two chapters from a Magic Tree House book. You know what those Magic Tree House books are?
Them's a license to print money is what they are. Mary Pope Osbourne's got a good gig running there.
***
Anyhoo. In the evening I drove up to Waitress T's house. We went to the venue near Cheesefries where Auric's band was playing. I got to play the big shot with my name on the guest list and VIP badges and shit. It was a terrific show; the band was in fine form. Friar, T-Bone and his wife, Gunner, local musician Sonar and others were all there in our little roped-off VIP section. Everyone thought T was my date. Which she decidedly wasn't.
Indeed, she got into a couple of phone arguments with her actual boyfriend about going out on this little concert "date" with me.
Anyway, we met Auric after the show and T got a picture, but Auric was in a hurry to leave so we didn't hang out or anything. Auric told me that he had heard from Friar that I was juggling multiple women. Ha! If they knew how boring my actual social life was they'd probably weep bitter, bitter tears.
Friar followed the band to their next gig a few cities over. Damn his happy-go-lucky blessed life! I really wish I could have gone.
I started with the word list two grades below his, as is customary. He read the words so rapidly that I could barely ascertain that he was pronouncing them right. On the next grade list he did the same thing. On his own grade level he read them nearly as quickly with a pause before one word. Only on the list for the grade above him did he stumble, and then he mispronounced more than half the words. Which seemed odd to me, because the previous ones were such a breeze to him. It's not that much of a leap in difficulty level to the next list, so go figure.
Then we read two chapters from a Magic Tree House book. You know what those Magic Tree House books are?
Them's a license to print money is what they are. Mary Pope Osbourne's got a good gig running there.
***
Anyhoo. In the evening I drove up to Waitress T's house. We went to the venue near Cheesefries where Auric's band was playing. I got to play the big shot with my name on the guest list and VIP badges and shit. It was a terrific show; the band was in fine form. Friar, T-Bone and his wife, Gunner, local musician Sonar and others were all there in our little roped-off VIP section. Everyone thought T was my date. Which she decidedly wasn't.
Indeed, she got into a couple of phone arguments with her actual boyfriend about going out on this little concert "date" with me.
Anyway, we met Auric after the show and T got a picture, but Auric was in a hurry to leave so we didn't hang out or anything. Auric told me that he had heard from Friar that I was juggling multiple women. Ha! If they knew how boring my actual social life was they'd probably weep bitter, bitter tears.
Friar followed the band to their next gig a few cities over. Damn his happy-go-lucky blessed life! I really wish I could have gone.
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