Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Colin
What can I say that has not already been said about Colin McEnroe? I looked up to him long before I met him, and when I finally did have the honor of being his student, my admiration for his grew incredibly. He is a bright, charming and quick witted man who will constantly wow you with his incredible knowledge. Once you get past his superficial shyness, something I had never expected from him, he is also incredibly warm.
Colin made me a better writer by simply encouraging me to be more curious. In a way I think he makes everyone more curious with his ability to listen and present a cogent counterpoint to any discussion. Anyone who considers him a "liberal wonk" does not truly understand him. He has opinions, strong ones, but he listens to others before talking. He opens his forum to people who disagree with him, something that Rush would never dare. He is a gentleman and a scholar.
WTIC is making the worst mistake they could possibly make. Nobody listens to Colin for the news, which they plan to dump in his place. In fact, many of us groan when the ten minutes news cycle came on. Instead, we all listened to Colin because he is that rare unique artist in the world that we all seek out. I have no reason to turn on my car radio anymore. Colin's syrupy voice will no longer be on it.
Colin made me a better writer by simply encouraging me to be more curious. In a way I think he makes everyone more curious with his ability to listen and present a cogent counterpoint to any discussion. Anyone who considers him a "liberal wonk" does not truly understand him. He has opinions, strong ones, but he listens to others before talking. He opens his forum to people who disagree with him, something that Rush would never dare. He is a gentleman and a scholar.
WTIC is making the worst mistake they could possibly make. Nobody listens to Colin for the news, which they plan to dump in his place. In fact, many of us groan when the ten minutes news cycle came on. Instead, we all listened to Colin because he is that rare unique artist in the world that we all seek out. I have no reason to turn on my car radio anymore. Colin's syrupy voice will no longer be on it.
Back
...and this time, I am back for a regular routine of blogging. Why bother you ask? Well, there are a variety of reasons why I need to get back to blogging:
1. There have been so many times over the past year that I have wanted to write. The straw that broke the camel's back (which I will be writing about shortly) is the termination of my blogging mentor and personal idol Colin McEnroe. I am seething over this dumb, dumb, dumb idea.
2. My writing has become sluggish. As I sit, writing on my laptop, I feel like I am back at the gym for the first time in years. I guarantee that I will be wiped out after this writing. Truly.
3. I have failed at my thesis, and need to figure out a way to bounce back. Fail is a relative term, but in my case, my first draft was rejected outright by my adviser. Rather than give up, I am proposing a dramatic re haul of my writing and hoping he will allow me to file another extension. I will, of course, blame my ten month old baby girl, but I realize that my weakness lies in my ability to fake my writing skills for so many years. I have some severe deficiencies to make up for and I hope that writing will bequeath better writing.
Blogging is easy to start, but hard to really get truly involved in. I can't promise much, other than that I will try.
1. There have been so many times over the past year that I have wanted to write. The straw that broke the camel's back (which I will be writing about shortly) is the termination of my blogging mentor and personal idol Colin McEnroe. I am seething over this dumb, dumb, dumb idea.
2. My writing has become sluggish. As I sit, writing on my laptop, I feel like I am back at the gym for the first time in years. I guarantee that I will be wiped out after this writing. Truly.
3. I have failed at my thesis, and need to figure out a way to bounce back. Fail is a relative term, but in my case, my first draft was rejected outright by my adviser. Rather than give up, I am proposing a dramatic re haul of my writing and hoping he will allow me to file another extension. I will, of course, blame my ten month old baby girl, but I realize that my weakness lies in my ability to fake my writing skills for so many years. I have some severe deficiencies to make up for and I hope that writing will bequeath better writing.
Blogging is easy to start, but hard to really get truly involved in. I can't promise much, other than that I will try.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Dramatically Tired Beginnings
It happened eight weeks and three days ago, and it was both wonderful and terrifying. Of course rationally, it started long before that, from the moment of finding out that she was pregnant. Colleen had decided to show up four weeks and three days early, which completely threw us for a loop. Knowing her today, I realize that is just her personality. My wife called me frantically on a Wednesday morning. We work in the same building so she had a friend track me down. He looked confused, not sure why he had been enlisted, but told me she sounded serious. I knew what it was immediately.
I dropped her off at the entrance to Hartford Hospital. I spoke to my sister-in-law, telling her we wouldn't be able to babysit her kids. I dropped my car at the Valet and bolted the stairs, as if we had only moments. The other passenger in the elevator asked me if my wife was having a baby. We must all have a look.
Colleen waited, having seconds thoughts about her entrance. Maybe she had picked up on all those makeover shows her mom watched while she was in the womb and wanted to be more glamorous. So we sat in Hartford hospital, listening to the calming sound of Colleen's heartbeat. The doctors told us her heartbeat was a good, strong indication of her health. Still, a doctor from the NICU came in to have a scary conversation about the needs of our child post birth. Our doctors told us it was silly and at almost 36 weeks, she would be fine.
At some point I fell asleep on the man cot--a bed converted from the wing back chair. My mind registered midnight tests, gentle talks with nurses, a relieved doctor. I slept well with the loud heartbeat permeating the room. Around 4:30 my wife woke me up and said she was not officially in labor, but that her doctor told her she was staying until the baby came out. I was sent to work so I didn't dig into my two week leave.
The day was a mix of colleagues giving me curious glances, while some gave me blatant dirty looks. They wanted to know why I wasn't there, how was she, what kind of thoughts were going through my head? Despite this, I am now told I was smiling the entire day, happy for the pregnancy to finally be over. Not quite.
I returned to Hartford Hospital after work, feeling more comfortable with the place. There had been no movement in the labor front, so I planned orchestrated strikes on the cafeteria, reveling in the thought of carte blanche eating for the night. My weight loss plan, which had detailed losing 10-20 pounds before the baby arrived, was scuttled. I brought back a big cookie, some popcorn and a slice of pizza. My wife was served hospital food, the end being nowhere in sight for her.
Around 5:30 another doctor came in and my wife asked him about her fluid levels. It was a last minute question, spoken as he was nearly out of the door. Nevertheless, we both remember it as being the beginning of the rollercoaster ride through maternity neverland. He stopped in midstride, turned back and looked at my wife's chart. His amiable face, so pleasant a few moments earlier, turned dour. He was nervous and didn't want to wait anymore. If she was born that day, she would be an automatic NICU patient. Hartford's NICU was so fall, they were using other nursery rooms and offices. We would have to be transferred.
My wife's heart catapulted, and for a time they thought they would have no choice but to perform a C-section on the spot. We were taken into the OR, where her heart finally settled down. I managed to make her laugh by accidentally locking all my street clothes, as well as the locker key in the OR locker. We share our klutziness, a trait we are both positive Colleen will inherit. She was walked back into the room while they tried to find a space for the delivery. It took two security guards with fifteen keys and three maintenance men with a manual screwdriver, hacksaw, wrench, broken key and two power screwdrivers, to release my belongings. The entire time they kept asking me if I was sure I needed my things. I was positive.
At some point we were told we were being transferred to the UConn Medical Center, which was not the best news for us. UConn is even further away from our home than Hartford Hospital, and many of our friends were unfamiliar with us. Fortunately, both sets of parents were in Florida (mine live there 365 while my wife's were on vacation), so we didn't have an entourage. My wife was going to be sent by ambulance, while I went ahead in my car. It was around 11 oclock at night when I left Hartford, realizing I had become attached to the hospital. It was February 28th and the possibility of a leap day baby was clanging around in my head.
I arrived at UConn Medical Center at approximately 11:45 and felt more relaxed and secure. The nurses told me I had a short time to acquiring food, so I ran to the cafeteria. My first disappointment was the cafeteria, which had no hot food, and a smattering of bread and chips. I ended up with a bagel, chips and some sort of juice. My poor wife wouldn't be able to eat until she gave birth.
After about an hour of pacing, and uncomfortably watching a Law and Order episode, my wife arrived. Her long journey was over and she looked exhausted. The room was bigger, but lacked a key feature--there were no windows. In the dead of night, I didn't notice. But days of being in a dungeon, stuffed in the basement at UConn, turned out to be a tough experience. What kind of stupid bureaucrat number cruncher puts a maternity ward in a basement? That's like putting a psych ward on the roof.
Inducing pregnancy isn't as easy as it sounds. The gory details are unnecessary, but lets just say that Colleen wasn't a leap baby. The night of the 29th, my wife finally had the kind of contractions that were necessary for labor. We were to get some rest and maybe we would have a baby in 12 hours. We both slept, the man cot was bigger at UConn, and in the morning I found myself voracious. At 7:30, I walked up to the cafeteria and ravaged a waffle with strawberries. I was halfway through an omelet when I received the call. She was ready to go.
When I arrived back there was a doctor who said my wife would be ready in about an hour or so. We breathed a little relief. My wife looked tired but a relieved smile crossed her cheeks. Then another doctor came in, took a look, and we were being wheeled into the delivery room. It was 8:00 am.
At 8:14 am, Colleen showed up. She was purple, which surprised me. The doctor asked me if I wanted to cut the cord. I didn't.
There's a lot of half memories. I remember texting people, and have evidence I did. People asked me details, which I vaguely gave. Being a preemie, Colleen was taken into the NICU first, and I rushed off to see her. Her vitals were all fine, so I proudly carried her into the room and handed her to my wife. She managed to muster the strength to hold Colleen for a minute, and then I brought her back to the NICU.
For all the fussing Hartford made about not having a NICU bed, it turned out Colleen spent 48 minutes officially there. Unofficially, she was in there for about four hours, but that was due to the fact that there were no nursery beds available. She was perfect.
I'm writing this today because quite frankly it took that long to get my head above water. I have lots of stuff from our first eight weeks, but I wanted to start here.
I dropped her off at the entrance to Hartford Hospital. I spoke to my sister-in-law, telling her we wouldn't be able to babysit her kids. I dropped my car at the Valet and bolted the stairs, as if we had only moments. The other passenger in the elevator asked me if my wife was having a baby. We must all have a look.
Colleen waited, having seconds thoughts about her entrance. Maybe she had picked up on all those makeover shows her mom watched while she was in the womb and wanted to be more glamorous. So we sat in Hartford hospital, listening to the calming sound of Colleen's heartbeat. The doctors told us her heartbeat was a good, strong indication of her health. Still, a doctor from the NICU came in to have a scary conversation about the needs of our child post birth. Our doctors told us it was silly and at almost 36 weeks, she would be fine.
At some point I fell asleep on the man cot--a bed converted from the wing back chair. My mind registered midnight tests, gentle talks with nurses, a relieved doctor. I slept well with the loud heartbeat permeating the room. Around 4:30 my wife woke me up and said she was not officially in labor, but that her doctor told her she was staying until the baby came out. I was sent to work so I didn't dig into my two week leave.
The day was a mix of colleagues giving me curious glances, while some gave me blatant dirty looks. They wanted to know why I wasn't there, how was she, what kind of thoughts were going through my head? Despite this, I am now told I was smiling the entire day, happy for the pregnancy to finally be over. Not quite.
I returned to Hartford Hospital after work, feeling more comfortable with the place. There had been no movement in the labor front, so I planned orchestrated strikes on the cafeteria, reveling in the thought of carte blanche eating for the night. My weight loss plan, which had detailed losing 10-20 pounds before the baby arrived, was scuttled. I brought back a big cookie, some popcorn and a slice of pizza. My wife was served hospital food, the end being nowhere in sight for her.
Around 5:30 another doctor came in and my wife asked him about her fluid levels. It was a last minute question, spoken as he was nearly out of the door. Nevertheless, we both remember it as being the beginning of the rollercoaster ride through maternity neverland. He stopped in midstride, turned back and looked at my wife's chart. His amiable face, so pleasant a few moments earlier, turned dour. He was nervous and didn't want to wait anymore. If she was born that day, she would be an automatic NICU patient. Hartford's NICU was so fall, they were using other nursery rooms and offices. We would have to be transferred.
My wife's heart catapulted, and for a time they thought they would have no choice but to perform a C-section on the spot. We were taken into the OR, where her heart finally settled down. I managed to make her laugh by accidentally locking all my street clothes, as well as the locker key in the OR locker. We share our klutziness, a trait we are both positive Colleen will inherit. She was walked back into the room while they tried to find a space for the delivery. It took two security guards with fifteen keys and three maintenance men with a manual screwdriver, hacksaw, wrench, broken key and two power screwdrivers, to release my belongings. The entire time they kept asking me if I was sure I needed my things. I was positive.
At some point we were told we were being transferred to the UConn Medical Center, which was not the best news for us. UConn is even further away from our home than Hartford Hospital, and many of our friends were unfamiliar with us. Fortunately, both sets of parents were in Florida (mine live there 365 while my wife's were on vacation), so we didn't have an entourage. My wife was going to be sent by ambulance, while I went ahead in my car. It was around 11 oclock at night when I left Hartford, realizing I had become attached to the hospital. It was February 28th and the possibility of a leap day baby was clanging around in my head.
I arrived at UConn Medical Center at approximately 11:45 and felt more relaxed and secure. The nurses told me I had a short time to acquiring food, so I ran to the cafeteria. My first disappointment was the cafeteria, which had no hot food, and a smattering of bread and chips. I ended up with a bagel, chips and some sort of juice. My poor wife wouldn't be able to eat until she gave birth.
After about an hour of pacing, and uncomfortably watching a Law and Order episode, my wife arrived. Her long journey was over and she looked exhausted. The room was bigger, but lacked a key feature--there were no windows. In the dead of night, I didn't notice. But days of being in a dungeon, stuffed in the basement at UConn, turned out to be a tough experience. What kind of stupid bureaucrat number cruncher puts a maternity ward in a basement? That's like putting a psych ward on the roof.
Inducing pregnancy isn't as easy as it sounds. The gory details are unnecessary, but lets just say that Colleen wasn't a leap baby. The night of the 29th, my wife finally had the kind of contractions that were necessary for labor. We were to get some rest and maybe we would have a baby in 12 hours. We both slept, the man cot was bigger at UConn, and in the morning I found myself voracious. At 7:30, I walked up to the cafeteria and ravaged a waffle with strawberries. I was halfway through an omelet when I received the call. She was ready to go.
When I arrived back there was a doctor who said my wife would be ready in about an hour or so. We breathed a little relief. My wife looked tired but a relieved smile crossed her cheeks. Then another doctor came in, took a look, and we were being wheeled into the delivery room. It was 8:00 am.
At 8:14 am, Colleen showed up. She was purple, which surprised me. The doctor asked me if I wanted to cut the cord. I didn't.
There's a lot of half memories. I remember texting people, and have evidence I did. People asked me details, which I vaguely gave. Being a preemie, Colleen was taken into the NICU first, and I rushed off to see her. Her vitals were all fine, so I proudly carried her into the room and handed her to my wife. She managed to muster the strength to hold Colleen for a minute, and then I brought her back to the NICU.
For all the fussing Hartford made about not having a NICU bed, it turned out Colleen spent 48 minutes officially there. Unofficially, she was in there for about four hours, but that was due to the fact that there were no nursery beds available. She was perfect.
I'm writing this today because quite frankly it took that long to get my head above water. I have lots of stuff from our first eight weeks, but I wanted to start here.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Where I'm At
I'm lost and confused, but am also beginning to think that I'm getting a handle on this whole thesis thing. The whole idea is that cinema influenced modernist literature, but a lot of authors are claiming I have it backwards. Or some claim that the techniques of cinema evolved in a "parallel history" as modernist literature.
I think this notion is nonsense, and this is what comforts me. My adviser claims that I am entering a conversation and that I need to add my own view to this conversation. The conversation I am entering is about how modernist literature and techniques in cinema converged. In this manner, I have centered about two techniques that I am sure of, and one that I am a little shaky on.
Clearly slapstick plays heavily into literary modernism. Many authors, including Gertrude Stein, James Joyce and Samuel Beckett, viewed Charlie Chaplin as a huge influence. Slapstick is an absurd way of highlighting social disorder and unrest in modern society. Chaplin new how to highlight the unease all too well. Modernist authors picked up on this.
The second is montage, which is argued about furiously. Many authors aren't sure where the montage appeared first--cinema of literature. Montage can be classified as the editing of two images together to define an artificial space or connection, which the viewer creates. To me, this almost certainly had to evolve out of cinema, though Ulysses and The Wasteland both employ montage, and do so before most films do.
Here's my thought on the montage issue--and it leads into my next technique. Montage is a natural evolution from the dynamic realism of cinema. Cinema created a new art that had no judgment in its image--the camera could only show what appeared. While pictures have the non-judgmental quality as well, the moving of a image created a hyper-realism that was uncomfortably close in its exterior genuineness . Artists had to create an artificial space interior emotion and montage, which creates a sense of interior emotion, was born. Whoever wins the horse race of who developed the montage, the roots are firmly grounded in cinema.
My last "technique" is not as much of a technique as it is a style, and it is demonstrated in Eliot, Joyce and Stein. It's called automatism, and it is a social anxiety of the trend of modernism in the society. Cinema had a perfect venue for showing automatism, demonstrating repetition, fashion, design and style in a moving, cinematic way. Literary artists had to replicate this style. McCabe says at this point the grammar was taken out of literature. Instead of a "and, then, but" cinema has a "then, then, then" quality of image showing. Literature replicated this quality in forms such as stream of consciousness. I'm also thinking of the Gerty McDowell Nausicaa section of Ulysses as a great example of this point. It's not a fully fleshed out idea though.
I think I have a good thesis though. The parallel history of the development of cinematic techniques is nonsense. Cinematic techniques clearly evolved from the moving image, which has a huge impact on the way people saw themselves. That's what I think I need to develop.
My distraction from my thesis over the weekend: Mets downturn, Yankees/Red Sox, Drinking too much at our Jack and Jill.
I think this notion is nonsense, and this is what comforts me. My adviser claims that I am entering a conversation and that I need to add my own view to this conversation. The conversation I am entering is about how modernist literature and techniques in cinema converged. In this manner, I have centered about two techniques that I am sure of, and one that I am a little shaky on.
Clearly slapstick plays heavily into literary modernism. Many authors, including Gertrude Stein, James Joyce and Samuel Beckett, viewed Charlie Chaplin as a huge influence. Slapstick is an absurd way of highlighting social disorder and unrest in modern society. Chaplin new how to highlight the unease all too well. Modernist authors picked up on this.
The second is montage, which is argued about furiously. Many authors aren't sure where the montage appeared first--cinema of literature. Montage can be classified as the editing of two images together to define an artificial space or connection, which the viewer creates. To me, this almost certainly had to evolve out of cinema, though Ulysses and The Wasteland both employ montage, and do so before most films do.
Here's my thought on the montage issue--and it leads into my next technique. Montage is a natural evolution from the dynamic realism of cinema. Cinema created a new art that had no judgment in its image--the camera could only show what appeared. While pictures have the non-judgmental quality as well, the moving of a image created a hyper-realism that was uncomfortably close in its exterior genuineness . Artists had to create an artificial space interior emotion and montage, which creates a sense of interior emotion, was born. Whoever wins the horse race of who developed the montage, the roots are firmly grounded in cinema.
My last "technique" is not as much of a technique as it is a style, and it is demonstrated in Eliot, Joyce and Stein. It's called automatism, and it is a social anxiety of the trend of modernism in the society. Cinema had a perfect venue for showing automatism, demonstrating repetition, fashion, design and style in a moving, cinematic way. Literary artists had to replicate this style. McCabe says at this point the grammar was taken out of literature. Instead of a "and, then, but" cinema has a "then, then, then" quality of image showing. Literature replicated this quality in forms such as stream of consciousness. I'm also thinking of the Gerty McDowell Nausicaa section of Ulysses as a great example of this point. It's not a fully fleshed out idea though.
I think I have a good thesis though. The parallel history of the development of cinematic techniques is nonsense. Cinematic techniques clearly evolved from the moving image, which has a huge impact on the way people saw themselves. That's what I think I need to develop.
My distraction from my thesis over the weekend: Mets downturn, Yankees/Red Sox, Drinking too much at our Jack and Jill.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Thesis Exercise 1
As I indicated, pages of my thesis will not appear here. However, exercises for my thesis will. I'm currently doing the equivalent of Thesis crunches. My thesis abs are worse than Britney Spears actual ones. Let's begin:
I am studying classic cinema's influences on modernism.
Good start, very bold. Try again.
I am studying classic cinemas' influences on modernist literature because I am trying to find cinematic techniques that modernist writers incorporated into their narratives.
Better. They say the "because" part is a tough step. I like mine. Apparently the next part is the tough one though.
I am studying classic cinemas' influence on modernist texts because I interested in finding out the cinematic devices that modernist writers implement in their narratives in order to help my reader understand how early cinema impacted the unique aesthetic style of modernist novels.
I am studying classic cinema's influences on modernism.
Good start, very bold. Try again.
I am studying classic cinemas' influences on modernist literature because I am trying to find cinematic techniques that modernist writers incorporated into their narratives.
Better. They say the "because" part is a tough step. I like mine. Apparently the next part is the tough one though.
I am studying classic cinemas' influence on modernist texts because I interested in finding out the cinematic devices that modernist writers implement in their narratives in order to help my reader understand how early cinema impacted the unique aesthetic style of modernist novels.
Barely Back
The reboot of my blog is at hand. I have dressed it up a bit, making it a bit more (ahem) literary. My thesis stuff will not appear here. I know how upset you are. My reactions to my thesis will appear. The advantage-- far more expletives. Let's do this thing...
So what am I doing right now? Wasting my time sitting here and writing a blog so I don't have to do any work today? Actually, my advisor tells me it's good to keep a blog daily so that I can keep my brain sharp. I'm not sure if he's ever actually read a blog.
Anyways, he is terrified right now. My broad topic is freaking him out. I don't have an argument, just a topic with questions. The sky is falling.
It's cool...I promise I'll be good.
Today's distraction from my thesis: Nintendo DS
So what am I doing right now? Wasting my time sitting here and writing a blog so I don't have to do any work today? Actually, my advisor tells me it's good to keep a blog daily so that I can keep my brain sharp. I'm not sure if he's ever actually read a blog.
Anyways, he is terrified right now. My broad topic is freaking him out. I don't have an argument, just a topic with questions. The sky is falling.
It's cool...I promise I'll be good.
Today's distraction from my thesis: Nintendo DS
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Habeas Corpus Dead at 800
Congratulations President Bush, you have officially brought the United States back to pre-revolution times. So now, instead of living in a free society, we actually live in a society where a person can be held indefinitely without a trial. Smells like liberty to me. Here's a thought George. Remember what happened the last time someone decided people shouldn't have Habeas Corpus? Did you study the American revolution? Probably not. Is it possible you're actually creating the terrorism you so desperately are using as a political platform?
Thanks Asshat for taking away constitutional rights. I suppose, under the new definition, I could be considered an enemy combatant for thinking somebody should fight this bill. Maybe he can start up an organization devoted to capture and hold, or "police" anyone with negative thoughts about our government. That would show those terrorists we mean business.
I'm actually appalled at the total lack of news coverage on this bill being approved and sent to Congress. Personally, I blame Katie Couric for turning the news into another entertainment magazine.
Thanks Asshat for taking away constitutional rights. I suppose, under the new definition, I could be considered an enemy combatant for thinking somebody should fight this bill. Maybe he can start up an organization devoted to capture and hold, or "police" anyone with negative thoughts about our government. That would show those terrorists we mean business.
I'm actually appalled at the total lack of news coverage on this bill being approved and sent to Congress. Personally, I blame Katie Couric for turning the news into another entertainment magazine.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Yougoog
Okay, so you've been bought out by Google for several billion dollars. You are probably now among the richest people in cyberspace. So what do you do next? According to the YouTube guys, you do this:
Couldn't they have thought of something more eloquent or fancy?
Here's a more appropriate response:
Couldn't they have thought of something more eloquent or fancy?
Here's a more appropriate response:
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Harry Wha?
Is this article about Harry Potter the dumbest thing ever? It's not even bad literary criticism, where the author is merely choosing the segments of the piece they read to prove their bogus theory. It's as if the writer has no ability to infer past what is explicitly said, kind of like my lower level 9th graders do. It never says Harry studies in the books, so he must not!
Oh, grow up!
Oh, grow up!
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Damn Democrats
This whole Mark Foley scandal can be broken down into one thing: Democrats have let the country get so morally out of control, that republicans can no longer control their deviant behaviors. Seriously, Democrats have won and completely usurped any moral code this country ever had. Instead, we are replaced by Republicans who drink too much so that they have the courage to IM young boys in explicit fashions.
Seriously, democrats including Ned Lamont are ruining our morality.
Personally, I think Foley was induced by the commie democrats running Hollywood. After all, they have all those shows suggesting how homosexuality is an okay lifestyle. How can anyone control their urge to elicit favors from teen male pages when network television is telling us that having an adult homosexual relationship is acceptable? If anything, Mark Foley is a martyr who is willing to take a fall so that the rest of the country can be elightened to how bad democrats have let the country slide.
They think they are so smart.
Seriously, democrats including Ned Lamont are ruining our morality.
Personally, I think Foley was induced by the commie democrats running Hollywood. After all, they have all those shows suggesting how homosexuality is an okay lifestyle. How can anyone control their urge to elicit favors from teen male pages when network television is telling us that having an adult homosexual relationship is acceptable? If anything, Mark Foley is a martyr who is willing to take a fall so that the rest of the country can be elightened to how bad democrats have let the country slide.
They think they are so smart.
Monday, September 25, 2006
How do you pose at Ground Zero?
One of the things I like doing while I'm in Manhattan is to take a trip to the Winter Garden, directly adjacent to the footprints of the World Trade Centers. It's a stark reminder to me of the evil that humanity is capable of. Often I sit on one of their benches and ponder what it takes for us to undertake a massive project such as rebuilding. Staring at them should be a moment of contemplation and an opportunity to reflect.
What I saw (for the first time visiting the site) is people taking pictures of themselves in front of the construstion site. One woman was affecting poses, one looking sad, one meditative while one of herself smiling. I found this tacky for many reasons.
A. In case you didn't realize, Ground Zero is still a site where over 3000 people lost their lives. How many people are eager to take pictures of themselves next to stranger's coffins?
B. Ground Zero is the site of a massive tragedy, not a tourist trap. It will hopefully be a tourist trap when the new building is erected, but for now please leave it alone.
C. There is no way to properly pose for the picture that's genuine. No one is happy to be there, yet blunt sadness isn't quite the right feeling either. Please don't even try because it just seems wrong.
I don't mind a picture of the actual site, but when you place yourself in it, it becomes all about you at the site. If you want a memory of the destruction for your own reflections, that's probably a better keepsake.
What I saw (for the first time visiting the site) is people taking pictures of themselves in front of the construstion site. One woman was affecting poses, one looking sad, one meditative while one of herself smiling. I found this tacky for many reasons.
A. In case you didn't realize, Ground Zero is still a site where over 3000 people lost their lives. How many people are eager to take pictures of themselves next to stranger's coffins?
B. Ground Zero is the site of a massive tragedy, not a tourist trap. It will hopefully be a tourist trap when the new building is erected, but for now please leave it alone.
C. There is no way to properly pose for the picture that's genuine. No one is happy to be there, yet blunt sadness isn't quite the right feeling either. Please don't even try because it just seems wrong.
I don't mind a picture of the actual site, but when you place yourself in it, it becomes all about you at the site. If you want a memory of the destruction for your own reflections, that's probably a better keepsake.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Conspiracies Involving Matzoh Balls
The following are Jewish conspiracies I am willing to reveal today because tonight it is a Jewish High Holy Day (Rosh Hashanah):
1. Insist the world isn't eating enough. Frequently refer to it as "skin and bones". Gradually increase the obesity epidemic until Jews (with our famously fast metabolisms) are the only ones under 300 pounds.
2. Take over Brooklyn and Long Island! Okay, we kind of already completed this one. Moving on...
3. Call everyone in the world and ask them when they are getting married. Insist that if they haven't already met a nice girl/boy, then they better get started. Whine a lot until they get married and when everyone is distracted, take over the world.
4. Buy all the cellphone companies. Leave messages on everyone's phone saying " Why haven't you called your mother? What is she, chopped liver? You're too much of a bigshot?" Profit.
5. Cook really delicious brunches on Sunday so people will stop attending churches. Casually remark how much easier it is to attend temple on Saturdays.
6. Store up tons of food while simultaneously complaining about how there aren't enough grandchildren. When the world's population explodes, control the food market, and by proxy, the world.
Finally, I've gotten these off of my chest and don't feel so guilty. I will be able to repent on Yom Kippur. Any other Jewish folks, feel free to add any Jewish conspiracies I missed. Please don't let this list get into the hands of anyone at Jew Watch.
1. Insist the world isn't eating enough. Frequently refer to it as "skin and bones". Gradually increase the obesity epidemic until Jews (with our famously fast metabolisms) are the only ones under 300 pounds.
2. Take over Brooklyn and Long Island! Okay, we kind of already completed this one. Moving on...
3. Call everyone in the world and ask them when they are getting married. Insist that if they haven't already met a nice girl/boy, then they better get started. Whine a lot until they get married and when everyone is distracted, take over the world.
4. Buy all the cellphone companies. Leave messages on everyone's phone saying " Why haven't you called your mother? What is she, chopped liver? You're too much of a bigshot?" Profit.
5. Cook really delicious brunches on Sunday so people will stop attending churches. Casually remark how much easier it is to attend temple on Saturdays.
6. Store up tons of food while simultaneously complaining about how there aren't enough grandchildren. When the world's population explodes, control the food market, and by proxy, the world.
Finally, I've gotten these off of my chest and don't feel so guilty. I will be able to repent on Yom Kippur. Any other Jewish folks, feel free to add any Jewish conspiracies I missed. Please don't let this list get into the hands of anyone at Jew Watch.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
I've Gone Mad...
...and written THIS for my Joyce class journal. I told you people it would happen sooner rather than later:
I need to admit something rather private in my reading journal this week. It’s alright, trust me I’m a blogger. In fact, I’m not just a blogger, but as my (nasty word redacted) professor Colin McEnroe refers to me, “A rock star blogger who will someday die overdosing on an eightball from all of his fame.” I’m not that famous-not yet anyways. My point was rather that I’m used to admitting rather private things to strangers.
Anyways, my private admission is that I’m bored. It’s my tenth year of post high-school education and I’ve lost my fervor. I came to Trinity with a motivation to learn, and my first seven years went fairly well. The fire that went into my learning has burned me out. So I’m looking for new things other than reading journals to do each week. Don’t get me wrong, your assignment is great and I’m sure I will pass if I write them.
I suppose being bored isn’t all that private an admission. After all, lots of people are bored. Come to my class someday and you’ll see the very epitome of boredom from my students. I like to ramble when I’ve had too much coffee and high schools freely dispense coffee.
I’d like to add, in case you were feeling insecure, that it’s not you, it’s me. Your class seems great and exciting and I know I will do all the work with passion. Seriously, I know you’re wondering what you can do to spice up our teacher/other teacher but also a student relationship. Don’t worry about it. It has nothing to do with your class or you as a person.
The first time I read Portrait, I was scared so ridiculously that I put it down and forever swore that James Joyce was the devil. I was seventeen. At that age, any author who wrote in a complicated manner was the devil. Don’t even get me started on what I thought of Dickens or Steinbeck.
Rereading it, I know what it was and realize my teacher’s mistake. My teacher was older, with a thick gray beard and huge sunken eyes. I adored him because he told the most fascinating stories. Saying he made a mistake is tantamount to heresy for me. But upon reflection, he made huge mistakes in teaching Joyce.
I’m ruminating on this because I, as a teacher, often read through the lens of what I can teach. So I was thinking of how I would teach Portrait as a high school teacher. What kinds of changes would I make and such.
Here’s my problem with the way I was taught it. The professor told us to just read it. Guess what happened? Seriously, guess. Have you figured it out? Right, he told us to read the opening without telling us a single thing about Joyce or Ireland or what a bildungsroman is. Guess who didn’t read a single word of Portrait after reading the first page? Me being the sly young man I was at that age, I read the first page to my mother, who quickly endorsed my plan to not read it. She likes Danielle Steele books.
I’ve been considering what the best way is to introduce a seventeen or eighteen year old to the stream of consciousness in the beginning of the book. Personally, I would create a really cool PowerPoint that blends the text with images to clarify what is going on. Playing that PowerPoint many times would be paramount.
Here, I wrote an example of it:
Once upon a time…
Moocow…
Hairy Face dad/Baby Tucow
And so on…
Get the idea? It’s all about showing the imagery of stream of consciousness. I’m still working on the wetting the bed section. It’s going to be a little more complicated.
By the way, as a teacher, I know how boring it is to read many of the same paper, so I hope this at least made your reading experience a little more interesting. It sure made my writing experience a little more interesting. Check out my blog sometime: http://www.nonsensenow.org
Yes, I might as well accept my F now.
I need to admit something rather private in my reading journal this week. It’s alright, trust me I’m a blogger. In fact, I’m not just a blogger, but as my (nasty word redacted) professor Colin McEnroe refers to me, “A rock star blogger who will someday die overdosing on an eightball from all of his fame.” I’m not that famous-not yet anyways. My point was rather that I’m used to admitting rather private things to strangers.
Anyways, my private admission is that I’m bored. It’s my tenth year of post high-school education and I’ve lost my fervor. I came to Trinity with a motivation to learn, and my first seven years went fairly well. The fire that went into my learning has burned me out. So I’m looking for new things other than reading journals to do each week. Don’t get me wrong, your assignment is great and I’m sure I will pass if I write them.
I suppose being bored isn’t all that private an admission. After all, lots of people are bored. Come to my class someday and you’ll see the very epitome of boredom from my students. I like to ramble when I’ve had too much coffee and high schools freely dispense coffee.
I’d like to add, in case you were feeling insecure, that it’s not you, it’s me. Your class seems great and exciting and I know I will do all the work with passion. Seriously, I know you’re wondering what you can do to spice up our teacher/other teacher but also a student relationship. Don’t worry about it. It has nothing to do with your class or you as a person.
The first time I read Portrait, I was scared so ridiculously that I put it down and forever swore that James Joyce was the devil. I was seventeen. At that age, any author who wrote in a complicated manner was the devil. Don’t even get me started on what I thought of Dickens or Steinbeck.
Rereading it, I know what it was and realize my teacher’s mistake. My teacher was older, with a thick gray beard and huge sunken eyes. I adored him because he told the most fascinating stories. Saying he made a mistake is tantamount to heresy for me. But upon reflection, he made huge mistakes in teaching Joyce.
I’m ruminating on this because I, as a teacher, often read through the lens of what I can teach. So I was thinking of how I would teach Portrait as a high school teacher. What kinds of changes would I make and such.
Here’s my problem with the way I was taught it. The professor told us to just read it. Guess what happened? Seriously, guess. Have you figured it out? Right, he told us to read the opening without telling us a single thing about Joyce or Ireland or what a bildungsroman is. Guess who didn’t read a single word of Portrait after reading the first page? Me being the sly young man I was at that age, I read the first page to my mother, who quickly endorsed my plan to not read it. She likes Danielle Steele books.
I’ve been considering what the best way is to introduce a seventeen or eighteen year old to the stream of consciousness in the beginning of the book. Personally, I would create a really cool PowerPoint that blends the text with images to clarify what is going on. Playing that PowerPoint many times would be paramount.
Here, I wrote an example of it:
Once upon a time…
Moocow…
Hairy Face dad/Baby Tucow
And so on…
Get the idea? It’s all about showing the imagery of stream of consciousness. I’m still working on the wetting the bed section. It’s going to be a little more complicated.
By the way, as a teacher, I know how boring it is to read many of the same paper, so I hope this at least made your reading experience a little more interesting. It sure made my writing experience a little more interesting. Check out my blog sometime: http://www.nonsensenow.org
Yes, I might as well accept my F now.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Bar Mitzvah
When I was younger, I was somehow convinced I would die on the day of my Bar Mitzvah. I couldn't ever possibly see a life after it. So when the day came, and I was alive, I was surprised.
I've always had this sort of tenuous relationship with my faith. Judaism has been complicated for me, especially considering the way in which my parents made me attend Hebrew School, but only seemed to give lip service to it. Since Hebrew School ended I have scarcely stepped into a temple. I've read from the Torah, I showed support for my heritage, and respected my family. For the time, I was finished with Judaism.
Which is why I was surprised at my fervor over this website. The crazy Jewish conspiracies have always made me laugh. I'm just so surprised this type of propaganda survives today.
I mean, upon the day of my Bar Mitzvah, they took me into a secret room and outlined all of the secret plans for us to take over the world.
First Step: Constantly self-depricate ourselves every chance we get into the media, so that the rest of the world things we are weak.
Second Step: Piss off Mel Gibson.
Third Step: Don't you wish you knew Jew Watch...
I've always had this sort of tenuous relationship with my faith. Judaism has been complicated for me, especially considering the way in which my parents made me attend Hebrew School, but only seemed to give lip service to it. Since Hebrew School ended I have scarcely stepped into a temple. I've read from the Torah, I showed support for my heritage, and respected my family. For the time, I was finished with Judaism.
Which is why I was surprised at my fervor over this website. The crazy Jewish conspiracies have always made me laugh. I'm just so surprised this type of propaganda survives today.
I mean, upon the day of my Bar Mitzvah, they took me into a secret room and outlined all of the secret plans for us to take over the world.
First Step: Constantly self-depricate ourselves every chance we get into the media, so that the rest of the world things we are weak.
Second Step: Piss off Mel Gibson.
Third Step: Don't you wish you knew Jew Watch...
Sunday, September 17, 2006
I Have a Problem...
I'm an addict. Which is to say I was in Southern Connecticut yesterday, ate a huge dinner of fried seafood and remarked that I would never eat again. At the time I was serious. Returning home, I kept my decree and did not stop. Instead I drove straight home.
Around eight, while watching Iron Chef America, I finally began geting itchy. The chef make a wonderful looking tofu custard, which immediately activated my addiction. I shook, and commented I needed to go back on my promise. Then I promptly set off in search of a blizzard.
We were all sitting in the cold, sterile room. Most of us were shaking, in desperate need for our fix. My addiction hasn't beccome that bad, so I merely moved my fingers in my pocket. A woman in front of me had it so bad that she was literally dancing, twirling around and dancing about how excited she was to be getting her ice cream. She was simultaneously screaming at the employees for taking too long and planning what blizzard she was going to order next time. I checked several times to make sure she wasn't just a large child.
I've inherited this problem from my mother who, after a huge German buffet in Epcot, announced she wanted to go to Dairy Queen. We mostly sat around watching her eat a vanilla cone. I went looking for the bible which seems to reside in all southern Dairy Queens. Personally, I like my blizzard blended with a touch of scripture.
Around eight, while watching Iron Chef America, I finally began geting itchy. The chef make a wonderful looking tofu custard, which immediately activated my addiction. I shook, and commented I needed to go back on my promise. Then I promptly set off in search of a blizzard.
We were all sitting in the cold, sterile room. Most of us were shaking, in desperate need for our fix. My addiction hasn't beccome that bad, so I merely moved my fingers in my pocket. A woman in front of me had it so bad that she was literally dancing, twirling around and dancing about how excited she was to be getting her ice cream. She was simultaneously screaming at the employees for taking too long and planning what blizzard she was going to order next time. I checked several times to make sure she wasn't just a large child.
I've inherited this problem from my mother who, after a huge German buffet in Epcot, announced she wanted to go to Dairy Queen. We mostly sat around watching her eat a vanilla cone. I went looking for the bible which seems to reside in all southern Dairy Queens. Personally, I like my blizzard blended with a touch of scripture.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Why I'm the Way I Am
I'm a nice person. That isn't saying I don't have my moments of fury, or disappointment, but in general I find that when I wake up I want to be as nice to as many people as I can be. It's fun to watch people smile as I walk down the hall and address them by name. It's nice to be remembered and thought of.
Lately I've been wondering why. What compels me to want to be nice and helpful to people? Why do I find more interest in assisting others than assisting myself?
The answer came yesterday, when I stopped at Stop & Shop on the way home. I stepped out of my car to find two ladies that seem very frustrated. They had locked their keys in their trunk and were trying to wedge their arms into the car and open the lock.
I tried really hard to be nice. They wanted me to jam my arm in and trip the lock. My niceness was tested when I realized I couldn't do that. There was just no way I was sticking my hand in a stranger's car and risking the possibility of damaging the car or myself.
So I tried giving her several other options. I offered to call the police (she laughed and told me there was no way she was getting the police involved) or a tow truck or a locksmith. The only think she would allow me to do is stick my arm into her car.
I said no, and walked into the store.
When I came out, they were still there, searching for an answer. I smiled at them and asked if there was anything else I could do, but she said that I wasn't being helpful. So I began to enter my car to leave when she screamed at me that "this wouldn't have happened to me if I wasn't black!"
As I sped off, I was more confused than anything. I wanted to know what she meant. Was she accusing me of being unhelpful because she was black, or did she blame her race on the fact that she locked her keys in her trunk? How did her race have anything to do with it?
It jostled me a bit, and as I returned home I pondered why I felt so bad. I was wondering if I could have been nicer and helped her more. But most of all, I was angry at her for screaming at me when all I did was stop and talk to her.
That's why I am the way I am. I don't like being screamed at or made fun of or totally ignored. I want people to be nice to me, and the only way I can do that is to set a precedent. If the woman had not screamed at me, I would have done almost anything to help her. But instead I smiled curtly and drove away.
Lately I've been wondering why. What compels me to want to be nice and helpful to people? Why do I find more interest in assisting others than assisting myself?
The answer came yesterday, when I stopped at Stop & Shop on the way home. I stepped out of my car to find two ladies that seem very frustrated. They had locked their keys in their trunk and were trying to wedge their arms into the car and open the lock.
I tried really hard to be nice. They wanted me to jam my arm in and trip the lock. My niceness was tested when I realized I couldn't do that. There was just no way I was sticking my hand in a stranger's car and risking the possibility of damaging the car or myself.
So I tried giving her several other options. I offered to call the police (she laughed and told me there was no way she was getting the police involved) or a tow truck or a locksmith. The only think she would allow me to do is stick my arm into her car.
I said no, and walked into the store.
When I came out, they were still there, searching for an answer. I smiled at them and asked if there was anything else I could do, but she said that I wasn't being helpful. So I began to enter my car to leave when she screamed at me that "this wouldn't have happened to me if I wasn't black!"
As I sped off, I was more confused than anything. I wanted to know what she meant. Was she accusing me of being unhelpful because she was black, or did she blame her race on the fact that she locked her keys in her trunk? How did her race have anything to do with it?
It jostled me a bit, and as I returned home I pondered why I felt so bad. I was wondering if I could have been nicer and helped her more. But most of all, I was angry at her for screaming at me when all I did was stop and talk to her.
That's why I am the way I am. I don't like being screamed at or made fun of or totally ignored. I want people to be nice to me, and the only way I can do that is to set a precedent. If the woman had not screamed at me, I would have done almost anything to help her. But instead I smiled curtly and drove away.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
No Seriously, I Can't Stand It
Is President Bush serious? Maybe it's just me, or I'm not the political analyst I thought I was. But using his speech last night as a very brief tribute to 9/11 victims and then launching into an extended oration about why we need to continue fighting in Iraq is just wrong. It really sums up the way in which his administration takes emotional issues in the country and exploits the hell out of them. I think I've taken the turn from a slow burn to an intense anger.
Monday, September 11, 2006
I Can't Stand It
My daily weekday routine includes waking up around 5:30 and relaxing on the couch in front of the news with a fresh cup of coffee. Watching the morning news usually is enough to spur me onward and out the door on time. On this day, five years after the terrorist attack on September 11th, I found I couldn't stomach the news. The overly dramatized tributes with the alarming amount of political messages was enough to make me flip to my second morning haven-Classroom on the History Channel.
On Classroom, I found a segment about the first six American presidents, which I found far more patriotic than any of the cheapened September 11th stuff. The struggles and pains they went to for our country far outweighed anything we go through today. I remembered where our country came from, and why we all should continue to love it so dearly.
Instead of telling us how we need to defend America, on September 11th show us reasons why to love it. The greatest thing on that day was that we were all reminded how much we care about our country. We don't need images of eagles accompanied by music with emotional crescendos. Instead, we should explore the history and roots of our country, and realize why it is worth living here. Do not turn this day into a reason for politicians to further their political agenda or have sacchrine and meaningless tributes. Turn it into a day which reminds us all why we are here.
On Classroom, I found a segment about the first six American presidents, which I found far more patriotic than any of the cheapened September 11th stuff. The struggles and pains they went to for our country far outweighed anything we go through today. I remembered where our country came from, and why we all should continue to love it so dearly.
Instead of telling us how we need to defend America, on September 11th show us reasons why to love it. The greatest thing on that day was that we were all reminded how much we care about our country. We don't need images of eagles accompanied by music with emotional crescendos. Instead, we should explore the history and roots of our country, and realize why it is worth living here. Do not turn this day into a reason for politicians to further their political agenda or have sacchrine and meaningless tributes. Turn it into a day which reminds us all why we are here.
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