Sorry I haven't blogged in a while. I'm making it up to you now by sharing some songs by Tom Waits, who has become one of my very favorite musicians because of Pandora.
Many of you probably know that I have non-conventional musical tastes. Substantive and interesting lyrics are important to me. The lack thereof in recent music (that I have heard) is what causes the vast majority of music I enjoy to be older than I am. Leonard Cohen and Bob Dylan are two examples of great songwriters whose lyric mastery overcomes, and is in fact enhanced by, the fact that they don't have conventionally "good" singing voices. They are unique in that characteristic. Tom Waits is yet another example of a truly sublime songwriter whose unusual voice (in this case, very deep and harsh--growling, at times) fits the persona of his songs so well that it makes them all the more real and all the more intriguing. He sings from the perspective of characters who hail from and/or are headed to some pretty low places. The songs they sing through Waits give color to a very shady part of society. They are sinister, good-natured, or simply drunk, but they are nearly always, in my opinion, worth listening to. Here are three Tom Waits Songs I think you might enjoy.
"Georgia Lee"
"Pasties and a G-String"
"Tom Traubert's Blues (Four Sheets to the Wind in Copenhagen)"
These are but three songs I enjoy. "Georgia Lee" and "Tom Traubert's Blues" are quite emotional songs, while "Pasties and a G-String," as the song title suggests, is pretty light-hearted and silly but nonetheless entertaining.
Cheers.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
The Most Interesting Blog Post in the World
...probably not. I just wanted to say that I have not seen a television commercial campaign that has amused me more than that of Dos Equis, for "The Most Interesting Man in the World." In short, I want to be that man. I know I don't drink beer, but the commercials in this campaign are so compelling that it doesn't even matter to me. See what I mean:
Stay interested, my friends.
Stay interested, my friends.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
A Note
Dear Democratic Party--
We'll see your John Edwards and raise you John Ensign and Mark Sanford. Action to you.
Love (and Lust),
--The Republicans
Pretty shameful for everyone. No wonder people in other countries think Americans are a joke. Look who's representing us.
We'll see your John Edwards and raise you John Ensign and Mark Sanford. Action to you.
Love (and Lust),
--The Republicans
Pretty shameful for everyone. No wonder people in other countries think Americans are a joke. Look who's representing us.
Pandora Picks: Madeleine Peyroux
Many of you may be familiar with Pandora, also referred to as the "Music Genome Project." It is an internet radio website where listeners can customize their own radio stations by artist or song. The Pandora system then chooses music that is similar to that specified. It plays some songs of the specific artist around whom the station is based, but mostly goes into other artists. It's great for people who have grown somewhat weary of their own music collections. For the better part of the last four months, I have listened to one of my stations on Pandora. It's "Leonard Cohen Radio" to which I have added "Artist Seeds" for Bob Dylan, John Prine and Tom Waits.
Every so often I will post about an artist that has come up on one of my Pandora stations whose work might interest you as well. First up is Madeleine Peyroux, whose voice (to me, at least) is a dead ringer for that of Billie Holiday. She reminds me of a less pop-like version of well-liked singer Norah Jones. Two of my favorite songs of hers are:
"Don't Wait Too Long" (This one isn't bad but I prefer the original, not able to be embedded, but found here)
"Blue Alert"
Cheers.
--Tim
Every so often I will post about an artist that has come up on one of my Pandora stations whose work might interest you as well. First up is Madeleine Peyroux, whose voice (to me, at least) is a dead ringer for that of Billie Holiday. She reminds me of a less pop-like version of well-liked singer Norah Jones. Two of my favorite songs of hers are:
"Don't Wait Too Long" (This one isn't bad but I prefer the original, not able to be embedded, but found here)
"Blue Alert"
Cheers.
--Tim
Friday, June 19, 2009
Matters of Respect
I don't normally comment on news items in this blog, but I feel compelled to write briefly on the following news story.
During a hearing in Washington DC on Tuesday, Senator Barbara Boxer (D-CA) was questioning Brigadier General Michael Walsh on the state of the levees that surround New Orleans. General Walsh, being a man well-versed in Army protocol of respect, addressed Sen. Boxer as "ma'am." Even though "ma'am" for women, along with "sir" for men or "Senator" in general is acceptable, Sen. Boxer was not satisfied. Interrupting the General's response, she asked him to address her as "Senator," citing the fact that she'd "worked SO hard to get that title." Naturally, she neglected to do her part in the formality and address the man she was chiding as "General." Meanwhile, none of the other 99 U.S. Senators has ever been known to make such a request. It is a bit disappointing to see someone who represents so many people behave indignantly towards a member of the military, especially one of such high rank.
Cheers.
During a hearing in Washington DC on Tuesday, Senator Barbara Boxer (D-CA) was questioning Brigadier General Michael Walsh on the state of the levees that surround New Orleans. General Walsh, being a man well-versed in Army protocol of respect, addressed Sen. Boxer as "ma'am." Even though "ma'am" for women, along with "sir" for men or "Senator" in general is acceptable, Sen. Boxer was not satisfied. Interrupting the General's response, she asked him to address her as "Senator," citing the fact that she'd "worked SO hard to get that title." Naturally, she neglected to do her part in the formality and address the man she was chiding as "General." Meanwhile, none of the other 99 U.S. Senators has ever been known to make such a request. It is a bit disappointing to see someone who represents so many people behave indignantly towards a member of the military, especially one of such high rank.
Cheers.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
I'm Back!
...albeit briefly tonight.
As you all probably know, I am a mildly interested conservative. I realized tonight that there's no better way to clear out a corner of a crowded Apple store in a mall than by finding the demo computer with the biggest screen and promptly engaging Safari b navigating to the Drudge Report or Rush Limbaugh websites. Perhaps someday i will surreptitiously reset the homepage of all the computers in the store to Ann Coulter's blog, just for a laugh.
That's all for tonight. I've realized that I have a better shot at posting with more regularity if I do so briefly.
As you all probably know, I am a mildly interested conservative. I realized tonight that there's no better way to clear out a corner of a crowded Apple store in a mall than by finding the demo computer with the biggest screen and promptly engaging Safari b navigating to the Drudge Report or Rush Limbaugh websites. Perhaps someday i will surreptitiously reset the homepage of all the computers in the store to Ann Coulter's blog, just for a laugh.
That's all for tonight. I've realized that I have a better shot at posting with more regularity if I do so briefly.
Monday, May 04, 2009
Fraternal Return and Internal Return
Nietzsche argued for the idea of "eternal return," a notion that seeks to reconcile the infinity of time with the finiteness of the universe. The mustachioed German philosopher held that time is not linear, but cyclical. Think of the movie "Groundhog Day," where Bill Murray relives the same day over and over again.
It is Alumni Weekend here at W&L, which means it is time to witness the yearly phenomenon I feel should rightfully be called "fraternal return," which consists in what I feel is appropriately called "internal return."
My fraternity, Lambda Chi Alpha, kicked off the weekend with a cocktail party in honor of returning alumni yesterday from 5-7 PM. While current brothers mingled a little bit with those who graduated in the last five years or so, those who graduated in the 80s and 70s (and a few from the 60s, even) hung around together.
While I would like to have seen more cross-generation reaching-out, it became apparent that that is not the primary goal of coming back to the fraternity house after five, 10, 20, 35, 45 years in the big scary outside world. Rather, those who come back and hang out around the house for much of the weekend do so in order to recover memories of their times here.
With them laughing loudly and drinking and eating heartily, one might have mistakenly regarded the reverie of some as strange and perhaps a bit immature, but I disagree. As men of 40 years or more told some of us stories about how someone fell out of the third floor bathroom window or about how there used to be a beer machine disguised as a soda machine on the second floor, they did so with wild eyes that nearly had us thinking these events took place last week, rather than before some of us were born. It is strange--nearly magical--how this house brings the age of the spirits of all who live here now and have lived here in the past together.
Thus, coming back to the fraternity house after years away is not just coming back to a place but to a bygone time. The internal part of this return comes in the form of the brief brightening of the spirits to college-age vitality. Noticing the generations this house has touched and helped to mold makes me appreciate it all the more. I hope to make the most of my time here, knowing that as soon as I exit its safety for the next stage in life, part of me will be wishing I was back, anxious to return.
It is Alumni Weekend here at W&L, which means it is time to witness the yearly phenomenon I feel should rightfully be called "fraternal return," which consists in what I feel is appropriately called "internal return."
My fraternity, Lambda Chi Alpha, kicked off the weekend with a cocktail party in honor of returning alumni yesterday from 5-7 PM. While current brothers mingled a little bit with those who graduated in the last five years or so, those who graduated in the 80s and 70s (and a few from the 60s, even) hung around together.
While I would like to have seen more cross-generation reaching-out, it became apparent that that is not the primary goal of coming back to the fraternity house after five, 10, 20, 35, 45 years in the big scary outside world. Rather, those who come back and hang out around the house for much of the weekend do so in order to recover memories of their times here.
With them laughing loudly and drinking and eating heartily, one might have mistakenly regarded the reverie of some as strange and perhaps a bit immature, but I disagree. As men of 40 years or more told some of us stories about how someone fell out of the third floor bathroom window or about how there used to be a beer machine disguised as a soda machine on the second floor, they did so with wild eyes that nearly had us thinking these events took place last week, rather than before some of us were born. It is strange--nearly magical--how this house brings the age of the spirits of all who live here now and have lived here in the past together.
Thus, coming back to the fraternity house after years away is not just coming back to a place but to a bygone time. The internal part of this return comes in the form of the brief brightening of the spirits to college-age vitality. Noticing the generations this house has touched and helped to mold makes me appreciate it all the more. I hope to make the most of my time here, knowing that as soon as I exit its safety for the next stage in life, part of me will be wishing I was back, anxious to return.
Friday, May 01, 2009
Television Poisoning, Part II
The second critical element of television poisoning, of course, is the abject putrescence of nearly all commercials, which often make me feel like a banana in the desert. Take for example:
- A recent Toyota commercial that boldly and inexplicably commits one of the deadly sins of grammar (at least in my eyes): pluralization with an apostrophe. Mind-bogglingly, NO ONE involved in the making of this commercial was able to prevent it from selling "Corolla's," "Venza's," and "Tundra's." I will never buy a Toyota.
- The incessant "Five Dollar Footlong" campaign that Subway has made a part of every single ad it has run, with increasing ridiculousness. I never thought I'd wish to see the Jared Fogel before/after comparison pictures again.
- Bob's Discount Furniture commercials are legendary for their mind-meltingly low-brow commercials. See for yourself...Bob-o-Pedic commercial.
These examples comprise but a drop in the vast toxic slurry that is television advertisement. It is just another step in the full-scale social acceptance of the lowest common denominator.
- A recent Toyota commercial that boldly and inexplicably commits one of the deadly sins of grammar (at least in my eyes): pluralization with an apostrophe. Mind-bogglingly, NO ONE involved in the making of this commercial was able to prevent it from selling "Corolla's," "Venza's," and "Tundra's." I will never buy a Toyota.
- The incessant "Five Dollar Footlong" campaign that Subway has made a part of every single ad it has run, with increasing ridiculousness. I never thought I'd wish to see the Jared Fogel before/after comparison pictures again.
- Bob's Discount Furniture commercials are legendary for their mind-meltingly low-brow commercials. See for yourself...Bob-o-Pedic commercial.
These examples comprise but a drop in the vast toxic slurry that is television advertisement. It is just another step in the full-scale social acceptance of the lowest common denominator.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Television Poisoning, Part I (A First-Hand Account of the Disease)
I'm lying in bed, soon to go to sleep. When I wake up tomorrow morning, I will begin my second Spring Term at W&L with Physics for the Non-Scientist at 12:20. With that and an English course on literature about the Islamic world from 1100-1600 comprising my academic load for the term, I should be busy, but not overly so. I'm also looking forward to playing a good bit of golf and otherwise enjoying the gorgeous time of year that has, at last, arrived in Virginia.
I'm looking forward, but I'm also looking back on my Spring Break. I had a nice, relaxing week at home. Aside from playing golf a few times and writing a couple articles for my father about golf courses, I was spectacularly unproductive.
I managed to watch the 18 released episodes of the latest season of the show "24." At about 43 minutes per episode, I have invested very nearly 13 hours in the show in the past 8 days instead of reading the Bill Bryson book on Australia that I recently acquired. In terms of television, it (along with "The Soup," occasionally) is one of my only guilty pleasures. Therefore, I write this somewhat bashfully, but there you go.
In the past week-plus, I have been so heavily inundated by espionage, double- and triple-crosses, and implausibly deep-running conspiracy plot lines in the show that I fear that the line between real life and Jack Bauer's America--an America full of villains with hilariously cliché flaws and good-guys who are just organized enough to mostly stave off catastrophe but too incompetent to quell threats altogether--begins to get fuzzy after prolonged exposure to "24."
Now, this doesn't mean I'm going to be taking things into my own hands and plodding off to try and save the world with my tactical brilliance and totally rad self-defense moves. However, I feel more vigilant--you never know when some normally-amiable soul has gone and gotten himself or herself infected by the disease of silly mischief. Furthermore, I find myself half-wishing I could have the earnest, foreboding music of "24" follow me around, subtly changing as the situation dictates, danger alternatively confronting and shrinking away from me. And if ever something happens, for those orange digital numbers to pop up and hold the world in suspense for between 180 and 300 seconds until my wanderings resume would be quite amusing. If someone could arrange this at a reasonable price, do contact me.
Cheers.
P.S. In Part II I aim to complain about how some commercials are ruining our youth. Stay tuned, dear readers, stay tuned.
I'm looking forward, but I'm also looking back on my Spring Break. I had a nice, relaxing week at home. Aside from playing golf a few times and writing a couple articles for my father about golf courses, I was spectacularly unproductive.
I managed to watch the 18 released episodes of the latest season of the show "24." At about 43 minutes per episode, I have invested very nearly 13 hours in the show in the past 8 days instead of reading the Bill Bryson book on Australia that I recently acquired. In terms of television, it (along with "The Soup," occasionally) is one of my only guilty pleasures. Therefore, I write this somewhat bashfully, but there you go.
In the past week-plus, I have been so heavily inundated by espionage, double- and triple-crosses, and implausibly deep-running conspiracy plot lines in the show that I fear that the line between real life and Jack Bauer's America--an America full of villains with hilariously cliché flaws and good-guys who are just organized enough to mostly stave off catastrophe but too incompetent to quell threats altogether--begins to get fuzzy after prolonged exposure to "24."
Now, this doesn't mean I'm going to be taking things into my own hands and plodding off to try and save the world with my tactical brilliance and totally rad self-defense moves. However, I feel more vigilant--you never know when some normally-amiable soul has gone and gotten himself or herself infected by the disease of silly mischief. Furthermore, I find myself half-wishing I could have the earnest, foreboding music of "24" follow me around, subtly changing as the situation dictates, danger alternatively confronting and shrinking away from me. And if ever something happens, for those orange digital numbers to pop up and hold the world in suspense for between 180 and 300 seconds until my wanderings resume would be quite amusing. If someone could arrange this at a reasonable price, do contact me.
Cheers.
P.S. In Part II I aim to complain about how some commercials are ruining our youth. Stay tuned, dear readers, stay tuned.
Monday, April 13, 2009
The Wood Man Entertaineth
Most people who know me well know that I am an avid lover of Woody Allen films. He is responsible for "Annie Hall"--my favorite movie of all time--as well as some other cinematic gems such as "Radio Days," "Mighty Aphrodite," and "Manhattan."
Tonight I watched another intriguing film in the Allen canon, "Crimes and Misdemeanors." Despite a tangible preoccupation with such serious issues as death, general morality, and justice, the film is a comedy with a great many witty one-liners and absurd-yet-oddly-realistic events. And with such a capable cast--including Martin Landau, Alan Alda, Mia Farrow, Anjelica Huston, Jerry Orbach, Sam Waterston, and Allen himself--two parallel stories mesh very nicely instead of annoying and confusing the viewer, until everything kind of resolves in the end in the gracefully matter-of-fact, life-carries-on sort of denouement that endears Allen's movies to audiences. The film, while funny and silly at times, raises some intriguing questions about death and justice and faith without being preachy or pushy. I would recommend it to anyone willing to see a cerebral, amusing film that lacks the pretense and noise from which so many current efforts suffer.
Cheers.
(I know this is kind of a random post; I'll try to return to my more introspective kinds of commentaries forthwith.)
Tonight I watched another intriguing film in the Allen canon, "Crimes and Misdemeanors." Despite a tangible preoccupation with such serious issues as death, general morality, and justice, the film is a comedy with a great many witty one-liners and absurd-yet-oddly-realistic events. And with such a capable cast--including Martin Landau, Alan Alda, Mia Farrow, Anjelica Huston, Jerry Orbach, Sam Waterston, and Allen himself--two parallel stories mesh very nicely instead of annoying and confusing the viewer, until everything kind of resolves in the end in the gracefully matter-of-fact, life-carries-on sort of denouement that endears Allen's movies to audiences. The film, while funny and silly at times, raises some intriguing questions about death and justice and faith without being preachy or pushy. I would recommend it to anyone willing to see a cerebral, amusing film that lacks the pretense and noise from which so many current efforts suffer.
Cheers.
(I know this is kind of a random post; I'll try to return to my more introspective kinds of commentaries forthwith.)
Sunday, April 12, 2009
I'm Baaaaack!
The last month has been pretty hectic for me. I'm sorry I haven't blogged lately; three writing-heavy classes (Northern European Medieval Art, History of the English Language, and Native American Literature) have sapped much of my creative strength of late, so TVM has been sadly neglected for some weeks. Well no more, I say! I will find the time to blog regularly again this coming week (my Spring Break) and over the coming months, should you find it in your hearts and net-surfing schedules to make room for my random thoughts once again.
Cheers.
--Tim
Cheers.
--Tim
Thursday, February 19, 2009
"What A Stupid I Am"
The title of this here little post comprises the phrase uttered by professional golfer Roberto DiVicenzo upon realizing the fact that he signed his scorecard for an incorrect score, costing him the 1968 Masters Tournament. It describes my feelings earlier today perfectly.
Excited that today's high temperature would be a balmy (by February-in-Connecticut standards) 45 degrees today, I planned to drive down to the quaint (save for the huge Pfizer plant compound) town of Groton, CT to play golf at Shennecossett Municipal Golf Course, a lovely old golf course that stays open year-round, weather permitting. I had played a few days ago without a problem, so I assumed that today would be similarly suitable for golf. Knowing that Shennecossett posts alerts about the golf course online but absolutely sure that the golf course would be open, last night's rain be damned, I paid the website a formality of a visit, and seeing the note "The golf course will be open, weather permitting," took my cue to get in the car and drive the 80 minutes to Groton, salivating at the idea of another chilly but enjoyable day of golf.
(yours truly, on the 17th green)
(view beyond the 16th green out towards Long Island Sound)
I should have known as soon as I made a left onto Plant St. towards the golf course, as I saw no one playing. I rationalized this suspicion immediately, thinking that people weren't as likely to take Thursday afternoon off as they were to take Monday afternoon off. Undeterred by a deterrent that would have surely deterred the sane, I unloaded my golf bag, put on my shoes, and strode about 500 feet from the parking lot to the pro shop. Almost cheerily, the guy working therein informed me, "Too much rain last night...course's closed...call back tomorrow morning to see if we're open."
Spirits broken, I walked back to the car. Whereas I had been singing joyously along with Cat Stevens, Leonard Cohen, and Bob Dylan (bless you, creators of Pandora.com!) on the way down, the songs that played the rest of the afternoon in the car washed over me with the iciness of the body of water abreast of which I had sought to play.
After a similar lack of success at Fenwick Golf Course (a cute little nine hole course located in a village where Katherine Hepburn used to summer), my disappointment turned to fury. Cursing myself, the golf course officials, and Mother Nature, I turned for home. Determined not to completely waste the day, I stopped by GolfQuest, a semi-high-tech outdoor driving range in Southington, CT, and hit balls for an hour or so. Its effect was only marginally better than that of a Band-Aid on a stab wound, but it was better than nothing.
If there is any silver lining to the day, I discovered two great songs through Pandora. The first, "Desolation Row," is my new favorite Bob Dylan song, and the second, "Brompton Oratory," is an interesting little ditty by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.
"Desolation Row"
"Brompton Oratory"
Cheers.
Excited that today's high temperature would be a balmy (by February-in-Connecticut standards) 45 degrees today, I planned to drive down to the quaint (save for the huge Pfizer plant compound) town of Groton, CT to play golf at Shennecossett Municipal Golf Course, a lovely old golf course that stays open year-round, weather permitting. I had played a few days ago without a problem, so I assumed that today would be similarly suitable for golf. Knowing that Shennecossett posts alerts about the golf course online but absolutely sure that the golf course would be open, last night's rain be damned, I paid the website a formality of a visit, and seeing the note "The golf course will be open, weather permitting," took my cue to get in the car and drive the 80 minutes to Groton, salivating at the idea of another chilly but enjoyable day of golf.
(yours truly, on the 17th green)
(view beyond the 16th green out towards Long Island Sound)
I should have known as soon as I made a left onto Plant St. towards the golf course, as I saw no one playing. I rationalized this suspicion immediately, thinking that people weren't as likely to take Thursday afternoon off as they were to take Monday afternoon off. Undeterred by a deterrent that would have surely deterred the sane, I unloaded my golf bag, put on my shoes, and strode about 500 feet from the parking lot to the pro shop. Almost cheerily, the guy working therein informed me, "Too much rain last night...course's closed...call back tomorrow morning to see if we're open."
Spirits broken, I walked back to the car. Whereas I had been singing joyously along with Cat Stevens, Leonard Cohen, and Bob Dylan (bless you, creators of Pandora.com!) on the way down, the songs that played the rest of the afternoon in the car washed over me with the iciness of the body of water abreast of which I had sought to play.
After a similar lack of success at Fenwick Golf Course (a cute little nine hole course located in a village where Katherine Hepburn used to summer), my disappointment turned to fury. Cursing myself, the golf course officials, and Mother Nature, I turned for home. Determined not to completely waste the day, I stopped by GolfQuest, a semi-high-tech outdoor driving range in Southington, CT, and hit balls for an hour or so. Its effect was only marginally better than that of a Band-Aid on a stab wound, but it was better than nothing.
If there is any silver lining to the day, I discovered two great songs through Pandora. The first, "Desolation Row," is my new favorite Bob Dylan song, and the second, "Brompton Oratory," is an interesting little ditty by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.
"Desolation Row"
"Brompton Oratory"
Cheers.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Being Out Of Touch: My Anti-Drug
I am sitting with my parents, watching television. After the extreme disappointment of the UConn basketball game, we moved on to TNT and "The Closer." It was an amusing episode, but not the point of this post.
The new show to follow "The Closer" on Monday nights is a crappy modern-day "Mad Men"-type show called "Trust Me." It stars Eric McCormack, formerly Will on "Will and Grace," and Tom Cavanagh, who I know as the annoying brother of J.D. on "Scrubs." In this evening's episode, McCormack's character solicited advice from his daughter, whom he sees as a normal teenager, about how best to appeal to young folks in an ad campaign. Unfortunately, he fails to understand that she is decidedly abnormal in her enjoyment of downloadable books and Leonard Cohen (a girl after my own heart). He ultimately makes a fool of himself in a meeting because of this oversight, and realizes how out-of-touch he is, much to his dismay.
Even though the show is pretty bad, I was amused by the attempted confrontation of coolness. Now, I certainly do not need to be told that I am out-of-touch. I know it, and I embrace it. But I was made to think about the way in which I am out-of-touch. I have always been pretty comfortable in my own skin, but I wondered if part of my strangeness is manufactured from within. Could I be more "normal" if I wanted to? Do I accentuate my weirdness because that is what makes me stand out most? Could I learn to appreciate rap music?
I am inclined to think that the notion that I actually could be less out-there if I tried would be giving myself too much credit, refusing to acknowledge how out-of-touch I truly am, which is, suffice it to say, quite out-of-touch. And I think I'm okay with that.
(Apologies for a bit of blogging-for-the-sake-of-blogging, but I have to feel productive somehow.)
Cheers.
The new show to follow "The Closer" on Monday nights is a crappy modern-day "Mad Men"-type show called "Trust Me." It stars Eric McCormack, formerly Will on "Will and Grace," and Tom Cavanagh, who I know as the annoying brother of J.D. on "Scrubs." In this evening's episode, McCormack's character solicited advice from his daughter, whom he sees as a normal teenager, about how best to appeal to young folks in an ad campaign. Unfortunately, he fails to understand that she is decidedly abnormal in her enjoyment of downloadable books and Leonard Cohen (a girl after my own heart). He ultimately makes a fool of himself in a meeting because of this oversight, and realizes how out-of-touch he is, much to his dismay.
Even though the show is pretty bad, I was amused by the attempted confrontation of coolness. Now, I certainly do not need to be told that I am out-of-touch. I know it, and I embrace it. But I was made to think about the way in which I am out-of-touch. I have always been pretty comfortable in my own skin, but I wondered if part of my strangeness is manufactured from within. Could I be more "normal" if I wanted to? Do I accentuate my weirdness because that is what makes me stand out most? Could I learn to appreciate rap music?
I am inclined to think that the notion that I actually could be less out-there if I tried would be giving myself too much credit, refusing to acknowledge how out-of-touch I truly am, which is, suffice it to say, quite out-of-touch. And I think I'm okay with that.
(Apologies for a bit of blogging-for-the-sake-of-blogging, but I have to feel productive somehow.)
Cheers.
Friday, February 06, 2009
For Lack Of A More Original Post Idea...
...25 random facts about me. I'm not tagging people, though (partially because I'm not cool enough to have been tagged in such a message. But I'm not bitter). The first chunk of facts will be pretty standard, but I'll try to get a little more random as the list wears on.
1. Since the age of six, I have been infected with the incurable condition of addiction to the game of golf. I love all facets of it--from the history of the game to golf course architecture to playing competitively--and believe I always will. I would love to be in the golf business somehow, someday.
2. If my desire from #1 goes unrealized, I'd be happy to go into the food business--specifically, I'd love to be a noted food critic someday. Anyone who knows me knows that I am as interested in food as a preacher is in the Bible.
3. Speaking of religion, I have at no point in my life been a religious person. My mother's family are Greek Orthodox while my father's side is Jewish. I suppose I lean somewhat towards the Jewish side, if anything, but I'm more guided by the notion of human truth, rather than universal truth, so religion is not a big part of my identity.
4. My favorite Jew is also my favorite filmmaker, Woody Allen. "Annie Hall" is the best movie I know of. Allen's honorable-mentions include "Radio Days," "Manhattan," "Sleeper," "Love & Death," and "Everyone Says I Love You."
5. Woody Allen also penned one of my favorite short stories, "The Kugelmass Episode," but I'd have to say my favorite short stories are "The Secret Life Of Walter Mitty" and "The Catbird Seat," both written by James Thurber. I'm a fan of humorism.
6. Speaking of comedies, I'm a big fan of Shakespeare, especially of his--duh!--comedies. I love "The Comedy Of Errors" and "Much Ado About Nothing" most.
7. As for music, my tastes are more in older material than new. Specifically, I am a fan of folk, rock, jazz, and classical. I've been listening to two albums by the Irish group The Pogues lately. They're great.
8. My favorite word is "donnybrook."
9. One of my greatest personal accomplishments: eating 35 buffalo wings in 25 minutes one afternoon in high school.
10. I have déjà vu ll the time, and it freaks me out. I have brief episodes when I recall strange music and images and smells that I am sure are from past dreams. I get nauseous and disoriented whenever this happens, and it's really a strange feeling.
11. I don't drink alcohol, really. I have before, but I don't do it with any kind of regularity. I feel confident in saying that a fairly hefty number of people would be very amused to see me drunk, but they may not get their chance. I will say that my aversion to drinking has nothing to do with 21 being the legal age (that is to say, I could well start drinking occasionally, recreationally, before then; I just don't know). I will do it when the spirit moves me.
12. Speaking of my 21st birthday, it will fall on October 10, 2010. That means that that date will read 10/10/10. Pretty excellent, no?
13. I am a huge trivia nerd. My father taught me the state capitals when I was absurdly young (3 or 4), and I've known them ever since. I watch Jeopardy whenever I can, and I've taken the online test a few times. I would love to be on the College Championship.
14. Regrettably, I'm a really gullible person, and it must be obvious to people when they meet me. People I've never met in my life will mess with me all the time. Are the words "I'm gullible!" written on my forehead and I just can't see them?
15. I wasn't always a goody-two-shoes. I was sent to the principal's office in 1st grade for participating in a pretend swordfight--the weapons were plastic forks.
16. I have a fine motor-skills deficiency. I use a computer for tests and in-class writing assignments because whereas most people have no problem cranking out a bunch of written pages by hand, my hand and wrist seize up after a couple sentences. It's super-annoying.
17. I've played alto (and a little bit of tenor) saxophone since the summer after 4th grade. I plateaued in terms of my ability right after 8th grade, but I still enjoy playing.
18. My favorite work of all literature is J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye. I try to read it at least once per year. I've never encountered a character that resonates with me more strongly than does Holden Caulfield.
19. I have not done the following things in at least three years: put on sunscreen, eaten a bowl of cereal, ridden a bicycle.
20. I don't really know what I want to do for a living. I know I'm going to major in English at W&L, but what happens beyond that is less clear. Part of me would love to go back and teach English at Westminster for a couple years, but I don't really know. It's kind of disconcerting when I think about it. Probably ought to get on that whole figuring-out-what-to-do thing pretty soon.
21. I have never been in a physical fight in my life. Never hauled off and slugged someone (though there have been many times when I would have loved to). Even though I'm about the weakest dude you'll ever meet, I'm afraid that if I ever do get in such an altercation, some accident will happen and I'll hurt someone far more than I ever intended to.
22. I've always been very averse to change. If I am comfortable in one situation, it is very difficult for me to try something different. It took me a long time to adjust to living away from home. As soon as I started to get comfortable in my Freshmen dorm room, last year was over and I had to pack it all up. I've become comfortable in my fraternity house a little more quickly, thankfully.
23. I wish I had the mind to be a master singer/songwriter, someone on the order of Bob Dylan or Leonard Cohen (my two favorite such artists). But I think all of the greatest songs have been written; I can count the number of original songs from the last three years that I genuinely enjoy on one hand.
24. I don't really know why I maintain this blog. I think that's why I don't post more regularly. I would like to say that I blog because I feel like I have interesting things to say, but that is certainly not my call to make. If you reach the end of this post and don't feel as though the time you took to read it was completely wasted, then I suppose I haven't done this in vain.
25. This was one of the more challenging posts I've undertaken. I have found it quite difficult to provide 25 facts about myself without repeating things (and I probably have here a little bit...god knows it's been a verbose list). Oh well. I gave it a whirl.
Cheers.
1. Since the age of six, I have been infected with the incurable condition of addiction to the game of golf. I love all facets of it--from the history of the game to golf course architecture to playing competitively--and believe I always will. I would love to be in the golf business somehow, someday.
2. If my desire from #1 goes unrealized, I'd be happy to go into the food business--specifically, I'd love to be a noted food critic someday. Anyone who knows me knows that I am as interested in food as a preacher is in the Bible.
3. Speaking of religion, I have at no point in my life been a religious person. My mother's family are Greek Orthodox while my father's side is Jewish. I suppose I lean somewhat towards the Jewish side, if anything, but I'm more guided by the notion of human truth, rather than universal truth, so religion is not a big part of my identity.
4. My favorite Jew is also my favorite filmmaker, Woody Allen. "Annie Hall" is the best movie I know of. Allen's honorable-mentions include "Radio Days," "Manhattan," "Sleeper," "Love & Death," and "Everyone Says I Love You."
5. Woody Allen also penned one of my favorite short stories, "The Kugelmass Episode," but I'd have to say my favorite short stories are "The Secret Life Of Walter Mitty" and "The Catbird Seat," both written by James Thurber. I'm a fan of humorism.
6. Speaking of comedies, I'm a big fan of Shakespeare, especially of his--duh!--comedies. I love "The Comedy Of Errors" and "Much Ado About Nothing" most.
7. As for music, my tastes are more in older material than new. Specifically, I am a fan of folk, rock, jazz, and classical. I've been listening to two albums by the Irish group The Pogues lately. They're great.
8. My favorite word is "donnybrook."
9. One of my greatest personal accomplishments: eating 35 buffalo wings in 25 minutes one afternoon in high school.
10. I have déjà vu ll the time, and it freaks me out. I have brief episodes when I recall strange music and images and smells that I am sure are from past dreams. I get nauseous and disoriented whenever this happens, and it's really a strange feeling.
11. I don't drink alcohol, really. I have before, but I don't do it with any kind of regularity. I feel confident in saying that a fairly hefty number of people would be very amused to see me drunk, but they may not get their chance. I will say that my aversion to drinking has nothing to do with 21 being the legal age (that is to say, I could well start drinking occasionally, recreationally, before then; I just don't know). I will do it when the spirit moves me.
12. Speaking of my 21st birthday, it will fall on October 10, 2010. That means that that date will read 10/10/10. Pretty excellent, no?
13. I am a huge trivia nerd. My father taught me the state capitals when I was absurdly young (3 or 4), and I've known them ever since. I watch Jeopardy whenever I can, and I've taken the online test a few times. I would love to be on the College Championship.
14. Regrettably, I'm a really gullible person, and it must be obvious to people when they meet me. People I've never met in my life will mess with me all the time. Are the words "I'm gullible!" written on my forehead and I just can't see them?
15. I wasn't always a goody-two-shoes. I was sent to the principal's office in 1st grade for participating in a pretend swordfight--the weapons were plastic forks.
16. I have a fine motor-skills deficiency. I use a computer for tests and in-class writing assignments because whereas most people have no problem cranking out a bunch of written pages by hand, my hand and wrist seize up after a couple sentences. It's super-annoying.
17. I've played alto (and a little bit of tenor) saxophone since the summer after 4th grade. I plateaued in terms of my ability right after 8th grade, but I still enjoy playing.
18. My favorite work of all literature is J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye. I try to read it at least once per year. I've never encountered a character that resonates with me more strongly than does Holden Caulfield.
19. I have not done the following things in at least three years: put on sunscreen, eaten a bowl of cereal, ridden a bicycle.
20. I don't really know what I want to do for a living. I know I'm going to major in English at W&L, but what happens beyond that is less clear. Part of me would love to go back and teach English at Westminster for a couple years, but I don't really know. It's kind of disconcerting when I think about it. Probably ought to get on that whole figuring-out-what-to-do thing pretty soon.
21. I have never been in a physical fight in my life. Never hauled off and slugged someone (though there have been many times when I would have loved to). Even though I'm about the weakest dude you'll ever meet, I'm afraid that if I ever do get in such an altercation, some accident will happen and I'll hurt someone far more than I ever intended to.
22. I've always been very averse to change. If I am comfortable in one situation, it is very difficult for me to try something different. It took me a long time to adjust to living away from home. As soon as I started to get comfortable in my Freshmen dorm room, last year was over and I had to pack it all up. I've become comfortable in my fraternity house a little more quickly, thankfully.
23. I wish I had the mind to be a master singer/songwriter, someone on the order of Bob Dylan or Leonard Cohen (my two favorite such artists). But I think all of the greatest songs have been written; I can count the number of original songs from the last three years that I genuinely enjoy on one hand.
24. I don't really know why I maintain this blog. I think that's why I don't post more regularly. I would like to say that I blog because I feel like I have interesting things to say, but that is certainly not my call to make. If you reach the end of this post and don't feel as though the time you took to read it was completely wasted, then I suppose I haven't done this in vain.
25. This was one of the more challenging posts I've undertaken. I have found it quite difficult to provide 25 facts about myself without repeating things (and I probably have here a little bit...god knows it's been a verbose list). Oh well. I gave it a whirl.
Cheers.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
And Now, A Brief Public Service Announcement
The sinister nature of fast food advertising never ceases to amaze me.
Most will agree that the McDonald's Dollar Menu (and its ilk) is one of Man's greatest innovations. Most would not consider it a stretch at all to declare the Double Cheeseburger one of the yummiest possible uses of a dollar.
Most Dollar Menu veterans will note the recent introduction of a new Dollar Menu item: the McDouble. Just a renaming of the Double Cheeseburger. Or is it?
I learned the dastardly truth last night, when I was hit head-on by a snack attack. I had quite the DC hankering. When I glanced at the Dollar Menu at the nearest site of the Golden Arches, I noticed that a Double Cheeseburger was now an infuriating $1.19! Confused and a little troubled, I inquired as to the difference between the McDouble and the Double Cheeseburger. My braces-toothed order-taker informed me in a splendidly lazy drawl that "the Double Cheeseburger has two pieces of cheese and the McDouble has one piece."
This move by McD's is really pretty stingy, in my opinion. As one of the few stocks that has felt relatively little to no heat from the recent economic downturn, the decision to quibble by 19 cents over a single piece of ultra-processed cheese-type matter is quite silly. But that's the way it goes, I guess.
Anyway, I just thought I would warn those of you who have not yet been duped by The Man (none other than that bastard Ronald McDonald, in this case) that he is fixing to fleece you out of 19 cents per DC if you're not careful.
You'd better run, Ronnie. We're on to your little game.
Corporate pigs.
Most will agree that the McDonald's Dollar Menu (and its ilk) is one of Man's greatest innovations. Most would not consider it a stretch at all to declare the Double Cheeseburger one of the yummiest possible uses of a dollar.
Most Dollar Menu veterans will note the recent introduction of a new Dollar Menu item: the McDouble. Just a renaming of the Double Cheeseburger. Or is it?
I learned the dastardly truth last night, when I was hit head-on by a snack attack. I had quite the DC hankering. When I glanced at the Dollar Menu at the nearest site of the Golden Arches, I noticed that a Double Cheeseburger was now an infuriating $1.19! Confused and a little troubled, I inquired as to the difference between the McDouble and the Double Cheeseburger. My braces-toothed order-taker informed me in a splendidly lazy drawl that "the Double Cheeseburger has two pieces of cheese and the McDouble has one piece."
This move by McD's is really pretty stingy, in my opinion. As one of the few stocks that has felt relatively little to no heat from the recent economic downturn, the decision to quibble by 19 cents over a single piece of ultra-processed cheese-type matter is quite silly. But that's the way it goes, I guess.
Anyway, I just thought I would warn those of you who have not yet been duped by The Man (none other than that bastard Ronald McDonald, in this case) that he is fixing to fleece you out of 19 cents per DC if you're not careful.
You'd better run, Ronnie. We're on to your little game.
Corporate pigs.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Pictures of Odd Things in Public Places, Part 2: Mall
...at long last. I've been a killer combination of busy and lazy since I returned to school, so forgive the blog pause. Anyhoo...
One afternoon when my family was in South Carolina, we went to the imposing Coastal Grand Mall. Still a giddy new iPhone owner, I snapped some pictures of amusing things in the mall, just as I did at Piggly Wiggly. Again, captions will succeed the pictures.
I'd put five-to-one odds against Gianni Bini and Antonio Melani even existing as real people. One of the funniest things I see in malls is department store in-house brands with faux-elegant Italian names that are clearly meant to remind would-be consumers of bona fide fashion names like Giorgio Armani and Donatella Versace.
I'd say it's pretty ironic that a brand called Hobo International is trying to sell fine leather handbags.
My instinct is to stay away from women dressed like the one in the above ad. It's a strong instinct.
Shameless self-humiliation, to show you that I put it all on the line for my loyal blog readers.
Though I am a contented owner of quite a few articles of Polo clothing, the people in their ads never cease to evoke feelings of bewilderment. Not only do the mannequin-like poses and facial expressions (and, no doubt, masks of makeup and airbrushing) disquiet me, their outfits are almost always ridiculous. I can't say I see many young men wearing bow ties under zip-up sweaters, but perhaps I don't run with the right crowd.
In conclusion, where's Don Draper when you need him?
Cheers.
One afternoon when my family was in South Carolina, we went to the imposing Coastal Grand Mall. Still a giddy new iPhone owner, I snapped some pictures of amusing things in the mall, just as I did at Piggly Wiggly. Again, captions will succeed the pictures.
I'd put five-to-one odds against Gianni Bini and Antonio Melani even existing as real people. One of the funniest things I see in malls is department store in-house brands with faux-elegant Italian names that are clearly meant to remind would-be consumers of bona fide fashion names like Giorgio Armani and Donatella Versace.
I'd say it's pretty ironic that a brand called Hobo International is trying to sell fine leather handbags.
My instinct is to stay away from women dressed like the one in the above ad. It's a strong instinct.
Shameless self-humiliation, to show you that I put it all on the line for my loyal blog readers.
Though I am a contented owner of quite a few articles of Polo clothing, the people in their ads never cease to evoke feelings of bewilderment. Not only do the mannequin-like poses and facial expressions (and, no doubt, masks of makeup and airbrushing) disquiet me, their outfits are almost always ridiculous. I can't say I see many young men wearing bow ties under zip-up sweaters, but perhaps I don't run with the right crowd.
In conclusion, where's Don Draper when you need him?
Cheers.
Friday, January 02, 2009
Pictures of Odd Things in Public Places, Part 1: Supermarket
One of the most useful features of my new iPhone is the ease with which I can transfer pictures I've taken with it to my laptop. That has allowed me to go a bit hog-wild in taking pictures of things I find odd or amusing where'er I go. A few nights, I did so in the local Piggly Wiggly, a supermarket prevalent in parts of the South (we've been staying in Pawleys Island, SC for the better part of the last week). Captions will be under their pictures.
Gotta love seeing a package of cookies using the last name of a very famous philosopher. I think the company missed an opportunity to extend the association with Leibniz. The obvious motto for the cookies should be "Leibniz: the best of all possible cookies." Oh well; advertising just ain't what it used to be.
This pretty much sums up why I would never want to be a huge pop-culture celebrity. My obsession with Angelina Jolie is very intense and very private, and I'd like to keep it that way, thank you very much! (Note: I am not obsessed with Ms. Jolie)
I can only imagine some of the lines in this one:
Captain Bluebeard caressed her so gently and tenderly that the callouses on his hands melted away to nothing but ecstasy against her rost cheek.
"Yarrrr, dear Elizabeth, I could never make ye walk the plank."
Et Cetera, et cetera.
I wrote of the monosyllabic-detergent phenomenon some months ago, but I thought I'd capture it in its natural habitat, as it were.
Supermarkets can be really interesting studies of advertising, I've always thought. There are head-scratchers and laughs around every corner. Part 2 will be a similar format, but from the Coastal Grand Mall in Myrtle Beach, SC, at which my family spent a couple hours yesterday afternoon.
'Til then.
Gotta love seeing a package of cookies using the last name of a very famous philosopher. I think the company missed an opportunity to extend the association with Leibniz. The obvious motto for the cookies should be "Leibniz: the best of all possible cookies." Oh well; advertising just ain't what it used to be.
This pretty much sums up why I would never want to be a huge pop-culture celebrity. My obsession with Angelina Jolie is very intense and very private, and I'd like to keep it that way, thank you very much! (Note: I am not obsessed with Ms. Jolie)
I can only imagine some of the lines in this one:
Captain Bluebeard caressed her so gently and tenderly that the callouses on his hands melted away to nothing but ecstasy against her rost cheek.
"Yarrrr, dear Elizabeth, I could never make ye walk the plank."
Et Cetera, et cetera.
I wrote of the monosyllabic-detergent phenomenon some months ago, but I thought I'd capture it in its natural habitat, as it were.
Supermarkets can be really interesting studies of advertising, I've always thought. There are head-scratchers and laughs around every corner. Part 2 will be a similar format, but from the Coastal Grand Mall in Myrtle Beach, SC, at which my family spent a couple hours yesterday afternoon.
'Til then.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
Anew
How my 2008 ended: watching the movie Traffic and then watching "Deal Or No Deal."
How my 2009 began: watching Robbie Knievel jump over a fake volcano at the Mirage in Las Vegas on FOX .
Nowhere to go but up, eh?
Happy New Year, y'all.
How my 2009 began: watching Robbie Knievel jump over a fake volcano at the Mirage in Las Vegas on FOX .
Nowhere to go but up, eh?
Happy New Year, y'all.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
'Tis The Season, Ain't It?
Merry Christmas everyone.
I know I know, I am always protesting my adopted culturally Jewish identity, but I have great respect for the secular virtue of Christmas. Sure, the over-consumerism of it all can get a little overwhelming, but honestly, who doesn't enjoy presents? I know I do, and I made out pretty durn well this year, with the highlight being my ill-as-all-get-out iPhone--really the ultimate mass-produced tech gadget.
Anyway, while I am sure most of you, dear readers, are familiar with "Yes Virginia, There Is A Santa Claus," I want to share it here for those who've not encountered it before.
~ ~ ~
Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus
By Francis P. Church, first published in The New York Sun in 1897. [See The People’s Almanac, pp. 1358–9.]
"We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:
Dear Editor—
I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.” Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?
Virginia O’Hanlon
Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.
Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.
You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.
No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood."
Merry Christmas y'all.
I know I know, I am always protesting my adopted culturally Jewish identity, but I have great respect for the secular virtue of Christmas. Sure, the over-consumerism of it all can get a little overwhelming, but honestly, who doesn't enjoy presents? I know I do, and I made out pretty durn well this year, with the highlight being my ill-as-all-get-out iPhone--really the ultimate mass-produced tech gadget.
Anyway, while I am sure most of you, dear readers, are familiar with "Yes Virginia, There Is A Santa Claus," I want to share it here for those who've not encountered it before.
~ ~ ~
Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus
By Francis P. Church, first published in The New York Sun in 1897. [See The People’s Almanac, pp. 1358–9.]
"We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:
Dear Editor—
I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.” Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?
Virginia O’Hanlon
Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.
Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.
You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.
No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood."
Merry Christmas y'all.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Unproductivity
I realized shortly before I fell asleep last night that in the week that I have been home since finishing up my Fall term of my sophomore year in college, I have done appallingly little to enrich myself. After chatting with someone who reads a great deal more and a great deal faster than I, I decided to try to do something about how poorly-read I feel I am this vacation. After tumbling out of bed at quarter past 11 this morning (great start, eh?), I splashed my face, brushed my teeth, and--eyes still somewhat crusty--went downstairs into our living room and plucked the "Comedies" book from the three-volume collection of Shakespeare's plays. I was pretty excited not only at the prospect of filling a critical hole in my 'Shakespearience' (I apologize; I had to do it) with A Midsummer Night's Dream, but also at the prospect of reading out of a book printed in 1886 (I've always thought that the best way to read something old is from as old a version as is obtainable). As perhaps the best-loved Shakespearean comedy I have yet to read, it was a no-brainer first choice play. And so I sat down at the table, caressed the tome open, and began...
And naturally, as soon as I tried to do something studious and intellectual rather than something unstimulating and couch-potato-like, I was distrcted by the latter to the detriment of the former. I had just made it into Act II when my mother came home and informed me that my sickly Motorola RAZR had been disconnected because my father had gotten me an iPhone 3G (really the only significant item I desired for Christmas, and one I am extremely thankful to have) earlier in the morning. And so much of the rest of the afternoon was devoted to hand-entering my contacts from my old phone into my new one. And wouldn't you know it, as soon as I was fixing to return to Athens and Fairy-land, my mother informed me that a piece of software I had ordered (Age of Empires II Gold Edition, a very intriguing strategy game; just when you thought I could get no nerdier...) had arrived. And so I spent the remaining time before dinner installing and fiddling with it. So in almost nine hours, I have made it through 45 minutes of Shakespeare. Jolly good show, Tim. Jolly good show.
I believe I am ready to return to Mr. Shakespeare's play for a little while. I aim to opine in the near future about foxy Shakespearean ladies (ooh la-la!); so do stay tuned if you are so inclined.
Ta-ta for now.
~~~
P.S. I have recently become a Twitter-er, just for the heck of it really. But I have found a way to put my 'Tweets' up alongside my blog (for those of you who read it in its Blogspot form, as opposed to its Facebook Notes form). If you wish to follow me (usually a bad idea, but in Twitter-ing, I trust it's minimally detrimental), I am timgolf2002 on Twitter, as on AIM and Gmail.
And naturally, as soon as I tried to do something studious and intellectual rather than something unstimulating and couch-potato-like, I was distrcted by the latter to the detriment of the former. I had just made it into Act II when my mother came home and informed me that my sickly Motorola RAZR had been disconnected because my father had gotten me an iPhone 3G (really the only significant item I desired for Christmas, and one I am extremely thankful to have) earlier in the morning. And so much of the rest of the afternoon was devoted to hand-entering my contacts from my old phone into my new one. And wouldn't you know it, as soon as I was fixing to return to Athens and Fairy-land, my mother informed me that a piece of software I had ordered (Age of Empires II Gold Edition, a very intriguing strategy game; just when you thought I could get no nerdier...) had arrived. And so I spent the remaining time before dinner installing and fiddling with it. So in almost nine hours, I have made it through 45 minutes of Shakespeare. Jolly good show, Tim. Jolly good show.
I believe I am ready to return to Mr. Shakespeare's play for a little while. I aim to opine in the near future about foxy Shakespearean ladies (ooh la-la!); so do stay tuned if you are so inclined.
Ta-ta for now.
~~~
P.S. I have recently become a Twitter-er, just for the heck of it really. But I have found a way to put my 'Tweets' up alongside my blog (for those of you who read it in its Blogspot form, as opposed to its Facebook Notes form). If you wish to follow me (usually a bad idea, but in Twitter-ing, I trust it's minimally detrimental), I am timgolf2002 on Twitter, as on AIM and Gmail.
Monday, December 08, 2008
"You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means. "
I should be studying for my Aristotle final, so naturally I'm blogging instead. Funny how I'm most productive on this thing when I really oughtn't to be...
First of all, brownie points to he or she who can name the movie, character, and actor from which the title of this here post originates (without cheating, of course). But that's not the point (I may be a light poster of late, but I'm not so starved for ideas that I'd merely have a "quote of the day"-type thing going on in place of my actual Musings (though they be few and far between; apologies for that).
Anyhoo, what I'm really itchin' to say is that I find myself thinking that splendid quote oftentimes when I hear people speak. I am moved to give two examples of English language items--one written, one spoken--that make me think my title.
1. "Siked"
Ladies and gentlemen, the above is not a word. A phierce aphinity phor phonetic phonation is phriggin' goophy (sic, duh). Those of you who are guilty of its erroneous usage are looking for a homophone of that word: "psyched," meaning "excited" or "eager." Just an eff-why-eye.
2. "I could care less."
Some people get jolted by the scratching of nails on a chalkboard or babies crying. For me, it's the misuse of this phrase,which--if you pause for one fast second and think on it--is valueless. I daresay what you mean to say is that you could not care less about whatever you don't seem to care about. I hear this one at least every day. I hate being a jerk and pointing it out to people (and I heartily apologize to she to whom I did just that last night), so there y'all go.
Cheers.
First of all, brownie points to he or she who can name the movie, character, and actor from which the title of this here post originates (without cheating, of course). But that's not the point (I may be a light poster of late, but I'm not so starved for ideas that I'd merely have a "quote of the day"-type thing going on in place of my actual Musings (though they be few and far between; apologies for that).
Anyhoo, what I'm really itchin' to say is that I find myself thinking that splendid quote oftentimes when I hear people speak. I am moved to give two examples of English language items--one written, one spoken--that make me think my title.
1. "Siked"
Ladies and gentlemen, the above is not a word. A phierce aphinity phor phonetic phonation is phriggin' goophy (sic, duh). Those of you who are guilty of its erroneous usage are looking for a homophone of that word: "psyched," meaning "excited" or "eager." Just an eff-why-eye.
2. "I could care less."
Some people get jolted by the scratching of nails on a chalkboard or babies crying. For me, it's the misuse of this phrase,which--if you pause for one fast second and think on it--is valueless. I daresay what you mean to say is that you could not care less about whatever you don't seem to care about. I hear this one at least every day. I hate being a jerk and pointing it out to people (and I heartily apologize to she to whom I did just that last night), so there y'all go.
Cheers.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
(Post-) Thanksgiving Meditations
1. I assume most of you know about the man who was trampled to death at a Wal-Mart in Long Island around 5AM this past Friday. What sad irony that the holiday on which we're supposed to recognize what we have was ruined for this poor man because of dozens of people who were viciously eager to get more stuff...
2. I like juicy breasts. Of turkey (and chicken and duck too).
3. Shane MacGowan was and is a wild man. A genius, but a wild man. Listen to The Pogues, for heaven's sakes (my favorite song of theirs is "If I Should Fall From Grace With God"..worth a Youtubing)!
4. It's no wonder the American automotive execs flew in private jets to Washington to ask for help from the federal government last week. Having spent 10 1/2 hours trying to make a 7 1/2 hour trip today, there is no need for (m)any more cars on the road.
Short one tonight; more soon, I hope. Do stay tuned.
Cheers.
2. I like juicy breasts. Of turkey (and chicken and duck too).
3. Shane MacGowan was and is a wild man. A genius, but a wild man. Listen to The Pogues, for heaven's sakes (my favorite song of theirs is "If I Should Fall From Grace With God"..worth a Youtubing)!
4. It's no wonder the American automotive execs flew in private jets to Washington to ask for help from the federal government last week. Having spent 10 1/2 hours trying to make a 7 1/2 hour trip today, there is no need for (m)any more cars on the road.
Short one tonight; more soon, I hope. Do stay tuned.
Cheers.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Simply, My Day
Today was a pretty interesting one.
I woke up at 7:45 today and made the 10-minute trudge through the cold rain to campus. On my second stride outside the King Kong of all raindrops fell right into my left shoe (a caution: don't wear loafers in the rain), soaking my sock. So despite the fact that I was bundled up, I was chilled to the bone from my extremities. The discomfort reached the point where I was surely not going to be able to do my Politics exam in shod feet. So I took the test in bare feet. Despite a slight distraction from the foot freedom, I was able to proceed competently. After an hour and a half, my sock was still as wet as it was when it first met that blasted raindrop-from-hell, as was my left shoe. I charged across the Colonnade, my feet dampening with each miserable second, to Tucker Hall, where my Shakespeare class takes place on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Again, I went barefoot because the absorption capabilities of my loafers are matched only by that of a SuperShammy (http://www.simplygoodstuff.com/super_shammies.htm). Heck, it's still damp 15 hours later.
I returned to the fraternity house, ate lunch (pretty good pulled pork sandwich and some really crisp, tangy mayo-free cole slaw--a wonderful complement), and headed upstairs fully intent on beginning my ~6 page Philosophy paper, due in class tomorrow (more on that shortly). Naturally, I found myself helplessly drawn to all manner of procrastinatory activities--TV watching, video games, eating, Facebook, etc.--so profoundly so that I found myself in the fraternity house dining room at 7:15 PM having made scant little progress on my paper. So what did I do? That's right, dear readers. I went to play poker.
I had been looking forward to the IM poker tournament (I seize nearly every chance I get to play) all week, and no pesky little paper was going to come between me and the tournament; no sir! So I brought my Philosophy wares with me to campus, intent on finishing my paper in the library after I bowed out of the tournament. Murphy's Law took over, and I played some of the best poker I've played this year, finishing 4th out of a field of 15.
Now let me back up a moment. I declined to say above that I was dog-tired at 7:15 PM. I remedied that fatigue by doing a very uncharacteristic thing--I purchased a high-potency energy drink in the Co-Op. Now, I usually abhor such devious liquids, but there was no way I was going to make it to the finish line with my paper if I didn't get a pick-me-up. So I walked out with a 22-ounce gas canister-cum-bottle of Grape flavored Nos, a bottle of water (to try to dilute the energy potion, I figured) and a little box of Junior Mints (in case I found the Nos so revolting that I'd need to get the taste of it out of my mouth in short order). But the Nos was palatable. Check that--the Nos was de-freakin'-lectable. And like any halfwit energy-drink rookie, I made the mistake of drinking about half of the bottle between approximately 8:05 and 8:25. In that short period, I went from a barely-there zombie to a hyper-Herman with an interior stream-of-consciousness monologue going on that would tongue-tie James Joyce. And at nearly 2 AM, I still am feeling jittery and full of energy (as if the sheer volume of this blog post did not tip you off).
At any rate, after about 20 minutes of aimless lurching around trying to find a good entrance into the library and then an open study room in the library, I was able to isolate myself and do my paper. I ended up starting over from scratch (an extreme rarity for me) because my previous effort was so scatterbrained and unfocused that it was unsalvageable. I ended up mentioning David Bowie (ch-ch-ch-ch-changes) and mathematics (graphs with holes) in the space of 1667 words allegedly devoted to an outline and defense of Aristotle's views on time in his Physics, which I thought was pretty neat (I am appallingly nerdy, after all). I handed the paper in at 12:45 AM, a full 10 1/2 hours before the deadline of 11:15 AM. Ohh yeah.
It was as beautiful a nighttime scene as I've ever walked through as I strode from the library to Newcomb Hall and then back to the fraternity house. A rich blanket of fog covers the town of Lexington right now, softening the rim of every light, obscuring borders. It's pretty cool, to say the least (according to one nerd's opinion).
Anyway, here I am at 2:05 AM, still nowhere near sleepy enough to go to sleep. I'm going to catch up on my Shakespeare reading ("Othello") and hopefully shuffle off this sugary coil enough so that I may rest myself.
Nos is a heluva drink.
Good night.
--Timothy R. Gavrich, Madman
I woke up at 7:45 today and made the 10-minute trudge through the cold rain to campus. On my second stride outside the King Kong of all raindrops fell right into my left shoe (a caution: don't wear loafers in the rain), soaking my sock. So despite the fact that I was bundled up, I was chilled to the bone from my extremities. The discomfort reached the point where I was surely not going to be able to do my Politics exam in shod feet. So I took the test in bare feet. Despite a slight distraction from the foot freedom, I was able to proceed competently. After an hour and a half, my sock was still as wet as it was when it first met that blasted raindrop-from-hell, as was my left shoe. I charged across the Colonnade, my feet dampening with each miserable second, to Tucker Hall, where my Shakespeare class takes place on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Again, I went barefoot because the absorption capabilities of my loafers are matched only by that of a SuperShammy (http://www.simplygoodstuff.com/super_shammies.htm). Heck, it's still damp 15 hours later.
I returned to the fraternity house, ate lunch (pretty good pulled pork sandwich and some really crisp, tangy mayo-free cole slaw--a wonderful complement), and headed upstairs fully intent on beginning my ~6 page Philosophy paper, due in class tomorrow (more on that shortly). Naturally, I found myself helplessly drawn to all manner of procrastinatory activities--TV watching, video games, eating, Facebook, etc.--so profoundly so that I found myself in the fraternity house dining room at 7:15 PM having made scant little progress on my paper. So what did I do? That's right, dear readers. I went to play poker.
I had been looking forward to the IM poker tournament (I seize nearly every chance I get to play) all week, and no pesky little paper was going to come between me and the tournament; no sir! So I brought my Philosophy wares with me to campus, intent on finishing my paper in the library after I bowed out of the tournament. Murphy's Law took over, and I played some of the best poker I've played this year, finishing 4th out of a field of 15.
Now let me back up a moment. I declined to say above that I was dog-tired at 7:15 PM. I remedied that fatigue by doing a very uncharacteristic thing--I purchased a high-potency energy drink in the Co-Op. Now, I usually abhor such devious liquids, but there was no way I was going to make it to the finish line with my paper if I didn't get a pick-me-up. So I walked out with a 22-ounce gas canister-cum-bottle of Grape flavored Nos, a bottle of water (to try to dilute the energy potion, I figured) and a little box of Junior Mints (in case I found the Nos so revolting that I'd need to get the taste of it out of my mouth in short order). But the Nos was palatable. Check that--the Nos was de-freakin'-lectable. And like any halfwit energy-drink rookie, I made the mistake of drinking about half of the bottle between approximately 8:05 and 8:25. In that short period, I went from a barely-there zombie to a hyper-Herman with an interior stream-of-consciousness monologue going on that would tongue-tie James Joyce. And at nearly 2 AM, I still am feeling jittery and full of energy (as if the sheer volume of this blog post did not tip you off).
At any rate, after about 20 minutes of aimless lurching around trying to find a good entrance into the library and then an open study room in the library, I was able to isolate myself and do my paper. I ended up starting over from scratch (an extreme rarity for me) because my previous effort was so scatterbrained and unfocused that it was unsalvageable. I ended up mentioning David Bowie (ch-ch-ch-ch-changes) and mathematics (graphs with holes) in the space of 1667 words allegedly devoted to an outline and defense of Aristotle's views on time in his Physics, which I thought was pretty neat (I am appallingly nerdy, after all). I handed the paper in at 12:45 AM, a full 10 1/2 hours before the deadline of 11:15 AM. Ohh yeah.
It was as beautiful a nighttime scene as I've ever walked through as I strode from the library to Newcomb Hall and then back to the fraternity house. A rich blanket of fog covers the town of Lexington right now, softening the rim of every light, obscuring borders. It's pretty cool, to say the least (according to one nerd's opinion).
Anyway, here I am at 2:05 AM, still nowhere near sleepy enough to go to sleep. I'm going to catch up on my Shakespeare reading ("Othello") and hopefully shuffle off this sugary coil enough so that I may rest myself.
Nos is a heluva drink.
Good night.
--Timothy R. Gavrich, Madman
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Moving Forward
I try not to let my personal politics get into this blog because for as often as people (at least the crazy kids I hang out with) debate such matters, one's own beliefs are just that: one's own. But, I would be remiss to neglect to reflect publicly about this evening's events.
I fancy myself a moderate Conservative. In this election I found John McCain to be the most viable candidate because I believe in his experience and judgment in matters of foreign policy. Furthermore, I just have never bought into the anti-"Four More Years!" mantra. If someone like Mitt Romney--a Bushier Republican than McCain--had run against Obama, then I might have been more leery. But while I respect Obama's cultivation of an image that really transcends politics, I disagree with the general foreign policy and economic sentiments of the Democratic Party. But that's just background to the real guts of my post this evening.
Watching Barack Obama's confident acceptance speech sent a slight chill through me, though probably not the same sort of chill as surely gripped millions of my fellow Americans at the same moment. It got the ol' wood burning in this wacky brain of mine, and what's come of that is a little advice (from my humble perspective) for both Republicans and Democrats. And I don't mean politicians alone; I'm talking about Joe the Plumber, Lionel the CEO, Sally the Shopgirl, and Bob the Builder too.
Fellow Conservatives: I would stress that while we did not believe Barack Obama was the man for the job, we need to at the very least show quiet affirmation of his victory. If people are to take the line "Country first" as a serious motto for the Conservative American, we need to stick by it and accept Barack Obama as our president. Knowing the line about a house divided, it is obvious that unity is the best policy. And we can be united in differing ideology; we just need to accept that not a whole lot is going to go our way for a while. But, we must also hope and trust that the victorious party will be gracious in victory and therefore mindful of the merits of the loyal opposition.
Democrats: You won fair and square, obviously, but you too must live up to your end of the bargain. If you are really committed to bringing about significant "change" in American politics, you will have to start by tossing out the tempting notion that just because your party now has a great deal of clout in the government, it means that the Republicans can be disregarded. If you really are serious about this "change" business, you'll have to extend a friendly hand across the aisle. Your new leader, Mr. Obama, would do well to make an overture to such a relationship by including a Conservative mind or two in his administration. I'm not talking about the converse of Joe Lieberman (a respectable fellow for sure, but he's not really a Democrat anymore); I'm talking about a real, live Conservative presence. It doesn't have to be equal, but Mr. Obama, if you are really going to sell "change" to us in the long term, you'd better back it up with substance, rather than rhetoric and the rock star ethos.
Obama is correct in saying that there's a hard road ahead. It'll eventually prove unnavigable if his newly-invigorated party is not wise. But if "change" is coming and it has been a lack of wisdom that has marked the last few years after all, then the only possible alternative to a lack of wisdom must be wisdom, mustn't it?
Let's hope so, for everyone's sake.
Good night.
*My name is Timothy Russell Gavrich, and not only do I approve this blog post, I will always be proud to be an American.
I fancy myself a moderate Conservative. In this election I found John McCain to be the most viable candidate because I believe in his experience and judgment in matters of foreign policy. Furthermore, I just have never bought into the anti-"Four More Years!" mantra. If someone like Mitt Romney--a Bushier Republican than McCain--had run against Obama, then I might have been more leery. But while I respect Obama's cultivation of an image that really transcends politics, I disagree with the general foreign policy and economic sentiments of the Democratic Party. But that's just background to the real guts of my post this evening.
Watching Barack Obama's confident acceptance speech sent a slight chill through me, though probably not the same sort of chill as surely gripped millions of my fellow Americans at the same moment. It got the ol' wood burning in this wacky brain of mine, and what's come of that is a little advice (from my humble perspective) for both Republicans and Democrats. And I don't mean politicians alone; I'm talking about Joe the Plumber, Lionel the CEO, Sally the Shopgirl, and Bob the Builder too.
Fellow Conservatives: I would stress that while we did not believe Barack Obama was the man for the job, we need to at the very least show quiet affirmation of his victory. If people are to take the line "Country first" as a serious motto for the Conservative American, we need to stick by it and accept Barack Obama as our president. Knowing the line about a house divided, it is obvious that unity is the best policy. And we can be united in differing ideology; we just need to accept that not a whole lot is going to go our way for a while. But, we must also hope and trust that the victorious party will be gracious in victory and therefore mindful of the merits of the loyal opposition.
Democrats: You won fair and square, obviously, but you too must live up to your end of the bargain. If you are really committed to bringing about significant "change" in American politics, you will have to start by tossing out the tempting notion that just because your party now has a great deal of clout in the government, it means that the Republicans can be disregarded. If you really are serious about this "change" business, you'll have to extend a friendly hand across the aisle. Your new leader, Mr. Obama, would do well to make an overture to such a relationship by including a Conservative mind or two in his administration. I'm not talking about the converse of Joe Lieberman (a respectable fellow for sure, but he's not really a Democrat anymore); I'm talking about a real, live Conservative presence. It doesn't have to be equal, but Mr. Obama, if you are really going to sell "change" to us in the long term, you'd better back it up with substance, rather than rhetoric and the rock star ethos.
Obama is correct in saying that there's a hard road ahead. It'll eventually prove unnavigable if his newly-invigorated party is not wise. But if "change" is coming and it has been a lack of wisdom that has marked the last few years after all, then the only possible alternative to a lack of wisdom must be wisdom, mustn't it?
Let's hope so, for everyone's sake.
Good night.
*My name is Timothy Russell Gavrich, and not only do I approve this blog post, I will always be proud to be an American.
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