It Must Be Love

Me (11:07): http://selleckwaterfallsandwich.tumblr.com
Me (11:07): i have NO IDEA why i find this cool
Me (11:07): but i do
Karen (11:08): hahahaha
Karen (11:11): ok, this is brilliant
Me (11:11): i know!
Me (11:11): but WHY?!
Karen (11:12): 1. Tom Selleck
Karen (11:12): 2. Waterfalls
Karen (11:12): 3. Delicious Sandwiches
Me (11:12): it's all so clear now
Me (11:12): how could i have missed it?
Karen (11:13): no idea

Lest We Lose Sight

Last year on this day, the United States of America celebrated a highly momentous occasion--a day that, regardless of how you feel about the year that has transpired since, ushered in a new and progressive era for our great nation.

Unfortunately, while our attention was fixated (perhaps rightfully so) on the inauguration of our first black President, we lost sight of another incredibly important occasion. An annual festival that, like last year's inauguration, is about black and white, but also about so much more.

This year, it may be easy to slip into the routine again. To be divisive and disagree over progress or a lack thereof. But let's not lose sight of those we overlooked one year ago.

I encourage you all, my dear readers, to take time to celebrate today and give credit to those things that we tend to look at adoringly all winter long but never quite give their proper due.

With that in mind, let me be what I hope is one of many to wish you all a very joyous, safe, and happy National Penguin Awareness Day.

And if you see Danny DeVito today, give him a hug. Old penguins need love too.

Driven to the Edge

(If you're expecting a New Year's Resolution-related post, you are barking up the wrong tree.)

I understand that the holiday rush, despite its best intentions, can tend to bring out the worst in people. Between the stress, pressure, and impatience, it's sometimes hard to find that holiday cheer that we all so desperately crave at the turn of the year.

But despite that understanding, there is one holiday phenomenon that I simply cannot explain: the proliferation of insanely shitty drivers.

My major beefs boil down to three specific driving types, all of whom I have encountered already today:

• 1) The Drifters -- The drivers in small neighborhoods and side roads who decide that, because there's no double yellow line and no other drivers on that particular road, they can simply drive right down the middle. Which is all fine and dandy, until another driver comes up from the opposite direction. Inevitably, no matter how long or straight the road, the Drifter will not see you coming until the last second, at which point they will veer sharply to their right. Inevitably, a look of contorted rage--how dare you take your fair share of the road!--will be visible on their faces as you pass by.
  
  
• 2) The Highway Robbers -- Most commonly found on multi-lane roads, but you will occasionally find them in neighborhoods too. These are the folks who are pulling onto a highway, either from an on-ramp or a store parking lot, and simply can't resist coming over, even if the timing is inopportune. As if that wasn't bad enough, they will often proceed to drive at a rate far below the speed limit--after all, it is the slow lane, isn't it?--and force you to accelerate past them angrily. And the worst part? They are often so oblivious to their own inability to find the gas pedal that, should you look over to shoot them an angry look as you careen past, they are often found blissfully staring straight ahead, often singing along with some tune on their radio.
  
  
• 3) The Routiners -- We are all guilty of this from time to time. There are certain parts of our drives, such as the first turn or two out of our driveways, that feel like routines. We know the traffic, we know the situations, we can do them with our eyes shut. The problem is, the Routiners, I suspect, actually do perform these parts of the drive with their eyes shut, because whenever a glitch in the pattern appears--say, for instance, someone looking to make a left into the street that you yourself are looking to make a left onto--they do not sway from their expectations, acting as if you weren't there and nearly causing a catastrophic and insanely silly accident.

Dishonorable mention goes to those drivers who, out of some twisted sense of altruism, forgo their right of way, especially on main thoroughfares, to let someone from a side road turn onto their street. Your courtesy was doubtlessly appreciated by the person turning, but not so much by the few cars behind you that had to slam on their brakes to avoid a multi-car pile up.

Want to be really altruistic? If you're one of these drivers, park your car in your driveway and leave it there.

Good Thing I Quit Grad School, Part 5299

I gotta tell you, folks. I didn't really think I'd be getting a new reason so quickly. I almost don't know how to react.

I guess it wasn't clear enough that grad school wasn't for me when my potential thesis imploded in my face. Oh good heavens, no. We needed a clearer sign, a more obvious sign.

Something that made me overlook the unbearable stress and the long hours and the lack of good ideas and the challenge of finding motivation and the frustrations of teaching and the pressure of publication. You know, all that made leaving seem like a good idea, but the payoff--oh, the payoff!--still seemed so sweet. Tenure! Research! Comfort! Leisure! Joy!

Sure, it's a bitch of a road to get to the end and finish your dissertation, but once that Ph.D. is superglued to the end of your name, surely the riches of the academic life are to follow. And how could one possibly resist the allures?

I'm sorry, what was that?...

...Yeah, that'll do it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go pat myself on the back for a little while.

(Thanks to Karen of Current Rewind for the link!)

Good Thing I Quit Grad School, Part 5298

I am what you'd call a recovering academic. They say the first step is admitting you have a problem, but when you're an academic and you're stuck in a pattern of self-defeating soul-suckery, sometimes admission just isn't enough. When you're in that deep, you need to get out.

Fortunately, I've come out the other side and lived to tell the tale. And sure, there have been moments where I've had my doubts, wondered if I made the correct call. Today, however, was one of those days that reassured me I did, in fact, make the right decision.

When I was still fresh-faced and bright-eyed (i.e. first semester), I wrote a paper for a science fiction seminar on Coheed and Cambria. It felt like the right choice to me: it was sci-fi related but off the beaten path, and it allowed me to bring in multidisciplinary elements instead of merely writing about a book and some articles. As I developed the paper, the whole thing felt incredibly strong to me, and I was really proud of the ideas I was coming up with.

The general thesis, in two sentences, was that Coheed and Cambria--by utilizing music albums, online forums, comic books, and other nontraditional media to share their saga--were essentially the science fiction pulps of the new millennium. If writing was dead, or dying, in that millennium, their music represented both a rejection of writing and a vehicle through which sci-fi plots could be conveyed to the masses.

I loved it. I turned it into my Master's thesis. I had for a while considered revising it into an article. The only problem was, I had written it with only four of the five planned albums in the series completed. Then I left grad school before the final chapter was released and the whole idea was shelved.

Good thing. Today, Coheed announced the plans for the new record:

With “Year of the Black Rainbow,” we will be releasing a deluxe package that includes a NOVEL OF THE SAME NAME. Not a graphic novel, but a full 300+page prose novel, which will tell the origins of Coheed and Cambria, and much more. There will be no mystery to this story, you will be able to explore it like never before.

As a Coheed fan, I am stoked by this. But if I was still a grad student, I would be pissed.

A novel. Not a comic book, but a novel. Like, just words on paper. The most traditional storytelling medium ever invented.

And...boom goes my thesis.

Good thing I got out of the academic game! Otherwise, I'd be singing "What did I do to deserve this?" from now until the blood red summer.

What Happened to the Funny?

That's actually a hypothetical question.

I gotta tell you: I have no idea.

See, my two blogs operate in very different ways. With A Rapturous Verbatim, I tend to spend at least a day or two (if not more) ruminating on the topic I discuss before I ever sit down to start writing. So while I really do try hard to make sure that I post with some kind of regularity, the frequency of updates there is just not going to be that high. Truly profound things just don't happen every day, you feel me?

This blog, however, is and always has been about embracing the sudden, the random, the brief, and mostly the funny. It's lighthearted and unserious, and was started with the simple mission of allowing me to post things that didn't involve long stretches of contemplation. If I saw something and thought it was silly, or said something to someone that I thought was funny, then bam--Tournament time.

So it would seem logical to assume that, as it's been exactly one month since my last post, nothing funny has happened. That's not exactly true.

My focus has just been in a different place lately, is all. I pursued a job opportunity, which I eventually got (!!!), and have focused on steeling myself for the big transition.

I've also been trying to get back into the swing of my weight loss scheme, which has stalled out a bit lately what with impromptu vacations and the impending holidays.

And really, the funniest thing I've done lately is make a semi-drunken video of me dancing to Phoenix's "Fences," but that was also to make someone very special happy, so...that's more of a private thing.

So take heart, all two or three of you that actually read this. I have not abandoned you, and I promise I'll be back to form soon.

How I Met My Doppelgänger

One of the many fine television programs Karen and I watched during my fortnight in Texas was How I Met Your Mother. It's her favorite show, so it was a no-brainer that we'd watch at least some, but since both she and I believe in treating the people who make the series right, we decided to watch it from the start and work through it sequentially. It's been slow going, but awfully rewarding.

One of the things you get to see when you follow this method is the development of the series' voice, the way in which it slowly finds its groove and, if its talent is strong enough, settles into it. Such is the case with HIMYM, but I have not gotten far enough to really see it reach that point yet.

Nevertheless, Karen treats me occasionally with wonderful snippets from later episodes, just so I know what I'm missing. And today, she shared with me a speech from the most recent episode, delivered by Marshall (portrayed by the incomparable Jason Segel), that she insisted captured me in an eerily accurate way.

I watched the video and, I have to say, I agree.

Aww. Look at you. Had a girlfriend for five minutes and think you can play with the big boys. Adorable. Son, I’ve been in a relationship since you had a ponytail and were playing Dave Matthews on your momma’s Casio. I’m a good boyfriend in my sleep. I can rock a killer foot rub with one hand and brew a kickass pot of chamomile in the other that would make you weep. Hell, I’ve forgotten more about microwaving fat-free popcorn and watching Sandra Bullock movies than you’ll ever know. But thanks for your concern, rook.

All of which is a roundabout way of saying that, yes, I do believe I will be seeing this series through to its end. What can I say? It speaks to me.

Don't Mess With Schnauzers

As a result of a set of events that, frankly, would never, in any world, be blogworthy, I have found myself in deep East Texas for the past week, and will continue to be here until next Sunday. And while, yes, I am mostly here for a person--people, really, since she does, after all, have parents and siblings and one damn cute nephew--I am also here on a fact-finding mission. My task: to catch a glimpse of what her everyday life is like in this place that was once foreign to me.

If I've learned anything in my short few days here, it's that, with the exception of feeder roads along the interstates--which have to be the most amazing things I have ever seen--things are not all that much different than they are in New Jersey. It's a bit slower, there are more wide open spaces, and I've seen farms a-plenty, but there's enough commerce to make my Northeastern heart skip a few beats. And though it will surely seem blasphemy to my loyal Jersey-based readers, I would rather live in San Antonio than spend another day in New York City. There, I said it.

I'd like to think my open-mindedness has played a huge part in making me feel welcome and comfortable here. The point at which I knew I must have been doing something right was when her dog Riesling pounced on me and pawed at my crotch when I got in the door. Just like old times!

Perhaps the nicest part of the trip has been how natural it's all felt, despite being bereft of major activities thus far. San Antonio was the exception, yes, but the rest of this past week has consisted of running errands, watching movies, catching up on TV, and generally spending time with each other. And you know what? I love that. Couldn't ask for more.

So, unsurprisingly, Thursday night was spent in front of the TV in our pajamas, doing the cute cuddling thing (cue the "aww"), enjoying the NBC comedies. The DVR allowed us to never run out of quality programs to watch, and as a result we stayed up until 1:35am. And I, still feeling the cuteness, requested she tuck me in and kiss me goodnight, to which she happily obliged.

As we made our way back toward my bedroom, Ries departed from her spot on the couch and started walking around. She'd been on the couch for a few hours with us, presumably asleep, and had woken up when we went to go to bed. So she paced while we moved, and as we poured glasses of water, she trotted slowly into my bedroom for a few minutes and then marched right back out. Adorable.

So I crawled into bed, pulled my sheets up to my neck, and...felt wetness. I stopped, alarmed. I'd felt this before--this will be a story for another time, I promise--so I asked her if she felt something on the sheet. Sure enough, she did. So I immediately jumped out, looked down, and found a large spot on the quilt, soaked through the sheets, mattress cover, and feather-top.

I love ya, Riesling, but damn it, pooch, why'd you have to pee right where I slept for three nights!

Which brings me to my next Texas first: I've never done laundry at 2:00am before. And just in case you were wondering, no, that's not something I'd like to repeat any time soon.

The Truth Hurts

After I attended his engagement party this past weekend, I've been trying to maintain better contact with Jeff, my best friend from high school. We went to different colleges halfway across the country from each other and, unfortunately, slipped slowly out of contact over time. But some things just don't go away without a fight, and though he has moved from Wayne to South Bend and now to Denver, clearly our friendship is one of them.

So as I watched Jeopardy! this evening, my ears couldn't help but be perked up by one of the Double Jeopardy! categories: "Steve Buscemi films." Jeff is a big time fan of Buscemi's work, so my immediately response was to text him and let him know that he may want to turn on his television and catch it.

Our exchange, however, took a bit of a turn. Here's how it went:

Me (7:14:09 pm): Don't know what time Jeopardy! comes on by you, but there's a whole category on Steve Buscemi films in Double Jeopardy! tonight.
Jeff (7:16:06 pm): I dont know either now that i think   dunno if ill be out of work b4 it tho    dont be in such a hurry to get a job they suck
Me (7:31:47 pm): Try living at home with your parents and having no social life or career prospects. You'll WISH you were working.
Jeff (7:32:25 pm): Touche salesman

Granted, missing Jeopardy! is not, in most cases, a terribly lamentable offense. But it's nice to know that I can feel like the benchmark of twentysomething misery for all my friends. At least I'm doing something well.

Why Grammar Matters, Part 48,732

I know that the Internet is really the last place I should be looking if I'm expecting to find sound grammatical structure and respect for Standard Written English. But every now and then you see something that makes your eyes bug out of your head so badly that you just can't write it off as a simple typo. Tonight was one of those nights.

An acquaintance of mine on Facebook, who shall remain anonymous, was attending a concert this evening. And so he posted a status update declaring, "MJ at Summer Jam, Obama on the text...Yall should be afraid of what imma do next..."

A friend of his (whom I do not know) read this and understood that he was rhyming in an urban style. And, since he is presumably not a fan of this style, he wanted to make clear to said acquaintance that he wanted nothing to do with him.

Unfortunately, the friend did not realize that in order to turn that particular verb from the present to the present participle, one must double the consonant at the end in order to keep the vowel sound from becoming long.

Even more unfortunately, the friend also decided to post entirely in capital letters.

Which means the friend told my acquaintance this:

"WELL SINCE YOUR GONNA START RAPING...... YOU SHOULD STAY AWAY FROM ME... ITS BETTER FOR THE BOTH OF US..."

Truer words may never have been spoken. More accurately spelled ones, maybe, but truer? I think not.

In a related story, if you need to find me this evening, I'll be crying tears across the pages of my Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary.