.
So today Lady Steed and the Big O and I are abandoning the Residence of the Brass Clan and heading back to our internet-free lifestyle where we have to move. That's right, we found an apartment, will be signing the papers tomorrow and making a new life for ourselves in a Bold New Desert. This will probably be taking up most of our time, so it's back into hiatus I go, as per my officially announced supposition a couple weeks ago.
S'long.
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2005-12-29
2005-12-27
Iceskating's for big, burly, muscle-bound sissies
.
We (the Brass Clan) (see previous posts) went to the Shark Tank tonight because Papa Brass is a season-ticket holder and tonight was free holiday skating for season-ticket holders and their guests. And free chips and pretzels and peanut butter cookies and rice krispie treats and other unholy and unhealthful substances that are nonetheless delicious for season-ticket holders and their guests.
Somehow it was decided that, since the ice was crowded, it would not be a good night for the Big O to learn how to skate. And since it is a well established fact that I don't see the appeal of skating, that I would sit with him and ingest the worst kind of calories. And so I did.
The Big O saw Sharkie skating around in a Santa suit and said "Arrr! Arrr!" much as he would have had he seen a lion in a Santa suit. And so I was not too resistant to Papa Brass's desire to get O's picture taken with Sharkie.
But--and here's a lesson to all parents--when a child has got a definite fear of Santa, introducing him to one with a thousand-tooth smile just ain't going to work. In fact, it is apt to make him scream and clutch you and shudder as if he is about to, well, be drug under water and devoured by a six-foot plush predator.
Honestly, I can't think of anything scarier either.
Of course, we didn't try to take a picture with O and an actual hockey player, so who can say?
We (the Brass Clan) (see previous posts) went to the Shark Tank tonight because Papa Brass is a season-ticket holder and tonight was free holiday skating for season-ticket holders and their guests. And free chips and pretzels and peanut butter cookies and rice krispie treats and other unholy and unhealthful substances that are nonetheless delicious for season-ticket holders and their guests.
Somehow it was decided that, since the ice was crowded, it would not be a good night for the Big O to learn how to skate. And since it is a well established fact that I don't see the appeal of skating, that I would sit with him and ingest the worst kind of calories. And so I did.
The Big O saw Sharkie skating around in a Santa suit and said "Arrr! Arrr!" much as he would have had he seen a lion in a Santa suit. And so I was not too resistant to Papa Brass's desire to get O's picture taken with Sharkie.
But--and here's a lesson to all parents--when a child has got a definite fear of Santa, introducing him to one with a thousand-tooth smile just ain't going to work. In fact, it is apt to make him scream and clutch you and shudder as if he is about to, well, be drug under water and devoured by a six-foot plush predator.
Honestly, I can't think of anything scarier either.
Of course, we didn't try to take a picture with O and an actual hockey player, so who can say?
2005-12-26
Trying to get into whatever the spirit of Boxing Day is
.
I am a Californian. I have also been an Idahoan. And a few other things, none of which has any idea what it means to really feel Boxing Day and all it means to good little boys and girls the Commonwealth over. And so today we went with the Brass Clan (Lady Steed's family) to a wax museum on Pier 39 in San Francisco.
My parents had given us six tickets so our only expense was $45 to get the youngest of the Clan in and $563 to park. What I love about touristy areas is how welcome they make you feel by keeping the prices at a level that makes you feel rich when you realize the largesse you've spread about. Even if all a tourist does is park and gaze at city weirdos, the city can make him feel rich.
Hooray for tourist-friendly areas of major American cities!
Anyway, I haven't been to a wax museum since that other Bush was president and somehow the creepy wax simulacra weren't all I remembered. For instance, I don't remember Hirohito wanting my soul. Or Newton listening for that ethereal buzz that is driving him mad. Or Kate Winslet's uncomfortable smile as she tries to fake happy-to-be-here as--is that Leo?--looks on.
But it was nice to see Bush II sharing a laugh with Arafat, Salvador Dali pretending to be Geoffrey Rush, and Jezebel's careful hairstyle that saves her a lot of money on t-shirts.
From there we hit the Musee Mechanique, with its coin-operated cowboys and peep shows and county fairs and arm wrestlers. The price has risen to a quarter on almost all the exhibits since the musee moved to Fisherman's Wharf so we didn't bring to life as many of the hundred-year-old cyborgs as we may have liked--no execution scenes, for instance. But perhaps that was good. I'm not so sure the Big O had enjoyed the scenes of torture and dismemberment from the hall of horrors a half hour earlier.
Well, there's no accounting for taste.
Happy Boxing Day.
I am a Californian. I have also been an Idahoan. And a few other things, none of which has any idea what it means to really feel Boxing Day and all it means to good little boys and girls the Commonwealth over. And so today we went with the Brass Clan (Lady Steed's family) to a wax museum on Pier 39 in San Francisco.
My parents had given us six tickets so our only expense was $45 to get the youngest of the Clan in and $563 to park. What I love about touristy areas is how welcome they make you feel by keeping the prices at a level that makes you feel rich when you realize the largesse you've spread about. Even if all a tourist does is park and gaze at city weirdos, the city can make him feel rich.
Hooray for tourist-friendly areas of major American cities!
Anyway, I haven't been to a wax museum since that other Bush was president and somehow the creepy wax simulacra weren't all I remembered. For instance, I don't remember Hirohito wanting my soul. Or Newton listening for that ethereal buzz that is driving him mad. Or Kate Winslet's uncomfortable smile as she tries to fake happy-to-be-here as--is that Leo?--looks on.
But it was nice to see Bush II sharing a laugh with Arafat, Salvador Dali pretending to be Geoffrey Rush, and Jezebel's careful hairstyle that saves her a lot of money on t-shirts.
From there we hit the Musee Mechanique, with its coin-operated cowboys and peep shows and county fairs and arm wrestlers. The price has risen to a quarter on almost all the exhibits since the musee moved to Fisherman's Wharf so we didn't bring to life as many of the hundred-year-old cyborgs as we may have liked--no execution scenes, for instance. But perhaps that was good. I'm not so sure the Big O had enjoyed the scenes of torture and dismemberment from the hall of horrors a half hour earlier.
Well, there's no accounting for taste.
Happy Boxing Day.
2005-12-21
Confirmed
.
[Note: I am still technically on hiatus and without consistent internet access.]
So I have met Tolkien Boy. And together we have changed the meaning of FOB from Friends of [Master Fob] to Free of [Master Fob].
Special thanks also to Melongawk.
[Note: I am still technically on hiatus and without consistent internet access.]
So I have met Tolkien Boy. And together we have changed the meaning of FOB from Friends of [Master Fob] to Free of [Master Fob].
Special thanks also to Melongawk.
2005-12-16
S'long, world!
.
I am now leaving campus, not to return for three weeks. I have no idea what my internet access will be like during this time.
So, in case this is the end, I just need you to know how much I love you.
[---]
I am now leaving campus, not to return for three weeks. I have no idea what my internet access will be like during this time.
So, in case this is the end, I just need you to know how much I love you.
[---]
How you can tell my students really love me
.
Yesterday I was given some nicely packaged bath salts made in chemistry class, a candy cane, and a cold cheeseburger from the cafeteria in its original foil wrapper.
Today I received another candy cane and a plastic reindeer that poops jelly beans.
Merry Christmas!
Yesterday I was given some nicely packaged bath salts made in chemistry class, a candy cane, and a cold cheeseburger from the cafeteria in its original foil wrapper.
Today I received another candy cane and a plastic reindeer that poops jelly beans.
Merry Christmas!
2005-12-15
Let's start with the beef panties....
.
For lovers of wonderful mistakes, here's Regret The Error's yearly roundup. And don't miss "Best Service Journalism."
For lovers of wonderful mistakes, here's Regret The Error's yearly roundup. And don't miss "Best Service Journalism."
Because you did not see the caboose or the engineer
.
The Big O celebrates two complete years outside the womb.
The Big O celebrates two complete years outside the womb.
2005-12-14
Answer key
.
For those of you who could not figure out #13 or #14 or #16, here are the answers:
A, B, B, A, B, D, B, C, B, D, A, C, C, C, D, C, C, D, A, C, C, C, B, C, D, A, C, A, B, B, D, C, A
For those of you who could not figure out #13 or #14 or #16, here are the answers:
A, B, B, A, B, D, B, C, B, D, A, C, C, C, D, C, C, D, A, C, C, C, B, C, D, A, C, A, B, B, D, C, A
Taking turns on my blog
.
Little things are but parts of the great. The grass does not spring up full grown by eruption. It rises up and increases as noiselessly and gently as not to disturb an angel’s ear, perhaps is invisible to an angel’s eye. The rain does not fall in masses but in drops; the planets do not leap in their orbits, but inch by inch and line by line they circle the orbits. Intellect, feeling, habit, character, all become what they are through the influence of little things, and in morals and religion, it is by little things, by little actions, that every one of us is going—not by leaps, yet surely by inches—either to life or death eternal.
---David O. McKay
"Well, I don't think rocks would be very interesting to God," I said. "They just sit on the ground and erode."
"You think that way because you are unable to see the storm of activity at the rock's molecular level or the level beneath that, and so on. And you are limited by your perception of time. If you watched a rock you entire lifewouldoudl never look different. But if you were God and could observe the rock over fifteen billion years as though only a second had passed, the rock would be frantic with activity. It would be shrinking and growing and trading matter with its environmeIts ITs molecules would travel the universe and become partner to amazing things that we could never imagine. By contrast, the odd collection of molecules that make a human being will stay in that arrangement for less time than it takes the universe to blink...."
---Scott Adams
The faith that stands on authority is not faith. The reliance on authority measures the decline of religion, the withdrawal of the soul.... Great is the soul, and plain. It is no flatterer, it is no follower; it never appeals from itself. It believes in itself.... It calls the light its own, and feels that the grass grows and the stone falls by a law inferior to, and dependent on, its nature. Behold, it saith, I am born into the great, the universal mind. I, the imperfect, adore my own Perfect. I am somehow receptive of the great soul, and thereby I do overlook the sun and the stars, and feel them to be the fair accidents and effects which change and pass. More and more the surges of everlasting nature enter into me, and I become public and human in my regards and actions. So come I to live in thoughts, and act with energies, which are immortal. Thus revering the soul, and learning, as the ancient said, that "its beauty is immense," man will come to see that the world is the perennial miracle which the soul worketh, and be less astonished at particular wonders; he will learn that there is no profane history; that all history is sacred; that the universe is represented in an atom, in a moment of time.... He will calmly front the morrow in the negligency of that trust which carries God with it, and so hath already the whole future in the bottom of the heart.
---Ralph Waldo Emerson
We say that God Himself is a self-existing being. Who told you so? It is correct enough; but how did it get into your heads? Who told you that man did not exist in like manner upon the same principles? Man does exist upon the same principles....
I am dwelling on the immortality of the spirit of man. Is it logical to say that the intelligence of spirits is immortal, and yet that it has a beginning? The intelligence of spirits had no beginning, neither will it have an end. That is good logic. That which has a beginning may have an end. There never was a time when there were not spirits; for they are co-equal with our Father in heaven.
---Joseph Smith
But even now it is manifest and clear that there are neither times future nor times past. Thus it is not properly said that there are three times, past, present, and future. Perhaps it might be said rightly that there are three times: a time present of things past; a time present of things present; and a time present of things future. For these three do coexist somehow in the soul, for otherwise I could not see them. The time present of things past is memory; the time present of things present is direct experience; the time present of things future is expectation.[437] If we are allowed to speak of these things so, I see three times, and I grant that there are three. Let it still be said, then, as our misapplied custom has it: "There are three times, past, present, and future." I shall not be troubled by it, nor argue, nor object--always provided that what is said is understood, so that neither the future nor the past is said to exist now. There are but few things about which we speak properly--and many more about which we speak improperly--though we understand one another's meaning.
---St. Augustine
Please vote for your favorite.
Little things are but parts of the great. The grass does not spring up full grown by eruption. It rises up and increases as noiselessly and gently as not to disturb an angel’s ear, perhaps is invisible to an angel’s eye. The rain does not fall in masses but in drops; the planets do not leap in their orbits, but inch by inch and line by line they circle the orbits. Intellect, feeling, habit, character, all become what they are through the influence of little things, and in morals and religion, it is by little things, by little actions, that every one of us is going—not by leaps, yet surely by inches—either to life or death eternal.
---David O. McKay
"Well, I don't think rocks would be very interesting to God," I said. "They just sit on the ground and erode."
"You think that way because you are unable to see the storm of activity at the rock's molecular level or the level beneath that, and so on. And you are limited by your perception of time. If you watched a rock you entire lifewouldoudl never look different. But if you were God and could observe the rock over fifteen billion years as though only a second had passed, the rock would be frantic with activity. It would be shrinking and growing and trading matter with its environmeIts ITs molecules would travel the universe and become partner to amazing things that we could never imagine. By contrast, the odd collection of molecules that make a human being will stay in that arrangement for less time than it takes the universe to blink...."
---Scott Adams
The faith that stands on authority is not faith. The reliance on authority measures the decline of religion, the withdrawal of the soul.... Great is the soul, and plain. It is no flatterer, it is no follower; it never appeals from itself. It believes in itself.... It calls the light its own, and feels that the grass grows and the stone falls by a law inferior to, and dependent on, its nature. Behold, it saith, I am born into the great, the universal mind. I, the imperfect, adore my own Perfect. I am somehow receptive of the great soul, and thereby I do overlook the sun and the stars, and feel them to be the fair accidents and effects which change and pass. More and more the surges of everlasting nature enter into me, and I become public and human in my regards and actions. So come I to live in thoughts, and act with energies, which are immortal. Thus revering the soul, and learning, as the ancient said, that "its beauty is immense," man will come to see that the world is the perennial miracle which the soul worketh, and be less astonished at particular wonders; he will learn that there is no profane history; that all history is sacred; that the universe is represented in an atom, in a moment of time.... He will calmly front the morrow in the negligency of that trust which carries God with it, and so hath already the whole future in the bottom of the heart.
---Ralph Waldo Emerson
We say that God Himself is a self-existing being. Who told you so? It is correct enough; but how did it get into your heads? Who told you that man did not exist in like manner upon the same principles? Man does exist upon the same principles....
I am dwelling on the immortality of the spirit of man. Is it logical to say that the intelligence of spirits is immortal, and yet that it has a beginning? The intelligence of spirits had no beginning, neither will it have an end. That is good logic. That which has a beginning may have an end. There never was a time when there were not spirits; for they are co-equal with our Father in heaven.
---Joseph Smith
But even now it is manifest and clear that there are neither times future nor times past. Thus it is not properly said that there are three times, past, present, and future. Perhaps it might be said rightly that there are three times: a time present of things past; a time present of things present; and a time present of things future. For these three do coexist somehow in the soul, for otherwise I could not see them. The time present of things past is memory; the time present of things present is direct experience; the time present of things future is expectation.[437] If we are allowed to speak of these things so, I see three times, and I grant that there are three. Let it still be said, then, as our misapplied custom has it: "There are three times, past, present, and future." I shall not be troubled by it, nor argue, nor object--always provided that what is said is understood, so that neither the future nor the past is said to exist now. There are but few things about which we speak properly--and many more about which we speak improperly--though we understand one another's meaning.
---St. Augustine
Please vote for your favorite.
Bibliophile, railophile
.
The Big O will not go to sleep anymore unless he has first put under his pillow The Caboose Who Got Loose and The Little Red Caboose. He usually adds a third item as well--his whistle or Pat the Bunny. Once his pillow is sufficiently lumpy with reading material and musical instruments, then he can sleep.
In honor of his railophilia, Lady Steed made him a special cake for his second birthday last week with which I will now make my first photo-posting attempt.
Voila.
The Big O will not go to sleep anymore unless he has first put under his pillow The Caboose Who Got Loose and The Little Red Caboose. He usually adds a third item as well--his whistle or Pat the Bunny. Once his pillow is sufficiently lumpy with reading material and musical instruments, then he can sleep.
In honor of his railophilia, Lady Steed made him a special cake for his second birthday last week with which I will now make my first photo-posting attempt.
Voila.
2005-12-13
Poison!
.
So I will die of lung cancer.
I will, I'm sure of it.
I've just learned that I have spent virtually all my life in or next to a series of Poison Centrals.
Go here and see if you can beat my scores:
For "Metropolitan Areas Most Polluted by Short-term Particle Pollution," I have lived or spent extensive time in numbers 1, 2, 3, 6, 15, and 23.
For "Metropolitan Areas Most Polluted by Year-Round Particle Pollution," I have lived or spent extensive time in numbers 1, 2, and 5.
For the "Counties Most Polluted by Long-Term Particle Pollution," I have lived or worked in 3, 4, and 7.
Of the "Most Ozone-Polluted Cities," I have lived or spent lots and lots of time in 1, 2, and 3.
Of the "Counties with the Worst Ozone Air Pollution," I am or have been on intimate terms or have frequently visited 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 10, 13(a), and 22.
Yep. I'm pretty much a goner.
So I will die of lung cancer.
I will, I'm sure of it.
I've just learned that I have spent virtually all my life in or next to a series of Poison Centrals.
Go here and see if you can beat my scores:
For "Metropolitan Areas Most Polluted by Short-term Particle Pollution," I have lived or spent extensive time in numbers 1, 2, 3, 6, 15, and 23.
For "Metropolitan Areas Most Polluted by Year-Round Particle Pollution," I have lived or spent extensive time in numbers 1, 2, and 5.
For the "Counties Most Polluted by Long-Term Particle Pollution," I have lived or worked in 3, 4, and 7.
Of the "Most Ozone-Polluted Cities," I have lived or spent lots and lots of time in 1, 2, and 3.
Of the "Counties with the Worst Ozone Air Pollution," I am or have been on intimate terms or have frequently visited 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 10, 13(a), and 22.
Yep. I'm pretty much a goner.
It's time to take take take
.
Give me this.
Give me that.
Give me everything.
Make me fat.
Thus begins the well regarded Saga of Greedy Charles, a 1914 comic farce that was taken with complete seriousness by the audience at its New York premier. Following the performance, a group of self-styled bohemians met and formed the first "Charlie Marley"--the hedonistic salon-like bachelors' clubs focused on getting and retaining physical pleasures such as wine, women and nightingale livers.
The above is a lie.
Sorry.
Give me this.
Give me that.
Give me everything.
Make me fat.
Thus begins the well regarded Saga of Greedy Charles, a 1914 comic farce that was taken with complete seriousness by the audience at its New York premier. Following the performance, a group of self-styled bohemians met and formed the first "Charlie Marley"--the hedonistic salon-like bachelors' clubs focused on getting and retaining physical pleasures such as wine, women and nightingale livers.
The above is a lie.
Sorry.
2005-12-12
Unbelievable....
.
Inspired by one of my professors, I decided to let my juniors write their own American Lit final. They each wrote questions and selected quotations, then they took turns lecturing to the class on what they had written, then they turned them in to me. I selected one or two from each student and made the test.
Sound like an easy A?
You bet.
But I just graded them. My class pulled 6 Fs, 5 Ds, 6 Cs, 4 Bs and 0 As.
Zero!
Now, I love this class and I love American Lit. But zero As?
That's not very many....
Unbelievable.
(If you would like to take the test, it follows. If you find any of the questions unbelievable, remember: they wrote the test. I just edited it from the raw material I was given.)
American Literature
First Semester Final
Dec. 12, 2005
1. The belief that human beings can arrive at truth by using reason rather than by relying on the authority of the past, on religious faith, or on intuition is what?
a. Rationalism b. Reasonality
c. Reality d. None of these
2. ___________ is a broad term referring to a number of Protestant groups.
a. Catholic b. Puritan
c. Government d. Literature
3. What is “Thanatopsis” about?
a. life b. death
c. birth d. childhood
4. What does Emerson think about “foolish consistency”?
a. If you do the same thing every day your life will be meaningless.
b. If you do something one day and nothing other days your life will be fulfilled.
c. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
d. A good example of why the British are dull.
5. Who wrote “Concord Hymn” during the Civil War?
a. Walt Whitman b. Ralph Waldo Emerson
c. Henry David Thoreau d. Emily Dickinson
6. When did Jonathon Edwards enter Yale?
a. when he was seventeen b. when he was forty-five
c. when he was twenty d. when he was thirteen
7. Who was the author that was kidnapped from his home country Nigeria?
a. Whitman b. Equiano
c. Jefferson d. Dickinson
8. Which one of these titles did Whitman use for one of his poems?
a. “I know why the caged bird sings”
b. “I hear America singing”
c. “If you were coming in the fall”
d. “Summer’s temptations”
9. Which poet was gay and wrote about farts?
a. Douglass b. Poe
c. Whitman d. Dickinson
10. In general, _______________ is the name given to those schools of thought that value feeling and intuition over reason.
a. Realism b. Romanticism
c. Deism d. Republicanism
11. To the romantic writers who came after Franklin, the city was far from the seat of ____________; it was often a place of shifting morals and, worse, corruption and death.
a. happiness b. death
c. chaos d. civilization
12. A great novel of the Civil War was not written until long after the war had ended because…
a. …the form of the realistic novel had not been fully developed.
b. …no one wanted to read a novel about the Civil War.
c. …none of the American writers were willing to go to the battlefront.
d. …the writers who saw the fighting firsthand were not willing to write about it.
13. Who wrote the Declaration of Independence?
a. George Washington b. Martin Luther King
c. Thomas Jefferson d. Abraham Lincoln
14. When was most of the literature of the American colonies written?
a. Today b. Age of Writing
c. Age of Reason c. Age of War
15. Where did Romanticism first develop as a reaction against rationalism?
a. United States b. Canada
c. Europe d. China
16. What did Romanticism have an influence on?
a. literature b. art
c. music d. all of these
17. Emily Dickinson as a person was…
a. …social. b. …always happy.
c. …not social d. …not a poet.
18. Which are the missing lines?
Because I could not stop for Death—
_____________________________
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
_____________________________
a. He kindly stopped for me … And I had put away
b. On his civility … We passed the setting sun
c. He kindly stopped for me— … And Immortality.
d. For his Civility— … And I put away
19. Which of the following are not Romantic writers?
a. Thomas Jefferson b. Olaudah Equiano
c. Benjamin Franklin d. all of these
20. In what city did the young Ben Franklin arrive in order to make his fortune?
a. Philidelphia b. San Francisco
c. New Orleans d. New York City
21. Which Romantic believed that self-reliance—doing what is right for yourself—was of ultimate importance?
a. Poe b. Hawthorne
c. Emerson c. Bryant
22. To give his theory credence in “The Lowest Animal,” Mark Twain claims what?
a. That he heard about it from a famous scientist.
b. That he read about it in scientific books and studies.
c. That he drew his conclusions from his own experiments.
d. That it was created by Charles Darwin.
23. In “Because I could not stop for Death,” the speaker…
a. …does not take time to mourn a relative’s death.
b. …resists dying.
c. …accompanies Death to a tomb.
d. …observes Death taking a friend.
Enter the letter of the correct author and title on the line next to the passage:
_____________2. If a man empties his purse into his head, no man can take it away from him. An investment in knowledge always pays the best interest.
_____________The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much as one holds a spider, or some loathsome insect over a fire, abhors you, and is dreadfully provoked; His wrath toward you burns like fire; He looks upon you as worthy of nothing else but to be cast into the fire; He is of purer eyes than to bear to have you in His sight; you are ten thousand times more abominable in His eyes than the most hateful venomous serpent is in ours.
_____________When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.
_____________Thus at the very moment I dreamed of the greatest happiness, I found myself most miserable, and it seemed as if fortune wished to give me this taste of joy only to render the reverse more poignant. The change I now experienced was as painful as it was sudden and unexpected. It was a change indeed from a state of bliss to a scene which is inexpressible by me, as it discovered to me an element I had never before beheld and till then had no idea of, and wherein such instances of hardship and cruelty continually occurred as I can never reflect on but with horror.
A. Olaudah Equiano: “The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Oloudah Equiano”
B. Benjamin Franklin: “Poor Richard’s Almanack”
C. Jonathon Edwards: “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God”
D. Thomas Jefferson: “The Declaration of Independence”
Enter the letter of the correct author and title on the line next to the passage:
_____________ “Deacon Peabody be d—d,” said the stranger, “as I flatter myself he will be, if he does not look more to his own sins and less to those of his neighbors. Look yonder, and see how Deacon Peabody is faring.”
_____________Speak what you think now in hard words, and tomorrow speak what tomorrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict everything you said today—“Ah, so you shall be misunderstood”—Is it so bad to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood.
_____________It was about this time I conceived the bold and arduous project of arriving at moral perfection. I wished to live without committing any fault at any time; I would conquer all that either natural inclination, custom, or company might lead me into. As I knew, or thought I knew, what was right and wrong, I did not see why I might not always do the one and avoid the other. But I soon found I had undertaken a task of more difficulty than I had imagined.
A. Ralph Waldo Emerson: “Self-Reliance”
B. Benjamin Franklin: “The Autobiography”
C. Washington Irving: “The Devil and Tom Walker”
Enter the letter of the correct author and title on the line next to the passage:
As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind—
Since then—‘tis Centuries—and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity—
I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far west, the bride was a red girl,
Her father and his friends sat near cross-legged and dumbly smoking, they had moccasins to
their feet and large thick blankets hanging from their shoulders,
On a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his luxuriant beard and curls
protected his neck, he held his bride by the hand,
She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight locks descended upon her
voluptuous limbs and reach’d to her feet.
So thou shalt rest, and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny.
A. William Cullen Bryant: “Thanatopsis”
B. Emily Dickinson: “Tell all the Truth but tell it slant”
C. Walt Whitman: “Song of Myself”
D. Emily Dickinson: “Because I could not stop for Death”
Inspired by one of my professors, I decided to let my juniors write their own American Lit final. They each wrote questions and selected quotations, then they took turns lecturing to the class on what they had written, then they turned them in to me. I selected one or two from each student and made the test.
Sound like an easy A?
You bet.
But I just graded them. My class pulled 6 Fs, 5 Ds, 6 Cs, 4 Bs and 0 As.
Zero!
Now, I love this class and I love American Lit. But zero As?
That's not very many....
Unbelievable.
(If you would like to take the test, it follows. If you find any of the questions unbelievable, remember: they wrote the test. I just edited it from the raw material I was given.)
American Literature
First Semester Final
Dec. 12, 2005
1. The belief that human beings can arrive at truth by using reason rather than by relying on the authority of the past, on religious faith, or on intuition is what?
a. Rationalism b. Reasonality
c. Reality d. None of these
2. ___________ is a broad term referring to a number of Protestant groups.
a. Catholic b. Puritan
c. Government d. Literature
3. What is “Thanatopsis” about?
a. life b. death
c. birth d. childhood
4. What does Emerson think about “foolish consistency”?
a. If you do the same thing every day your life will be meaningless.
b. If you do something one day and nothing other days your life will be fulfilled.
c. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
d. A good example of why the British are dull.
5. Who wrote “Concord Hymn” during the Civil War?
a. Walt Whitman b. Ralph Waldo Emerson
c. Henry David Thoreau d. Emily Dickinson
6. When did Jonathon Edwards enter Yale?
a. when he was seventeen b. when he was forty-five
c. when he was twenty d. when he was thirteen
7. Who was the author that was kidnapped from his home country Nigeria?
a. Whitman b. Equiano
c. Jefferson d. Dickinson
8. Which one of these titles did Whitman use for one of his poems?
a. “I know why the caged bird sings”
b. “I hear America singing”
c. “If you were coming in the fall”
d. “Summer’s temptations”
9. Which poet was gay and wrote about farts?
a. Douglass b. Poe
c. Whitman d. Dickinson
10. In general, _______________ is the name given to those schools of thought that value feeling and intuition over reason.
a. Realism b. Romanticism
c. Deism d. Republicanism
11. To the romantic writers who came after Franklin, the city was far from the seat of ____________; it was often a place of shifting morals and, worse, corruption and death.
a. happiness b. death
c. chaos d. civilization
12. A great novel of the Civil War was not written until long after the war had ended because…
a. …the form of the realistic novel had not been fully developed.
b. …no one wanted to read a novel about the Civil War.
c. …none of the American writers were willing to go to the battlefront.
d. …the writers who saw the fighting firsthand were not willing to write about it.
13. Who wrote the Declaration of Independence?
a. George Washington b. Martin Luther King
c. Thomas Jefferson d. Abraham Lincoln
14. When was most of the literature of the American colonies written?
a. Today b. Age of Writing
c. Age of Reason c. Age of War
15. Where did Romanticism first develop as a reaction against rationalism?
a. United States b. Canada
c. Europe d. China
16. What did Romanticism have an influence on?
a. literature b. art
c. music d. all of these
17. Emily Dickinson as a person was…
a. …social. b. …always happy.
c. …not social d. …not a poet.
18. Which are the missing lines?
Because I could not stop for Death—
_____________________________
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
_____________________________
a. He kindly stopped for me … And I had put away
b. On his civility … We passed the setting sun
c. He kindly stopped for me— … And Immortality.
d. For his Civility— … And I put away
19. Which of the following are not Romantic writers?
a. Thomas Jefferson b. Olaudah Equiano
c. Benjamin Franklin d. all of these
20. In what city did the young Ben Franklin arrive in order to make his fortune?
a. Philidelphia b. San Francisco
c. New Orleans d. New York City
21. Which Romantic believed that self-reliance—doing what is right for yourself—was of ultimate importance?
a. Poe b. Hawthorne
c. Emerson c. Bryant
22. To give his theory credence in “The Lowest Animal,” Mark Twain claims what?
a. That he heard about it from a famous scientist.
b. That he read about it in scientific books and studies.
c. That he drew his conclusions from his own experiments.
d. That it was created by Charles Darwin.
23. In “Because I could not stop for Death,” the speaker…
a. …does not take time to mourn a relative’s death.
b. …resists dying.
c. …accompanies Death to a tomb.
d. …observes Death taking a friend.
Enter the letter of the correct author and title on the line next to the passage:
_____________2. If a man empties his purse into his head, no man can take it away from him. An investment in knowledge always pays the best interest.
_____________The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much as one holds a spider, or some loathsome insect over a fire, abhors you, and is dreadfully provoked; His wrath toward you burns like fire; He looks upon you as worthy of nothing else but to be cast into the fire; He is of purer eyes than to bear to have you in His sight; you are ten thousand times more abominable in His eyes than the most hateful venomous serpent is in ours.
_____________When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.
_____________Thus at the very moment I dreamed of the greatest happiness, I found myself most miserable, and it seemed as if fortune wished to give me this taste of joy only to render the reverse more poignant. The change I now experienced was as painful as it was sudden and unexpected. It was a change indeed from a state of bliss to a scene which is inexpressible by me, as it discovered to me an element I had never before beheld and till then had no idea of, and wherein such instances of hardship and cruelty continually occurred as I can never reflect on but with horror.
A. Olaudah Equiano: “The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Oloudah Equiano”
B. Benjamin Franklin: “Poor Richard’s Almanack”
C. Jonathon Edwards: “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God”
D. Thomas Jefferson: “The Declaration of Independence”
Enter the letter of the correct author and title on the line next to the passage:
_____________ “Deacon Peabody be d—d,” said the stranger, “as I flatter myself he will be, if he does not look more to his own sins and less to those of his neighbors. Look yonder, and see how Deacon Peabody is faring.”
_____________Speak what you think now in hard words, and tomorrow speak what tomorrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict everything you said today—“Ah, so you shall be misunderstood”—Is it so bad to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood.
_____________It was about this time I conceived the bold and arduous project of arriving at moral perfection. I wished to live without committing any fault at any time; I would conquer all that either natural inclination, custom, or company might lead me into. As I knew, or thought I knew, what was right and wrong, I did not see why I might not always do the one and avoid the other. But I soon found I had undertaken a task of more difficulty than I had imagined.
A. Ralph Waldo Emerson: “Self-Reliance”
B. Benjamin Franklin: “The Autobiography”
C. Washington Irving: “The Devil and Tom Walker”
Enter the letter of the correct author and title on the line next to the passage:
As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind—
Since then—‘tis Centuries—and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity—
I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far west, the bride was a red girl,
Her father and his friends sat near cross-legged and dumbly smoking, they had moccasins to
their feet and large thick blankets hanging from their shoulders,
On a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his luxuriant beard and curls
protected his neck, he held his bride by the hand,
She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight locks descended upon her
voluptuous limbs and reach’d to her feet.
So thou shalt rest, and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny.
A. William Cullen Bryant: “Thanatopsis”
B. Emily Dickinson: “Tell all the Truth but tell it slant”
C. Walt Whitman: “Song of Myself”
D. Emily Dickinson: “Because I could not stop for Death”
Safety first
.
So, according to this PSA I've been hearing lately, a wireless phone can be, while driving, my greatest safety device.
I'm glad to know this because I have been torn--should I buy a wireless phone or get my seatbelts fixed? Now I know.
And it makes sense, really. When I'm lying forty feet off the road with every bone in my body broken, I'm definitely going to want to call an ambulance.
So, according to this PSA I've been hearing lately, a wireless phone can be, while driving, my greatest safety device.
I'm glad to know this because I have been torn--should I buy a wireless phone or get my seatbelts fixed? Now I know.
And it makes sense, really. When I'm lying forty feet off the road with every bone in my body broken, I'm definitely going to want to call an ambulance.
2005-12-09
On husbandry, rants and apologium
.
Introduction
Not including this introduction, this post has three parts of which you are likely to hate at least one. When you hit that one, skip it and move on.
The first part is offensively egotistical, the second part is offensively presumptuous, the third part contains potentially offensive terminology.
That said, I have no desire to offend you.
The best husband
A few weeks ago, Lady Steed was visiting with some friends and they reached the conclusion that of all their husbands, I was the best. The big thing I had going for me was my superior social skills. Those of you have met me in the real world are now wondering how in the world someone with fewer social skills than Theric ever managed to get married. It is an excellent question.
Another of my attributes that makes me such a good husband is my mouldability. Lady Steed buys me clothes; I wear said clothes. Lady Steed asks me to take out the trash; I take out said trash. Lady Steed tells me to stop singing and tapping my way down the frozen foods aisle; I make an honest effort.
However, I refuse to goop my hair.
Lady Steed, my sister the beautician, and others have told me that I would look nice with my hair spiky. Besides the ludicrous notion that anyone looks better when their head looks like pigeon repellent, I will not put goop in my hair. For a couple reasons. First, gel. What a waste of money! I can't imagine anything less worth my hard-earned dollars. Second, touching. I always have my hands in my hair. Always. I never stop touching my head. If our society considering touching one's hair the height of obscenity, then I would be diagnosed with all sorts of psycho-ailments--from kinesthetic Tourette's to every other antisocial mental malady imaginable. I would be unfit to hang anywhere outside the asylum.
Otherwise, word on the street is I'm a pretty good husband.
Rant
Speaking of--and I've been wanting to complain about this for awhile, but haven't been sure how people will take it--but speaking of, where are all the other pretty good husbands?
I am completely perplexed by the numbers of absurdly unwed women I know--women who any half-sensible man would be desperate to give their lives to. Now maybe it's just because I don't retain male friends well and so most of the people I know are, in fact, women, but it seems to me that there are many more unwed women my age than men. And I don't know why. Have the men been conscripted to fight in Salvadoran revolutions? Have they been forced into polyandrous marriages and are now living out their lives wearing silk pajamas and eating pomegranates in some rich woman's harem? Is there a strange virus that kills men who don't get married by thirty? What is going on? Is their mass apostasy among men? Or are the lazy bastards just playing Xbox eighteen hours a day?
I keep expecting to figure out this disparity, but I still have not.
Maybe one of you can tell me.
Apologia
Speaking of my supposed status as a good husband, I wish to apologize for my use of words such as the following:
testes
diarrhea
snot
whores
sex
horny
crapper
breast
liver
floofy
segue (you know it sounds bad)
heterosexual
whacked
saliva
sperm
PMS
crap
puss
toilet
spleen
mono
sewage
naked
tonsils
rectum
I am not the sort of person who laughs at farts. I am twenty-nine years old and I am still waiting for a fart that I think is funny. When I hear one, I will laugh; but I haven't laughed yet. This highmindedness may be generalized beyond farting and, therefore, I think of myself as a rather genteel person. But looking at that list of words you would not believe it. And therefore I apologize.
Enjoy your weekend.
Introduction
Not including this introduction, this post has three parts of which you are likely to hate at least one. When you hit that one, skip it and move on.
The first part is offensively egotistical, the second part is offensively presumptuous, the third part contains potentially offensive terminology.
That said, I have no desire to offend you.
The best husband
A few weeks ago, Lady Steed was visiting with some friends and they reached the conclusion that of all their husbands, I was the best. The big thing I had going for me was my superior social skills. Those of you have met me in the real world are now wondering how in the world someone with fewer social skills than Theric ever managed to get married. It is an excellent question.
Another of my attributes that makes me such a good husband is my mouldability. Lady Steed buys me clothes; I wear said clothes. Lady Steed asks me to take out the trash; I take out said trash. Lady Steed tells me to stop singing and tapping my way down the frozen foods aisle; I make an honest effort.
However, I refuse to goop my hair.
Lady Steed, my sister the beautician, and others have told me that I would look nice with my hair spiky. Besides the ludicrous notion that anyone looks better when their head looks like pigeon repellent, I will not put goop in my hair. For a couple reasons. First, gel. What a waste of money! I can't imagine anything less worth my hard-earned dollars. Second, touching. I always have my hands in my hair. Always. I never stop touching my head. If our society considering touching one's hair the height of obscenity, then I would be diagnosed with all sorts of psycho-ailments--from kinesthetic Tourette's to every other antisocial mental malady imaginable. I would be unfit to hang anywhere outside the asylum.
Otherwise, word on the street is I'm a pretty good husband.
Rant
Speaking of--and I've been wanting to complain about this for awhile, but haven't been sure how people will take it--but speaking of, where are all the other pretty good husbands?
I am completely perplexed by the numbers of absurdly unwed women I know--women who any half-sensible man would be desperate to give their lives to. Now maybe it's just because I don't retain male friends well and so most of the people I know are, in fact, women, but it seems to me that there are many more unwed women my age than men. And I don't know why. Have the men been conscripted to fight in Salvadoran revolutions? Have they been forced into polyandrous marriages and are now living out their lives wearing silk pajamas and eating pomegranates in some rich woman's harem? Is there a strange virus that kills men who don't get married by thirty? What is going on? Is their mass apostasy among men? Or are the lazy bastards just playing Xbox eighteen hours a day?
I keep expecting to figure out this disparity, but I still have not.
Maybe one of you can tell me.
Apologia
Speaking of my supposed status as a good husband, I wish to apologize for my use of words such as the following:
testes
diarrhea
snot
whores
sex
horny
crapper
breast
liver
floofy
segue (you know it sounds bad)
heterosexual
whacked
saliva
sperm
PMS
crap
puss
toilet
spleen
mono
sewage
naked
tonsils
rectum
I am not the sort of person who laughs at farts. I am twenty-nine years old and I am still waiting for a fart that I think is funny. When I hear one, I will laugh; but I haven't laughed yet. This highmindedness may be generalized beyond farting and, therefore, I think of myself as a rather genteel person. But looking at that list of words you would not believe it. And therefore I apologize.
Enjoy your weekend.
Betcha dint know....
.
....that, speaking of Utah, it is more or less culturally identical with San Francisco.
I have been learning this little by little over the years and I would like to share with you two clinching proofs, both taken from the world of high school.
First, I don't know if you've ever heard of the movie Newsies (you probably haven't unless you are from one of the two above-mentioned locales), but it came out late one year--the same time Silence of the Lambs was rereleased to ensure strengthened Oscar buzz--and remained in theaters all of like one day. And until I went to university in Utah I was under the impression that no human being who was not personally acquainted with Christian Bale had ever seen the film.
But it ends up that in Utah, one high school graduation requirement is to have seen Newsies at least 453 times with all your best girlfriends. If you don't love the music, you're no Utahn.
My dear Lady Steed who grew up on the Peninsula had a similar graduation requirement. I learned this just a few weeks ago after we watched Mr Bale in Batman Beyond (which she liked so much that she regrets not letting me talk her into seeing it in THX).
Yes, San Francisco girls love Newsies too.
The biggest and most obvious cultural correlation however is this almost pathological love of a band called U2. I don't know if you've heard of them, but I understand they are very big in Ireland and that they are very very old--like the Stones only not as gross.
Anyway, when I first attended a college, I had a professor play a track off U2's Joshua Tree, which apparently, as far as albums go, is a "big deal." Only one kid of the forty or so students recognized the band.
Then I move to Utah where this band is on any given radio station 37 out of every 60 minutes. And I meet a nice girl from San Francisco who enjoys attending U2 concerts. And you wouldn't believe how much she (and others from Utah and SF) are willing to pay to see these fogies "jam." It's astonishing.
Anyway, I could go on, but the evidence presented is staggering enough.
Utah. San Francisco. What's the diff?
....that, speaking of Utah, it is more or less culturally identical with San Francisco.
I have been learning this little by little over the years and I would like to share with you two clinching proofs, both taken from the world of high school.
First, I don't know if you've ever heard of the movie Newsies (you probably haven't unless you are from one of the two above-mentioned locales), but it came out late one year--the same time Silence of the Lambs was rereleased to ensure strengthened Oscar buzz--and remained in theaters all of like one day. And until I went to university in Utah I was under the impression that no human being who was not personally acquainted with Christian Bale had ever seen the film.
But it ends up that in Utah, one high school graduation requirement is to have seen Newsies at least 453 times with all your best girlfriends. If you don't love the music, you're no Utahn.
My dear Lady Steed who grew up on the Peninsula had a similar graduation requirement. I learned this just a few weeks ago after we watched Mr Bale in Batman Beyond (which she liked so much that she regrets not letting me talk her into seeing it in THX).
Yes, San Francisco girls love Newsies too.
The biggest and most obvious cultural correlation however is this almost pathological love of a band called U2. I don't know if you've heard of them, but I understand they are very big in Ireland and that they are very very old--like the Stones only not as gross.
Anyway, when I first attended a college, I had a professor play a track off U2's Joshua Tree, which apparently, as far as albums go, is a "big deal." Only one kid of the forty or so students recognized the band.
Then I move to Utah where this band is on any given radio station 37 out of every 60 minutes. And I meet a nice girl from San Francisco who enjoys attending U2 concerts. And you wouldn't believe how much she (and others from Utah and SF) are willing to pay to see these fogies "jam." It's astonishing.
Anyway, I could go on, but the evidence presented is staggering enough.
Utah. San Francisco. What's the diff?
2005-12-08
Rethinking Utah
.
So last night Lady Steed and I were waxing nostalgic re: Utah because our current home has a decided paucity of truly excellent grocery stores (or even better than decent, for that matter).
However, this morning, driving to work, I heard on KSL that Salt Lake is expecting a high of twenty-seven today.
A high of twenty-seven.
Heh heh heh.
Anyway, today is the Big O's second birthday and tomorrow my students are taking finals I have not yet written, so this is all you're getting today.
Read it twice.
So last night Lady Steed and I were waxing nostalgic re: Utah because our current home has a decided paucity of truly excellent grocery stores (or even better than decent, for that matter).
However, this morning, driving to work, I heard on KSL that Salt Lake is expecting a high of twenty-seven today.
A high of twenty-seven.
Heh heh heh.
Anyway, today is the Big O's second birthday and tomorrow my students are taking finals I have not yet written, so this is all you're getting today.
Read it twice.
2005-12-07
It looks to me like an advanced form of laziness, ma'am
.
I handed back some assignments today and someone tore his name off--just the tippy-tip corner--and then left the rest of the paper on his seat when he left.
Lord, what fools these mortals be!
I handed back some assignments today and someone tore his name off--just the tippy-tip corner--and then left the rest of the paper on his seat when he left.
Lord, what fools these mortals be!
2005-12-06
Clams for Christmas
.
Lady Steed serves in our church's organization for young women and this Sunday the adult leaders are each going to tell a spiritual Christmas story and then give the girls an ornament signifier of the story.
She came to me for thoughts and the only story I could think of was this one on clam chowder that I had just read.
So I suggested it and then set to thinking of potential ornaments.
No doubt my thinking was influenced by a certain musical insect because it was not long before I hit on the idea of Carlos the Christmas Clam.
A happy little bivalve, Carlos gets to wear the coolest hat of any holiday mascot--it's like a Santa hat but it has the brim of a sombrero.
Anyway, Lady Steed ixnayed the idea. I haven't a clue why. I keep promoting it but she remains firm.
I encourage you all to comment and tell her that her mollusk envy is misguided and that a) I am merely trying to help and b) Carlos the Christmas Clam is going to be way more memorable than a heartwarming snowflake, candycane or orangutan.
Lady Steed serves in our church's organization for young women and this Sunday the adult leaders are each going to tell a spiritual Christmas story and then give the girls an ornament signifier of the story.
She came to me for thoughts and the only story I could think of was this one on clam chowder that I had just read.
So I suggested it and then set to thinking of potential ornaments.
No doubt my thinking was influenced by a certain musical insect because it was not long before I hit on the idea of Carlos the Christmas Clam.
A happy little bivalve, Carlos gets to wear the coolest hat of any holiday mascot--it's like a Santa hat but it has the brim of a sombrero.
Anyway, Lady Steed ixnayed the idea. I haven't a clue why. I keep promoting it but she remains firm.
I encourage you all to comment and tell her that her mollusk envy is misguided and that a) I am merely trying to help and b) Carlos the Christmas Clam is going to be way more memorable than a heartwarming snowflake, candycane or orangutan.
A dozen rhetorical questions
.
1. Why wouldn't birds suddenly appear everytime you are near?
2. In that case, would you say you love me for a billion dollars?
3. Are you going to add Sarah Vowell's Assassination Vacation to your Amazon Wish List?
4. Speaking of, what do you think of Thamazon.com, for after the corporate takeover?
5. Don't you mean life liberty and the pursuit of sweet Alaskan oil?
6. What the heckety heck heck heck?
7. Well which would you prefer--killing babies or a black & tan with extra caramel sauce?
8. My way or the mafia way?
9. Is there anything hotter than a chick bass player?
10. How about seventeen baguettes?
11. Would you like to lick my dog's eyeballs?
12. I'm sorry, were you shooting at me?
13. C'mon baby, don't tell me you wouldn't like one night with the Scallion Stallion, king of the wharves?
14. Um ... this monkey?
I hereby declare a blogger's dozen to be 14. *
1. Why wouldn't birds suddenly appear everytime you are near?
2. In that case, would you say you love me for a billion dollars?
3. Are you going to add Sarah Vowell's Assassination Vacation to your Amazon Wish List?
4. Speaking of, what do you think of Thamazon.com, for after the corporate takeover?
5. Don't you mean life liberty and the pursuit of sweet Alaskan oil?
6. What the heckety heck heck heck?
7. Well which would you prefer--killing babies or a black & tan with extra caramel sauce?
8. My way or the mafia way?
9. Is there anything hotter than a chick bass player?
10. How about seventeen baguettes?
11. Would you like to lick my dog's eyeballs?
12. I'm sorry, were you shooting at me?
13. C'mon baby, don't tell me you wouldn't like one night with the Scallion Stallion, king of the wharves?
14. Um ... this monkey?
I hereby declare a blogger's dozen to be 14. *
I'm richer!
.
I just received a brilliant new form of phish that I wanted to point out to everyone, in case, contrary to my suppositions, there are any silly people who read my blog that might fall for this new-and-improved relative of the Nigerian prince story.
(Note: Everywhere this post says Thmazing it once said my real, actual last name which, contrary to the common theory, is not Spitfactory.)
From : Andrew Burr
Sent : Wednesday, November 30, 2005 4:51 PM
Subject : Greetings Thmazing!!!
21 Campshill Road
Se13 6qu Lewisham
London England.
Hello Thmazing,
This is a personal email directed to you and I request
that it be treated as such. I must solicit your
confidentiality and assure you that I am contacting
you in good faith and this proposal will be of mutual
benefit. I am Andrew Burr, a solicitor at law. I am
the personal attorney/sole executor to the late Mr.
Robert Thmazing herein after referred to as 'my client'
who worked as an independent oil magnate in my country
and who died in a car crash with his immediate family
in east London on the 5th of November 2000.
My late client a former Sub-Comptroller working with
Chevron Texaco Oil here in the United Kingdom and had
left behind a deposit of Nine Million Eight Hundred
Thousand British Pounds Sterling only (£9.8million)
with a finance company. After the death of my client,
the finance company contacted me, as his attorney to
provide his next of kin who should inherit his
fortune; this according to them is their policy in
sure circumstances.
Since the death of my client, I have written several
letters to the embassy with intent to locate any of
his extended relatives whom shall be
claimants/beneficiaries of his abandoned personal
estate and all such efforts have been to no avail. I
had to inform the finance company about my fruitless
effort in locating my late client close relative or
his next of kin. The board of directors of the company
just adopted a resolution and I was mandated to
provide his next of kin for the payment of this money
within the next 15 official working days or forfeit
the money as an abandoned funds. The company had
planned to invoke the abandoned property decree of the
company to confiscate the funds after the expiration
of the period given me. Also I have received official
letters in the last two days suggesting a likely
proceeding for confiscation of his abandoned personal
assets in line with existing laws of the institution.
Well I have reason very professionally and I can use a
legal means to present a next of kin of my deceased
client. This is legally possible and would be done in
accordance with the laws of the land. On this note I
decided to search for a credible person and finding
that you bear a similar last name, I was urged to
contact you, that I may, with your consent, present
you to the "trustee" as my late client's family member
so as to enable you put up a claim to the bank in that
capacity as a next of kin of my client. I find this
possible for the fuller reasons that you are of the
same nationality and you bear a similar last name with
my late client making it a lot easier for you to put
up a claim in that capacity. I have all vital
documents that would confer you the legal right to
make this claim and would make them available to you
so that the proceeds of this bank account valued at
£9.8million can be paid to you before it gets
confiscated or declared unserviceable to the bank
where this huge amount is lodged.
I do sincerely sympathize the death of my client but I
think it is unprofitable for his funds to be submitted
to the government of this country or some financial
institution. My aim is to retrieve this funds and let
it be claimed by the deceased family name, etc. for
this I seek your assistance since I have been unable
to locate the relatives for the past 4year now and
since no one has come for the claim. I seek your
consent to present you as the next of kin of the
deceased since you have the same last name giving you
the advantage so that the proceeds of this account can
be paid to you. Then we talk percentage. I know there
might be other persons out there with the same surname
as my last client, but after a little check my
instinct tells me to contact you. Can I trust you on
this? I shall assemble all the necessary documents
that will be used to back up your claim.
I guarantee that this will be executed under a
legitimate arrangement that will protect you from any
breach of law. I will not fail to bring to your notice
that this proposal is hitch-free and that you should
not entertain any fears as the required arrangements
have been made for the completion of this transfer.
Like I said, I require only a solemn confidentiality
on this. Please get in touch with me via my
alternative email andrew-burr4@excite.com for
better confidentiality and send to me your telephone
and fax numbers to enable us discuss further on this
transaction. My contact number is +44-7040-129-681 if
this proposal is acceptable by you, do not take undue
advantage of the trust I have bestowed in you, Thanks
for your understanding.
Regards.
Andrew Burr(Esq)
Phone: +44-7040-129-681
***********
Besides the many other problems with this email, what kind of idiot doesn't know that in 2000 there was no Chevron/Texaco--I mean, come on! I know my massive oil conglomerates! I'm a Thmazing! My uncle Robert (godblesshissoul) worked for one of them!
I just received a brilliant new form of phish that I wanted to point out to everyone, in case, contrary to my suppositions, there are any silly people who read my blog that might fall for this new-and-improved relative of the Nigerian prince story.
(Note: Everywhere this post says Thmazing it once said my real, actual last name which, contrary to the common theory, is not Spitfactory.)
From : Andrew Burr
Sent : Wednesday, November 30, 2005 4:51 PM
Subject : Greetings Thmazing!!!
21 Campshill Road
Se13 6qu Lewisham
London England.
Hello Thmazing,
This is a personal email directed to you and I request
that it be treated as such. I must solicit your
confidentiality and assure you that I am contacting
you in good faith and this proposal will be of mutual
benefit. I am Andrew Burr, a solicitor at law. I am
the personal attorney/sole executor to the late Mr.
Robert Thmazing herein after referred to as 'my client'
who worked as an independent oil magnate in my country
and who died in a car crash with his immediate family
in east London on the 5th of November 2000.
My late client a former Sub-Comptroller working with
Chevron Texaco Oil here in the United Kingdom and had
left behind a deposit of Nine Million Eight Hundred
Thousand British Pounds Sterling only (£9.8million)
with a finance company. After the death of my client,
the finance company contacted me, as his attorney to
provide his next of kin who should inherit his
fortune; this according to them is their policy in
sure circumstances.
Since the death of my client, I have written several
letters to the embassy with intent to locate any of
his extended relatives whom shall be
claimants/beneficiaries of his abandoned personal
estate and all such efforts have been to no avail. I
had to inform the finance company about my fruitless
effort in locating my late client close relative or
his next of kin. The board of directors of the company
just adopted a resolution and I was mandated to
provide his next of kin for the payment of this money
within the next 15 official working days or forfeit
the money as an abandoned funds. The company had
planned to invoke the abandoned property decree of the
company to confiscate the funds after the expiration
of the period given me. Also I have received official
letters in the last two days suggesting a likely
proceeding for confiscation of his abandoned personal
assets in line with existing laws of the institution.
Well I have reason very professionally and I can use a
legal means to present a next of kin of my deceased
client. This is legally possible and would be done in
accordance with the laws of the land. On this note I
decided to search for a credible person and finding
that you bear a similar last name, I was urged to
contact you, that I may, with your consent, present
you to the "trustee" as my late client's family member
so as to enable you put up a claim to the bank in that
capacity as a next of kin of my client. I find this
possible for the fuller reasons that you are of the
same nationality and you bear a similar last name with
my late client making it a lot easier for you to put
up a claim in that capacity. I have all vital
documents that would confer you the legal right to
make this claim and would make them available to you
so that the proceeds of this bank account valued at
£9.8million can be paid to you before it gets
confiscated or declared unserviceable to the bank
where this huge amount is lodged.
I do sincerely sympathize the death of my client but I
think it is unprofitable for his funds to be submitted
to the government of this country or some financial
institution. My aim is to retrieve this funds and let
it be claimed by the deceased family name, etc. for
this I seek your assistance since I have been unable
to locate the relatives for the past 4year now and
since no one has come for the claim. I seek your
consent to present you as the next of kin of the
deceased since you have the same last name giving you
the advantage so that the proceeds of this account can
be paid to you. Then we talk percentage. I know there
might be other persons out there with the same surname
as my last client, but after a little check my
instinct tells me to contact you. Can I trust you on
this? I shall assemble all the necessary documents
that will be used to back up your claim.
I guarantee that this will be executed under a
legitimate arrangement that will protect you from any
breach of law. I will not fail to bring to your notice
that this proposal is hitch-free and that you should
not entertain any fears as the required arrangements
have been made for the completion of this transfer.
Like I said, I require only a solemn confidentiality
on this. Please get in touch with me via my
alternative email andrew-burr4@excite.com for
better confidentiality and send to me your telephone
and fax numbers to enable us discuss further on this
transaction. My contact number is +44-7040-129-681 if
this proposal is acceptable by you, do not take undue
advantage of the trust I have bestowed in you, Thanks
for your understanding.
Regards.
Andrew Burr(Esq)
Phone: +44-7040-129-681
***********
Besides the many other problems with this email, what kind of idiot doesn't know that in 2000 there was no Chevron/Texaco--I mean, come on! I know my massive oil conglomerates! I'm a Thmazing! My uncle Robert (godblesshissoul) worked for one of them!
2005-12-05
Self-redemption
.
I have ambiguous feelings towards McSweeney's. I first purchased one of their quarterly affairs because it came with an accompanying soundtrack by They Might Be Giants. But, to be frank, the text pretty much sucked.
But I do appreciate their exquisite craftsmanship. And I don't think that exquisite is a word to be tossed around lightly. And they do helpful things on their website such as offering emotional support to pregnant women and advice on Aztec infestations. In fact, I must admit, that I like most of their online content.
I now own two of their quarterly affairs. The second was edited by Chris Ware and I like it very much. Or most of it at least.
Which leads me to suspect that I just don't like McSweeney's founding editor Dave Eggers. I picked up his Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius at a library sale, but I haven't had the heart to dig into it yet. Maybe someday.
Anyway, what I'm getting to is tadpoles, which can't read, and so will never be able to enter into the McSweeney's debate. Which I think is a tragedy. Because every tadpole I have ever met has known the appropriate thing to say at the appropriate time, and that's what I like about them.
I have ambiguous feelings towards McSweeney's. I first purchased one of their quarterly affairs because it came with an accompanying soundtrack by They Might Be Giants. But, to be frank, the text pretty much sucked.
But I do appreciate their exquisite craftsmanship. And I don't think that exquisite is a word to be tossed around lightly. And they do helpful things on their website such as offering emotional support to pregnant women and advice on Aztec infestations. In fact, I must admit, that I like most of their online content.
I now own two of their quarterly affairs. The second was edited by Chris Ware and I like it very much. Or most of it at least.
Which leads me to suspect that I just don't like McSweeney's founding editor Dave Eggers. I picked up his Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius at a library sale, but I haven't had the heart to dig into it yet. Maybe someday.
Anyway, what I'm getting to is tadpoles, which can't read, and so will never be able to enter into the McSweeney's debate. Which I think is a tragedy. Because every tadpole I have ever met has known the appropriate thing to say at the appropriate time, and that's what I like about them.
Another sort of fob
.
Now that we own a 1999 Taurus in addition to out 20-year-old Accord, bless its soul, I carry a fob in my pocket of the sort that shoots out invisible space rays and locks/unlocks doors, pops trunks and makes a racket.
It didn't take me long to realize that I did not have to remove the fob from my pocket to unlock the doors and that not doing so would save me literally dozens of calories a year.
And so now I leave my hands in the warm cavity of my pockets and unlock the car doors.
On paranoia:
I try not to think about the fact that if my car radio can pick up a station nine car-hours away, those same radio waves are piercing my body day and night. As well as the waves from every yahoo's cell phone. To say nothing of those evil microwave ovens.
And now I am polluting the world with more waves--and mere inches from my reproductive organs?
What sort of child may #2 be if my testes are fully foberrated?
Ah, to be a Neanderthal! And to worry about nothing more than proper club maintenance!
It's a dangerous world for the modern man, I tell you. Dangerous for him and his children.
Now that we own a 1999 Taurus in addition to out 20-year-old Accord, bless its soul, I carry a fob in my pocket of the sort that shoots out invisible space rays and locks/unlocks doors, pops trunks and makes a racket.
It didn't take me long to realize that I did not have to remove the fob from my pocket to unlock the doors and that not doing so would save me literally dozens of calories a year.
And so now I leave my hands in the warm cavity of my pockets and unlock the car doors.
On paranoia:
I try not to think about the fact that if my car radio can pick up a station nine car-hours away, those same radio waves are piercing my body day and night. As well as the waves from every yahoo's cell phone. To say nothing of those evil microwave ovens.
And now I am polluting the world with more waves--and mere inches from my reproductive organs?
What sort of child may #2 be if my testes are fully foberrated?
Ah, to be a Neanderthal! And to worry about nothing more than proper club maintenance!
It's a dangerous world for the modern man, I tell you. Dangerous for him and his children.
I'm rich!
.
Unfortunately, the feds showed up on my door Saturday and said that I was not allowed to give away big stacks of money, so that's all out the door.
But, I figure knowing both of Master Fob's middle names now gives me some serious blackmail power.
Also, I know who to take blood from if I develop hemophilia.
Unfortunately, the feds showed up on my door Saturday and said that I was not allowed to give away big stacks of money, so that's all out the door.
But, I figure knowing both of Master Fob's middle names now gives me some serious blackmail power.
Also, I know who to take blood from if I develop hemophilia.
2005-12-01
Phishing for Christmas money
.
Hey, everybody, great news! Since Lady Steed and I finished Christmas shopping last week, we don't need any more money for the rest of the year!
Since I hate to have it just lying around in large stacks tempting me to spend it, I have come up with a great plan: I'll give it to my blogging friends and acquaintances.
Here's the deal:
I'll give you a big stack of money if you buy me one inexpensive gift (nothing over five America dollars, please). All you have to do is leave your full name, social security number, bank account number, mother's maiden name and blood type in the comments section.
Since there are many evil people in this world, after posting, YOU SHOULD IMMEDIATELY DELETE YOUR POST!!!! Don't worry! It has already been emailed to me and your big stack of money will be in your account within three business days.
I hope this helps you all have a happy holiday season!
Hey, everybody, great news! Since Lady Steed and I finished Christmas shopping last week, we don't need any more money for the rest of the year!
Since I hate to have it just lying around in large stacks tempting me to spend it, I have come up with a great plan: I'll give it to my blogging friends and acquaintances.
Here's the deal:
I'll give you a big stack of money if you buy me one inexpensive gift (nothing over five America dollars, please). All you have to do is leave your full name, social security number, bank account number, mother's maiden name and blood type in the comments section.
Since there are many evil people in this world, after posting, YOU SHOULD IMMEDIATELY DELETE YOUR POST!!!! Don't worry! It has already been emailed to me and your big stack of money will be in your account within three business days.
I hope this helps you all have a happy holiday season!
2005-11-30
The 29yearold is dead! Long live the 29yearold!
.
I'm a little depressed today because I learned that Stephen Crane was my age when he died.
Five years had passed since he had published The Red Badge of Courage....
I'm a little depressed today because I learned that Stephen Crane was my age when he died.
Five years had passed since he had published The Red Badge of Courage....
2005-11-29
Inspired!
.
Here are a handful of truely inspiring inspirations:
1. Time Management!
Perhaps it was Master Fob who pushed me in this direction, but during lunch and immediately after school, instead of blogging, I graded papers. Now it's done! And not gaining mass (and thus inertia)! That was a great idea!
2. Zippermania!
Queen Zippergut has entered the blogosphere. This is wonderful on many counts. Most importantly, now I can constantly harass her about those poor children who are still doing chores after two years! Not even Lemony Snicket would be so cruel!
3. Miyazaki!
I finally saw My Neighbor Totoro over the weekend and, well, being the red-blooded American he-man that I am, it pains me to say this but there is no way around it: My Neighbor Totoro is the cutest dern thing ever! I remember watching Siskel and Ebert go nuts over it and I have always wanted to see it and now I have. And it is great. The cute little girls. The cute little totoros. The cute big totoro with the biiiig mouth. And an umbrella!
I first came to adore Miyazaki's work when I saw Spirited Away, which is still my favorite, but I my first Miyazaki film was Princess Mononoke. I saw it and said to myself that never have a felt such a cultural disconnect after watching a movie. I didn't know which side was the good guys and that left me disoriented. And I knew I needed to watch it again. I still haven't, but now that I'm a big fan, I suppose I ought to. But I think I'll do it with subtitles--Jada Pinkett Smith's voice was the biggest disconnect of all!
Anyway, back to cute, if you can't be cured of your red-blooded American he-manness by a totoro of the little soot sprites eating sprinkles in Spirited Away then your soul is dead!
4. Blogpatrol!
I started a big post in response to Cicada's that I may never finish, but let me just say that all of you looking for naked women from tehachapi should note the change in the blog's name. No more of that here!
5. Enthusiastic punctuation!
Yeaaaa!
Here are a handful of truely inspiring inspirations:
1. Time Management!
Perhaps it was Master Fob who pushed me in this direction, but during lunch and immediately after school, instead of blogging, I graded papers. Now it's done! And not gaining mass (and thus inertia)! That was a great idea!
2. Zippermania!
Queen Zippergut has entered the blogosphere. This is wonderful on many counts. Most importantly, now I can constantly harass her about those poor children who are still doing chores after two years! Not even Lemony Snicket would be so cruel!
3. Miyazaki!
I finally saw My Neighbor Totoro over the weekend and, well, being the red-blooded American he-man that I am, it pains me to say this but there is no way around it: My Neighbor Totoro is the cutest dern thing ever! I remember watching Siskel and Ebert go nuts over it and I have always wanted to see it and now I have. And it is great. The cute little girls. The cute little totoros. The cute big totoro with the biiiig mouth. And an umbrella!
I first came to adore Miyazaki's work when I saw Spirited Away, which is still my favorite, but I my first Miyazaki film was Princess Mononoke. I saw it and said to myself that never have a felt such a cultural disconnect after watching a movie. I didn't know which side was the good guys and that left me disoriented. And I knew I needed to watch it again. I still haven't, but now that I'm a big fan, I suppose I ought to. But I think I'll do it with subtitles--Jada Pinkett Smith's voice was the biggest disconnect of all!
Anyway, back to cute, if you can't be cured of your red-blooded American he-manness by a totoro of the little soot sprites eating sprinkles in Spirited Away then your soul is dead!
4. Blogpatrol!
I started a big post in response to Cicada's that I may never finish, but let me just say that all of you looking for naked women from tehachapi should note the change in the blog's name. No more of that here!
5. Enthusiastic punctuation!
Yeaaaa!
2005-11-28
Second best
.
Well, you can forget that fabulous post I was promising because the internet is running at full molasses here at Bedrock High and if I want to get to the post office before it closes (and I do--just ask Lady Steed), I need to cut and run, spellcheck&coollinkfree.
So one quick story:
I have broken down. The threats levvied by Cicada and Miss Hass have gotten to me at last and I have taken out a gmail account that is representative of my real name. I have NEVER purposefully made an email account that uses my real name as raw material before and I am not happy about it.
My email addresses have not been eatmyshortsesque in nature. They have had pizzazz, spunk, verve, personality, yes, but they have not been juvenile. But now I have been led to believe that there are people in this world who would group all non-name-based emails into that category. And this makes me sad.
And a turncoat, yellerbellied givein.
And if I start using that address on my manuscripts, etc, I will have to start checking that account with regularity which thought I dread....
You see what happens when you open up your mind to polluting notions?
I fear that tomorrow morning when I see this post I will think, "Heavens, Theric. Why did you post at all. Better to have waited until today and apologized for not posting as promised."
And here, in the spirit of lousy posts everywhere, I will hit post without even reading this over to check for sense, spelling, intelligence, embarrassing lapses resulting in self-disclosure, etc.
Adieu.
Well, you can forget that fabulous post I was promising because the internet is running at full molasses here at Bedrock High and if I want to get to the post office before it closes (and I do--just ask Lady Steed), I need to cut and run, spellcheck&coollinkfree.
So one quick story:
I have broken down. The threats levvied by Cicada and Miss Hass have gotten to me at last and I have taken out a gmail account that is representative of my real name. I have NEVER purposefully made an email account that uses my real name as raw material before and I am not happy about it.
My email addresses have not been eatmyshortsesque in nature. They have had pizzazz, spunk, verve, personality, yes, but they have not been juvenile. But now I have been led to believe that there are people in this world who would group all non-name-based emails into that category. And this makes me sad.
And a turncoat, yellerbellied givein.
And if I start using that address on my manuscripts, etc, I will have to start checking that account with regularity which thought I dread....
You see what happens when you open up your mind to polluting notions?
I fear that tomorrow morning when I see this post I will think, "Heavens, Theric. Why did you post at all. Better to have waited until today and apologized for not posting as promised."
And here, in the spirit of lousy posts everywhere, I will hit post without even reading this over to check for sense, spelling, intelligence, embarrassing lapses resulting in self-disclosure, etc.
Adieu.
Second best
.
Well, you can forget that fabulous post I was promising because the internet is running at full molasses here at Bedrock High and if I want to get to the post office before it closes (and I do--just ask Lady Steed), I need to cut and run, spellcheck&coollinkfree.
So one quick story:
I have broken down. The threats levvied by Cicada and Miss Hass have gotten to me at last and I have taken out a gmail account that is representative of my real name. I have NEVER purposefully made an email account that uses my real name as raw material before and I am not happy about it.
My email addresses have not been eatmyshortsesque in nature. They have had pizzazz, spunk, verve, personality, yes, but they have not been juvenile. But now I have been led to believe that there are people in this world who would group all non-name-based emails into that category. And this makes me sad.
And a turncoat, yellerbellied givein.
And if I start using that address on my manuscripts, etc, I will have to start checking that account with regularity which thought I dread....
You see what happens when you open up your mind to polluting notions?
I fear that tomorrow morning when I see this post I will think, "Heavens, Theric. Why did you post at all. Better to have waited until today and apologized for not posting as promised."
And here, in the spirit of lousy posts everywhere, I will hit post without even reading this over to check for sense, spelling, intelligence, embarrassing lapses resulting in self-disclosure, etc.
Adieu.
Well, you can forget that fabulous post I was promising because the internet is running at full molasses here at Bedrock High and if I want to get to the post office before it closes (and I do--just ask Lady Steed), I need to cut and run, spellcheck&coollinkfree.
So one quick story:
I have broken down. The threats levvied by Cicada and Miss Hass have gotten to me at last and I have taken out a gmail account that is representative of my real name. I have NEVER purposefully made an email account that uses my real name as raw material before and I am not happy about it.
My email addresses have not been eatmyshortsesque in nature. They have had pizzazz, spunk, verve, personality, yes, but they have not been juvenile. But now I have been led to believe that there are people in this world who would group all non-name-based emails into that category. And this makes me sad.
And a turncoat, yellerbellied givein.
And if I start using that address on my manuscripts, etc, I will have to start checking that account with regularity which thought I dread....
You see what happens when you open up your mind to polluting notions?
I fear that tomorrow morning when I see this post I will think, "Heavens, Theric. Why did you post at all. Better to have waited until today and apologized for not posting as promised."
And here, in the spirit of lousy posts everywhere, I will hit post without even reading this over to check for sense, spelling, intelligence, embarrassing lapses resulting in self-disclosure, etc.
Adieu.
Return to brrrrrrrr
.
The teachers' lounge is not heated. And so although, as I read my friends' blogs, I feel a need to catch up with their brilliance, my fingers are numb and I am shivering.
And don't knock me because I am in the desert because, dang it, it's always about ten degrees colder here in the morning than in my mountain home--and that's after the sun comes out, during my drive! And we've had our first big cold snap!
Um. This is a lame post. But I got other stuff to do right now. I'll try to redeem myself in a few hours.
Happy postHoliday Monday, all.
The teachers' lounge is not heated. And so although, as I read my friends' blogs, I feel a need to catch up with their brilliance, my fingers are numb and I am shivering.
And don't knock me because I am in the desert because, dang it, it's always about ten degrees colder here in the morning than in my mountain home--and that's after the sun comes out, during my drive! And we've had our first big cold snap!
Um. This is a lame post. But I got other stuff to do right now. I'll try to redeem myself in a few hours.
Happy postHoliday Monday, all.
2005-11-22
I heard an Axe whizz — when I died —
.
I heard an Axe whizz — when I died —
And then — my Head — fell on the ground
I jumped and screamed and ran around
As turkey blood spilled on the Ground
Then I fell into a heap
They cut me up — and ate my meat
I hope you understand me well —
Hey, all you pilgrims? Go to hell!
I heard an Axe whizz — when I died —
And then — my Head — fell on the ground
I jumped and screamed and ran around
As turkey blood spilled on the Ground
Then I fell into a heap
They cut me up — and ate my meat
I hope you understand me well —
Hey, all you pilgrims? Go to hell!
2005-11-21
Goodbye, Tehachapiltdownman
.
Well, I made a decision. After I admitted to myself that the main reason I could not choose Thmusings was because someone else came up with it, I decided to give it a try. I don't know if I'll stick with it, but here it is.
So! Thmusings is the new name of was first called Tehachapiltdownman. The name is specific to me but generic to content, which is appropriate for this forum. It is also difficult to pronounce, which is also often said of my hairstyles.
And the prior blog name.
Which is one reason it had detractors.
You see how well I learn from my mistakes.
Now! Off to the second hundred posts!
Well, I made a decision. After I admitted to myself that the main reason I could not choose Thmusings was because someone else came up with it, I decided to give it a try. I don't know if I'll stick with it, but here it is.
So! Thmusings is the new name of was first called Tehachapiltdownman. The name is specific to me but generic to content, which is appropriate for this forum. It is also difficult to pronounce, which is also often said of my hairstyles.
And the prior blog name.
Which is one reason it had detractors.
You see how well I learn from my mistakes.
Now! Off to the second hundred posts!
2005-11-17
A rechristening
.
When I started Tehachapiltdownman I was a newsman, Romenesko addict and AJR reader. And so when I started my blog, even though I followed the lead of blogging friends and made it personal in topic, I had a desire to produce something of journalistic value. Thus the name Tehachapiltdownman.
Tehachapi because I was in the know in Tehachapi. I could let readers know things before they would otherwise know. I could be the city's inside source.
Piltdown Man because I felt like a fraud and was not sure I would provide my blog with any follow-through. I didn't know where blogging would take me, but I felt like I was moving onto ground where I did not belong.
The name was awkward and confusing and I never really liked it, although it has grown on me some. But as Lady Steed and I are preparing to leave Tehachapi and as I have never been Mr Eye-on-Tehachapi, I can no longer delay changing the name.
One thing that has kept this name change a long time in coming is that the name I want to give it, Safety First!, has an accompanying graphic that I cannot find anywhere. My favorite second choice is Ample Portions.
Next time I post I will reveal the new name of the late great Tehachapiltdownman. Your thoughts are most certainly welcome.
When I started Tehachapiltdownman I was a newsman, Romenesko addict and AJR reader. And so when I started my blog, even though I followed the lead of blogging friends and made it personal in topic, I had a desire to produce something of journalistic value. Thus the name Tehachapiltdownman.
Tehachapi because I was in the know in Tehachapi. I could let readers know things before they would otherwise know. I could be the city's inside source.
Piltdown Man because I felt like a fraud and was not sure I would provide my blog with any follow-through. I didn't know where blogging would take me, but I felt like I was moving onto ground where I did not belong.
The name was awkward and confusing and I never really liked it, although it has grown on me some. But as Lady Steed and I are preparing to leave Tehachapi and as I have never been Mr Eye-on-Tehachapi, I can no longer delay changing the name.
One thing that has kept this name change a long time in coming is that the name I want to give it, Safety First!, has an accompanying graphic that I cannot find anywhere. My favorite second choice is Ample Portions.
Next time I post I will reveal the new name of the late great Tehachapiltdownman. Your thoughts are most certainly welcome.
2005-11-16
Come celebrate with me
.
When I turned 21, I was living in a haunted house in Chinhae, South Korea, a navy town on the southern coast. I was a missionary and my birthday fell on our preparation day, a weekly 12-hour event wherein we did tangential things like visit the post office and buy rice.
Since it was my birthday and since I was the ranking member of our 6-man house, I declared that in celebration of me, we would clean our abode; I took the bathroom.
In honor of that celebratory spirit of cleaning, for this, my 100th post, I am going to clean up Tehachapiltdownman. You are about to read all the posts I started but never finished, in exciting chronological order.
Some are the briefest sketches, some are bad ideas that went too far, some are dull as all get out, some I simply thought better of.
But they all say the same thing: Happy Birthpost, Tehachapiltdownman!
Here we go:
.
Okay, consider the following following fourteen characteristics of a fictional person:
1. Likes babies
2.
furry animals biting harry potter hot
.
Lady Steed grew up visiting her great-grandmother every summer. She learned to love painting and applesauce and the smell of old Sicilian men's food from those visits. Her great-grandmother offered Lady Steed her love of beauty and her honor of work, and they loved each other.
Thursday, she died.
Friday we drove up to the Bay Area again, arriving after midnight, arrising early the next morning for the funeral.
As I leave my job, I am leaving behind all the excellent links I have collected.
Some I will never need again.
Some I shall.
Those I will post here for me to get later. I don't pretend this will interest anyone else, this just seems like a convenient place for them.
http://hip1.sjvls.org/ipac20/ipac.jsp?session=11FSU49054462.6711&profile=kehq&menu=search&ts=1107549054478
.
I wore my wood tie today.
Lady Steed gave it to me for our fifth anniversary (traditional gift: wood). It's always a big hit.
I just now realized that the other tie I rarely wear (a sequined Christmas tree) was also given me by a girl (back in high school).
I guess I require the assistance of a woman to accomplish flare.....
.
(If you haven't read this post yet, go back and do so.)
The following are some of the wonderfully literary observations made by my students on one of the aforementioned songs:
---On "Love Is..." by King Missile---
Q. How does this song fail to meet your expectations of a love song?
A. It fails because the music was horrible, and the lyrics were worst.
A. The song had really bad lyrics.
A. It just a wack song.
A. This failed to meet my expectations for a song period because it made absolutely no sense whatsoever.
A. I didn't that I don't like this song because is not my type.
A. cause I HATE THIS Dumb SONG.
A. The beat was horrible
----------
Now, I had never heard of King Missile before marrying Lady Steed (she brought the cd with her) and although I don't love them, I think that "Love Is..." and other of their songs are rather funny. But these sophomores hated the song.
So now I'm wondering if I may actually be quite messed up.
.
And it's not even spring break.
I'm told that the teachers are talking about how I'm too nice and I will not last. Another teacher say sthat I will win out with kindness and the nice guy will take the day.
I would settle for a little bit of shut up.
.
Lunch is now in session at Bedrock High School. I am eating a full meal courtesy of Lady Steed and listening to the delightful sounds of kids yelling. If I were to look out the windows, I would witness posturing by tomorrow's alpha males (except those engaged in reproductive practice), chattering hubs of partially clothed girls and snatchets of kids aloofly looking on, commenting to their friends about how too cool they are for all this high school silliness.
Me, I'm in one of the five rooms I teach in
.
Why are The Beatles the greatest band that ever was?
You'll note that I am taking it as a given that they are the greatest band ever. Argue that point if you will, I'm more interested in why that is.
It seems to me that a band which, depending on how you count, was born in the first or second (possibly the third) generation of rock and roll has no right to be the greatest band that ever was. After many years of collective experience, then we should produce the greatest band that ever was.
Now, perhaps in 100 years one of the current critical droolfests (Coldplay? The White Stripes?) will be pegged as the greatest, but I have to leave my money on the Liverpudlians.
For her birthday, I gave Lady Steed "Sgt. Pepper's" and with a gift certificate she purchased "Revolver" for herself.
"Revolver" was an album I had very little familiarity with. Of course, I knew "Here, There, And Everywhere" (they were playing it at the supermarket last night) and "Yellow Submarine" (more on that in a sec), but the album as a whole was an unknown to me as when I purchased "Rubber Soul" right off my mission. (No, I was not well educated in rock as a child.)
And it is with "Rubber Soul" I would like to start.
"Rubber Soul" was, rather famously, the first album ever recorded. Before "Rubber Soul" were published collections of songs, a few good, a few filler.
.
(Inspired by daltongirl.)
When I was 19 and preparing to serve a mission, I was filling out forms and getting physicals and in need of a photo to send to the gentlemen who would send me a letter saying where I would go.
(rooster photo)
.
In my freshman classes we are writing short stories and in order to demonstrate that it is not hard, I sat down in front of the computer, turned on a projector, and performed "Writing a Short Story."
They are required to write only 500 words, but in half they time they took to do half that, I did almost double.
Now, I don't pretend that this is headed to the canon, but since it's about all the fresh I've written lately, I thought I would share and, Plant-like, give it a chance in the free market to live or die.
Here it is, in all its unresearched and unedited glory:
.
Ah, floppies.
.
The world is small.
When I served my mission---
Wait. Hold that thought.
Last week, the ten year anniversary of my entrance into the MTC passed and I didn't even notice. I don't feel that old, but it seems much much longer than ten years ago....
Anyway, when I was on my mission, I liked the two-week delay between letters sent and letters received. It created a fascinating communication dynamic which, I imagine, is all but dead now.
Ten years ago, Lady Steed and I would have heard, for instance, a rumor that Nemesis was in England (though we wouldn't call her Nemesis of course) and we would think "Huh" and that would be that. We would hope that someday we could say howdoyedo and shake hands again, but till that day, c'est la vie.
And even with email, while Lady Steed and Nemesis would write every great once-in-a-while, I would not be likely to ever communicate with her.
And so my argument that blogging may be an even bigger world-shrinker than email.
Here I go getting boring and meta again.....
.
1. The latest searches to bring the innocent to Tehachapiltdownman: "naked women for cell phones" - "dradonsbane" - "spoken word"
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
.
snowsuits in idaho
the party premakeout
the whole trickortreating thing
rumby
ggtt
.
10 -
When I turned 21, I was living in a haunted house in Chinhae, South Korea, a navy town on the southern coast. I was a missionary and my birthday fell on our preparation day, a weekly 12-hour event wherein we did tangential things like visit the post office and buy rice.
Since it was my birthday and since I was the ranking member of our 6-man house, I declared that in celebration of me, we would clean our abode; I took the bathroom.
In honor of that celebratory spirit of cleaning, for this, my 100th post, I am going to clean up Tehachapiltdownman. You are about to read all the posts I started but never finished, in exciting chronological order.
Some are the briefest sketches, some are bad ideas that went too far, some are dull as all get out, some I simply thought better of.
But they all say the same thing: Happy Birthpost, Tehachapiltdownman!
Here we go:
Behold! The id!
....8/16/2005.
Okay, consider the following following fourteen characteristics of a fictional person:
1. Likes babies
2.
furry animals biting harry potter hot
Yesterday
....8/28/2005.
Lady Steed grew up visiting her great-grandmother every summer. She learned to love painting and applesauce and the smell of old Sicilian men's food from those visits. Her great-grandmother offered Lady Steed her love of beauty and her honor of work, and they loved each other.
Thursday, she died.
Friday we drove up to the Bay Area again, arriving after midnight, arrising early the next morning for the funeral.
Not for public consumption
....8/29/2005As I leave my job, I am leaving behind all the excellent links I have collected.
Some I will never need again.
Some I shall.
Those I will post here for me to get later. I don't pretend this will interest anyone else, this just seems like a convenient place for them.
http://hip1.sjvls.org/ipac20/ipac.jsp?session=11FSU49054462.6711&profile=kehq&menu=search&ts=1107549054478
Wood
....9/26/2005.
I wore my wood tie today.
Lady Steed gave it to me for our fifth anniversary (traditional gift: wood). It's always a big hit.
I just now realized that the other tie I rarely wear (a sequined Christmas tree) was also given me by a girl (back in high school).
I guess I require the assistance of a woman to accomplish flare.....
Student response
....9/26/2005.
(If you haven't read this post yet, go back and do so.)
The following are some of the wonderfully literary observations made by my students on one of the aforementioned songs:
---On "Love Is..." by King Missile---
Q. How does this song fail to meet your expectations of a love song?
A. It fails because the music was horrible, and the lyrics were worst.
A. The song had really bad lyrics.
A. It just a wack song.
A. This failed to meet my expectations for a song period because it made absolutely no sense whatsoever.
A. I didn't that I don't like this song because is not my type.
A. cause I HATE THIS Dumb SONG.
A. The beat was horrible
----------
Now, I had never heard of King Missile before marrying Lady Steed (she brought the cd with her) and although I don't love them, I think that "Love Is..." and other of their songs are rather funny. But these sophomores hated the song.
So now I'm wondering if I may actually be quite messed up.
Out of control
....9/28/2005.
And it's not even spring break.
I'm told that the teachers are talking about how I'm too nice and I will not last. Another teacher say sthat I will win out with kindness and the nice guy will take the day.
I would settle for a little bit of shut up.
Lunch
....9/28/2005.
Lunch is now in session at Bedrock High School. I am eating a full meal courtesy of Lady Steed and listening to the delightful sounds of kids yelling. If I were to look out the windows, I would witness posturing by tomorrow's alpha males (except those engaged in reproductive practice), chattering hubs of partially clothed girls and snatchets of kids aloofly looking on, commenting to their friends about how too cool they are for all this high school silliness.
Me, I'm in one of the five rooms I teach in
Revolver
....10/05/2005.
Why are The Beatles the greatest band that ever was?
You'll note that I am taking it as a given that they are the greatest band ever. Argue that point if you will, I'm more interested in why that is.
It seems to me that a band which, depending on how you count, was born in the first or second (possibly the third) generation of rock and roll has no right to be the greatest band that ever was. After many years of collective experience, then we should produce the greatest band that ever was.
Now, perhaps in 100 years one of the current critical droolfests (Coldplay? The White Stripes?) will be pegged as the greatest, but I have to leave my money on the Liverpudlians.
For her birthday, I gave Lady Steed "Sgt. Pepper's" and with a gift certificate she purchased "Revolver" for herself.
"Revolver" was an album I had very little familiarity with. Of course, I knew "Here, There, And Everywhere" (they were playing it at the supermarket last night) and "Yellow Submarine" (more on that in a sec), but the album as a whole was an unknown to me as when I purchased "Rubber Soul" right off my mission. (No, I was not well educated in rock as a child.)
And it is with "Rubber Soul" I would like to start.
"Rubber Soul" was, rather famously, the first album ever recorded. Before "Rubber Soul" were published collections of songs, a few good, a few filler.
Photography
....10/06/2005.
(Inspired by daltongirl.)
When I was 19 and preparing to serve a mission, I was filling out forms and getting physicals and in need of a photo to send to the gentlemen who would send me a letter saying where I would go.
(rooster photo)
1000 words
....10/12/2005.
In my freshman classes we are writing short stories and in order to demonstrate that it is not hard, I sat down in front of the computer, turned on a projector, and performed "Writing a Short Story."
They are required to write only 500 words, but in half they time they took to do half that, I did almost double.
Now, I don't pretend that this is headed to the canon, but since it's about all the fresh I've written lately, I thought I would share and, Plant-like, give it a chance in the free market to live or die.
Here it is, in all its unresearched and unedited glory:
F******s
....10/12/2005.
Ah, floppies.
Someone somewhere is named Ridcully and I can't think who it is
....10/17/2005.
The world is small.
When I served my mission---
Wait. Hold that thought.
Last week, the ten year anniversary of my entrance into the MTC passed and I didn't even notice. I don't feel that old, but it seems much much longer than ten years ago....
Anyway, when I was on my mission, I liked the two-week delay between letters sent and letters received. It created a fascinating communication dynamic which, I imagine, is all but dead now.
Ten years ago, Lady Steed and I would have heard, for instance, a rumor that Nemesis was in England (though we wouldn't call her Nemesis of course) and we would think "Huh" and that would be that. We would hope that someday we could say howdoyedo and shake hands again, but till that day, c'est la vie.
And even with email, while Lady Steed and Nemesis would write every great once-in-a-while, I would not be likely to ever communicate with her.
And so my argument that blogging may be an even bigger world-shrinker than email.
Here I go getting boring and meta again.....
A dozen minor points
....10/31/2005.
1. The latest searches to bring the innocent to Tehachapiltdownman: "naked women for cell phones" - "dradonsbane" - "spoken word"
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
Ghosts of Halloween Past
....11/01/2005.
snowsuits in idaho
the party premakeout
the whole trickortreating thing
rumby
ggtt
Countdown to insanity
....11/14/2005.
10 -
2005-11-14
Special thanks to...
.
....whoever it was that arrived at my blog by asking Google for "snorting technique".
....whoever it was that arrived at my blog by asking Google for "snorting technique".
Ah, crap
.
I rarely turn down requests and, on another day, I might actually relish this opportunity. As it is, this may come off rather cynical. If so, I apologize in advance.
2 names you go by: Thmazing, Theric
2 parts of your heritage: Idaho, mad royalty
2 things that scare you: Lady Steed's mortality, the exponential growth in vampire population
2 things you are wearing right now: a sweet tie, black shoelaces
2 of your favorite bands or musical artists (at the moment): Sunfall Festival, Johnny Cash
2 favorite songs (at the moment): "While I've Got It on My Mind" and "My Old Faded Rose"
2 things you want in a relationship (other than real love): back scratches and mutual laughter
2 truths: people are generally good, people are often stupid
2 physical things that appeal to you (in the opposite sex): wit, taste
2 of your favorite hobbies: the highly addictive pleasure of buying too many Christmas presents for my wife, and placing my soul in the mail only to have it casually rejected
2 things you want really badly: to not hold a real job and thus (1) write professionally and (2) spend all my time with Lady Steed and the Big O
2 places you want to go on vacation: NYC, Edinburgh
2 things you want to do before you die: live safe, live long
2 ways that you are stereotypically a dude/chick: I have these soft downy feathers that cover most of my body and, when I sleep, I cheep
2 things you are thinking about now: how I ought to be grading papers, how I feel an overwhelming need to ratchet up the clever-quotient
2 stores you shop at: Amazon, Half.com
2 people you would like to see take the quiz? Master Fob and Mandi (haha!)
I rarely turn down requests and, on another day, I might actually relish this opportunity. As it is, this may come off rather cynical. If so, I apologize in advance.
2 names you go by: Thmazing, Theric
2 parts of your heritage: Idaho, mad royalty
2 things that scare you: Lady Steed's mortality, the exponential growth in vampire population
2 things you are wearing right now: a sweet tie, black shoelaces
2 of your favorite bands or musical artists (at the moment): Sunfall Festival, Johnny Cash
2 favorite songs (at the moment): "While I've Got It on My Mind" and "My Old Faded Rose"
2 things you want in a relationship (other than real love): back scratches and mutual laughter
2 truths: people are generally good, people are often stupid
2 physical things that appeal to you (in the opposite sex): wit, taste
2 of your favorite hobbies: the highly addictive pleasure of buying too many Christmas presents for my wife, and placing my soul in the mail only to have it casually rejected
2 things you want really badly: to not hold a real job and thus (1) write professionally and (2) spend all my time with Lady Steed and the Big O
2 places you want to go on vacation: NYC, Edinburgh
2 things you want to do before you die: live safe, live long
2 ways that you are stereotypically a dude/chick: I have these soft downy feathers that cover most of my body and, when I sleep, I cheep
2 things you are thinking about now: how I ought to be grading papers, how I feel an overwhelming need to ratchet up the clever-quotient
2 stores you shop at: Amazon, Half.com
2 people you would like to see take the quiz? Master Fob and Mandi (haha!)
Celebration time
.
My twenty-first birthday was spent in Chinhae, a naval town on the southern coast of the Korean peninsula. I was a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and my birthday fell on "preparation day"--the weekly time to do things only tangentially related to preaching the gospel (eg, go to the post office and mail a letter to Mom).
Since it was my birthday and since I outranked the other five missionaries in our haunted house (which is another post for another time), I decided that in celebration of me, we would clean the place up. I took the bathroom.
In that spirit, and in honor of my 100th post, I will now clean up by taking all the saved drafts and putting them here, a compendium of ideas and thought started but never finished. Some nearly so, some nowhere near so.
Only on the internet can someone other than Norman Mailer present rejected notions and rough drafts as being of worth to the rest of humanity.
So. Come celebrate with me.
.
Okay, consider the following following fourteen characteristics of a fictional person:
1. Likes babies
2.
furry animals biting harry potter hot
.
Lady Steed grew up visiting her great-grandmother every summer. She learned to love painting and applesauce and the smell of old Sicilian men's food from those visits. Her great-grandmother offered Lady Steed her love of beauty and her honor of work, and they loved each other.
Thursday, she died.
Friday we drove up to the Bay Area again, arriving after midnight, arrising early the next morning for the funeral.
.
As I leave my job, I am leaving behind all the excellent links I have collected.
Some I will never need again.
Some I shall.
Those I will post here for me to get later. I don't pretend this will interest anyone else, this just seems like a convenient place for them.
http://hip1.sjvls.org/ipac20/ipac.jsp?session=11FSU49054462.6711&profile=kehq&menu=search&ts=1107549054478
.
I wore my wood tie today.
Lady Steed gave it to me for our fifth anniversary (traditional gift: wood). It's always a big hit.
I just now realized that the other tie I rarely wear (a sequined Christmas tree) was also given me by a girl (back in high school).
I guess I require the assistance of a woman to accomplish flare.....
.
(If you haven't read this post yet, go back and do so.)
The following are some of the wonderfully literary observations made by my students on one of the aforementioned songs:
---On "Love Is..." by King Missile---
Q. How does this song fail to meet your expectations of a love song?
A. It fails because the music was horrible, and the lyrics were worst.
A. The song had really bad lyrics.
A. It just a wack song.
A. This failed to meet my expectations for a song period because it made absolutely no sense whatsoever.
A. I didn't that I don't like this song because is not my type.
A. cause I HATE THIS Dumb SONG.
A. The beat was horrible
----------
Now, I had never heard of King Missile before marrying Lady Steed (she brought the cd with her) and although I don't love them, I think that "Love Is..." and other of their songs are rather funny. But these sophomores hated the song.
So now I'm wondering if I may actually be quite messed up.
.
And it's not even spring break.
I'm told that the teachers are talking about how I'm too nice and I will not last. Another teacher say sthat I will win out with kindness and the nice guy will take the day.
I would settle for a little bit of shut up.
.
Lunch is now in session at Bedrock High School. I am eating a full meal courtesy of Lady Steed and listening to the delightful sounds of kids yelling. If I were to look out the windows, I would witness posturing by tomorrow's alpha males (except those engaged in reproductive practice), chattering hubs of partially clothed girls and snatchets of kids aloofly looking on, commenting to their friends about how too cool they are for all this high school silliness.
Me, I'm in one of the five rooms I teach in
.
Why are The Beatles the greatest band that ever was?
You'll note that I am taking it as a given that they are the greatest band ever. Argue that point if you will, I'm more interested in why that is.
It seems to me that a band which, depending on how you count, was born in the first or second (possibly the third) generation of rock and roll has no right to be the greatest band that ever was. After many years of collective experience, then we should produce the greatest band that ever was.
Now, perhaps in 100 years one of the current critical droolfests (Coldplay? The White Stripes?) will be pegged as the greatest, but I have to leave my money on the Liverpudlians.
For her birthday, I gave Lady Steed ""Sgt. Pepper's" and with a gift certificate she purchased ""Revolver" for herself.
"Revolver" was an album I had very little familiarity with. Of course, I knew "Here, There, And Everywhere" (they were playing it at the supermarket last night) and "Yellow Submarine" (more on that in a sec), but the album as a whole was an unknown to me as when I purchased ""Rubber Soul" right off my mission. (No, I was not well educated in rock as a child.)
And it is with "Rubber Soul" I would like to start.
"Rubber Soul" was, rather famously, the first album ever recorded. Before "Rubber Soul" were published collections of songs, a few good, a few filler.
.
(Inspired by daltongirl.)
When I was 19 and preparing to serve a mission, I was filling out forms and getting physicals and in need of a photo to send to the gentlemen who would send me a letter saying where I would go.
(rooster photo)
.
In my freshman classes we are writing short stories and in order to demonstrate that it is not hard, I sat down in front of the computer, turned on a projector, and performed "Writing a Short Story."
They are required to write only 500 words, but in half they time they took to do half that, I did almost double.
Now, I don't pretend that this is headed to the canon, but since it's about all the fresh I've written lately, I thought I would share and, Plant-like, give it a chance in the free market to live or die.
Here it is, in all its unresearched and unedited glory:
.
Ah, floppies.
.
The world is small.
When I served my mission---
Wait. Hold that thought.
Last week, the ten year anniversary of my entrance into the MTC passed and I didn't even notice. I don't feel that old, but it seems much much longer than ten years ago....
Anyway, when I was on my mission, I liked the two-week delay between letters sent and letters received. It created a fascinating communication dynamic which, I imagine, is all but dead now.
Ten years ago, Lady Steed and I would have heard, for instance, a rumor that Nemesis was in England (though we wouldn't call her Nemesis of course) and we would think "Huh" and that would be that. We would hope that someday we could say howdoyedo and shake hands again, but till that day, c'est la vie.
And even with email, while Lady Steed and Nemesis would write every great once-in-a-while, I would not be likely to ever communicate with her.
And so my argument that blogging may be an even bigger world-shrinker than email.
Here I go getting boring and meta again.....
.
1. The latest searches to bring the innocent to Tehachapiltdownman: "naked women for cell phones" - "dradonsbane" - "spoken word"
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
.
snowsuits in idaho
the party premakeout
the whole trickortreating thing
rumby
ggtt
.
10 -
-----------------
So! You see what you've been missing out on?
Party on,
Theric
My twenty-first birthday was spent in Chinhae, a naval town on the southern coast of the Korean peninsula. I was a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and my birthday fell on "preparation day"--the weekly time to do things only tangentially related to preaching the gospel (eg, go to the post office and mail a letter to Mom).
Since it was my birthday and since I outranked the other five missionaries in our haunted house (which is another post for another time), I decided that in celebration of me, we would clean the place up. I took the bathroom.
In that spirit, and in honor of my 100th post, I will now clean up by taking all the saved drafts and putting them here, a compendium of ideas and thought started but never finished. Some nearly so, some nowhere near so.
Only on the internet can someone other than Norman Mailer present rejected notions and rough drafts as being of worth to the rest of humanity.
So. Come celebrate with me.
Behold! The id!
...8/16/2005.
Okay, consider the following following fourteen characteristics of a fictional person:
1. Likes babies
2.
furry animals biting harry potter hot
Yesterday
...8/28/2005.
Lady Steed grew up visiting her great-grandmother every summer. She learned to love painting and applesauce and the smell of old Sicilian men's food from those visits. Her great-grandmother offered Lady Steed her love of beauty and her honor of work, and they loved each other.
Thursday, she died.
Friday we drove up to the Bay Area again, arriving after midnight, arrising early the next morning for the funeral.
Not for public consumption
...8/29/2005.
As I leave my job, I am leaving behind all the excellent links I have collected.
Some I will never need again.
Some I shall.
Those I will post here for me to get later. I don't pretend this will interest anyone else, this just seems like a convenient place for them.
http://hip1.sjvls.org/ipac20/ipac.jsp?session=11FSU49054462.6711&profile=kehq&menu=search&ts=1107549054478
Wood
...9/26/2005.
I wore my wood tie today.
Lady Steed gave it to me for our fifth anniversary (traditional gift: wood). It's always a big hit.
I just now realized that the other tie I rarely wear (a sequined Christmas tree) was also given me by a girl (back in high school).
I guess I require the assistance of a woman to accomplish flare.....
Student response
...9/26/2005.
(If you haven't read this post yet, go back and do so.)
The following are some of the wonderfully literary observations made by my students on one of the aforementioned songs:
---On "Love Is..." by King Missile---
Q. How does this song fail to meet your expectations of a love song?
A. It fails because the music was horrible, and the lyrics were worst.
A. The song had really bad lyrics.
A. It just a wack song.
A. This failed to meet my expectations for a song period because it made absolutely no sense whatsoever.
A. I didn't that I don't like this song because is not my type.
A. cause I HATE THIS Dumb SONG.
A. The beat was horrible
----------
Now, I had never heard of King Missile before marrying Lady Steed (she brought the cd with her) and although I don't love them, I think that "Love Is..." and other of their songs are rather funny. But these sophomores hated the song.
So now I'm wondering if I may actually be quite messed up.
Out of control
...9/28/2005.
And it's not even spring break.
I'm told that the teachers are talking about how I'm too nice and I will not last. Another teacher say sthat I will win out with kindness and the nice guy will take the day.
I would settle for a little bit of shut up.
Lunch
...9/28/2005.
Lunch is now in session at Bedrock High School. I am eating a full meal courtesy of Lady Steed and listening to the delightful sounds of kids yelling. If I were to look out the windows, I would witness posturing by tomorrow's alpha males (except those engaged in reproductive practice), chattering hubs of partially clothed girls and snatchets of kids aloofly looking on, commenting to their friends about how too cool they are for all this high school silliness.
Me, I'm in one of the five rooms I teach in
Revolver
...10/05/2005.
Why are The Beatles the greatest band that ever was?
You'll note that I am taking it as a given that they are the greatest band ever. Argue that point if you will, I'm more interested in why that is.
It seems to me that a band which, depending on how you count, was born in the first or second (possibly the third) generation of rock and roll has no right to be the greatest band that ever was. After many years of collective experience, then we should produce the greatest band that ever was.
Now, perhaps in 100 years one of the current critical droolfests (Coldplay? The White Stripes?) will be pegged as the greatest, but I have to leave my money on the Liverpudlians.
For her birthday, I gave Lady Steed ""Sgt. Pepper's" and with a gift certificate she purchased ""Revolver" for herself.
"Revolver" was an album I had very little familiarity with. Of course, I knew "Here, There, And Everywhere" (they were playing it at the supermarket last night) and "Yellow Submarine" (more on that in a sec), but the album as a whole was an unknown to me as when I purchased ""Rubber Soul" right off my mission. (No, I was not well educated in rock as a child.)
And it is with "Rubber Soul" I would like to start.
"Rubber Soul" was, rather famously, the first album ever recorded. Before "Rubber Soul" were published collections of songs, a few good, a few filler.
Photography
...10/06/2005.
(Inspired by daltongirl.)
When I was 19 and preparing to serve a mission, I was filling out forms and getting physicals and in need of a photo to send to the gentlemen who would send me a letter saying where I would go.
(rooster photo)
1000 words
...10/12/2005.
In my freshman classes we are writing short stories and in order to demonstrate that it is not hard, I sat down in front of the computer, turned on a projector, and performed "Writing a Short Story."
They are required to write only 500 words, but in half they time they took to do half that, I did almost double.
Now, I don't pretend that this is headed to the canon, but since it's about all the fresh I've written lately, I thought I would share and, Plant-like, give it a chance in the free market to live or die.
Here it is, in all its unresearched and unedited glory:
F******s
...10/12/2005.
Ah, floppies.
Someone somewhere is named Ridcully and I can't think who it is
...10/17/2005.
The world is small.
When I served my mission---
Wait. Hold that thought.
Last week, the ten year anniversary of my entrance into the MTC passed and I didn't even notice. I don't feel that old, but it seems much much longer than ten years ago....
Anyway, when I was on my mission, I liked the two-week delay between letters sent and letters received. It created a fascinating communication dynamic which, I imagine, is all but dead now.
Ten years ago, Lady Steed and I would have heard, for instance, a rumor that Nemesis was in England (though we wouldn't call her Nemesis of course) and we would think "Huh" and that would be that. We would hope that someday we could say howdoyedo and shake hands again, but till that day, c'est la vie.
And even with email, while Lady Steed and Nemesis would write every great once-in-a-while, I would not be likely to ever communicate with her.
And so my argument that blogging may be an even bigger world-shrinker than email.
Here I go getting boring and meta again.....
A dozen minor points
...10/31/2005.
1. The latest searches to bring the innocent to Tehachapiltdownman: "naked women for cell phones" - "dradonsbane" - "spoken word"
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
Ghosts of Halloween Past
...11/01/2005.
snowsuits in idaho
the party premakeout
the whole trickortreating thing
rumby
ggtt
Countdown to insanity
...11/14/2005.
10 -
-----------------
So! You see what you've been missing out on?
Party on,
Theric
2005-11-10
Re: Veterans Day
.
No school tomorrow or the next day or the next day so I shall probably not be online again until Monday. So don't worry, it's not the bird flu.
Other things my absence is not include sabbatical, paintball expedition, hiding from French rioters, mourning lost loves, and closed-door senate session.
What aren't you doing this weekend?
No school tomorrow or the next day or the next day so I shall probably not be online again until Monday. So don't worry, it's not the bird flu.
Other things my absence is not include sabbatical, paintball expedition, hiding from French rioters, mourning lost loves, and closed-door senate session.
What aren't you doing this weekend?
2005-11-09
What's different
.
It it your hair?
No.
Is it your skirt?
No.
Is it that green thing eating your eye?
Yes! You noticed!
-------------
editor's note:
The preceding is an example of what might well be termed "lowbrow," an adjective suggesting that only a lower sort of person--as opposed to the educated elite (eg, viewers of Tehachapiltdownman)--would enjoy the noun being modified. In this case, of course, the noun is "Tehachapiltdownman."
Shocking, isn't it?
It it your hair?
No.
Is it your skirt?
No.
Is it that green thing eating your eye?
Yes! You noticed!
-------------
editor's note:
The preceding is an example of what might well be termed "lowbrow," an adjective suggesting that only a lower sort of person--as opposed to the educated elite (eg, viewers of Tehachapiltdownman)--would enjoy the noun being modified. In this case, of course, the noun is "Tehachapiltdownman."
Shocking, isn't it?
The morning after
.
Well, once again, I vote and the majority votes against me.
I said yes on 75% of California's ballot propositions. The majority said no to all eight.
Sometimes I think democracy is an exercise in disappointment.
Well, once again, I vote and the majority votes against me.
I said yes on 75% of California's ballot propositions. The majority said no to all eight.
Sometimes I think democracy is an exercise in disappointment.
2005-11-08
Formerly famous
.
So let's say my book ends up on the auction block and makes me rich (hahaha--will never happen, as even those of you who like it will attest). Let's say it gets made into a movie that Changes the World. Let's say I'm on Letterman and for totally unclear reasons (last-minute compromise?) I am made Poet Laureate of the United States.
Actually no. Let's be honest. None of this will ever happen because I have already burned up my fifteen minutes and I have no reason to suspect I will get a second set.
My big mistake was using them up when I was stranded in a small town on the banks of the Mississippi.
I was part of one of BYU's study "abroad" groups (if Illinois can be considered abroad) and as those of you who have been to London or Madrid or Jerusalem know, a bizarre sort of bonding occurs at these cloisters. And since my time in Nauvoo was at the opening of the Joseph Smith Academy, there were only forty students there to cloister with, and we all knew each other well.
So to sum up (and add a few more details):
Little tiny town
Small intimate group of friends
Miles and miles to decent commercial opportunities
No ready transportation to or from
(Sounds like a good horror-movie setup....)
It was at this time that I wrote a puppet musical called, cleverly, "A Musical Extravaganza."
Starring two black gloves with yarn wigs named Marcus and LeAnn, it was the story of two Nauvoo-based BYU students and, ah, their, ah, relationship.
"A Musical Extravaganza" premiered at a talent show we students put on and went into regular rotation ala "Cats" or "The Fantasticks." I was performing it most nights, often with multiple encores. I would set up stage behind a couch in the lobby and Marcus and LeAnn would sing their way to true love.
The show was not just beloved by the masses, but it was also controversial. If it had not been so powerfully popular, I think the Powers That Be would have shut it down. I was talked to a few times about the appropriateness of its content but c'mon! Did that stop "Titanic"?!
The night before we left on airplanes for home, I performed "A Musical Extravaganza" for the final time--a double-feature with its equally popular (but doubly controversial) sequel which had been debuted less that a week earlier during a long bus ride.
Then I came home to a world that had never known "A Musical Extravaganza," that could never understand the impact it had on all those who loved it and quoted it and sang its songs. And I realized that I had created a cultural touchstone that had changed the world it inhabited.
And that world consisted of only forty people.
I don't imagine I can ever build enough karma to create a life-changing, culture-altering artwork ever again.
And so I've blown my chance at fame and fortune on a smalltown puppet show, performed gratis for a bunch of expatriate byuckers.
It was fun while it lasted.
I just hope it was worth it.
So let's say my book ends up on the auction block and makes me rich (hahaha--will never happen, as even those of you who like it will attest). Let's say it gets made into a movie that Changes the World. Let's say I'm on Letterman and for totally unclear reasons (last-minute compromise?) I am made Poet Laureate of the United States.
Actually no. Let's be honest. None of this will ever happen because I have already burned up my fifteen minutes and I have no reason to suspect I will get a second set.
My big mistake was using them up when I was stranded in a small town on the banks of the Mississippi.
I was part of one of BYU's study "abroad" groups (if Illinois can be considered abroad) and as those of you who have been to London or Madrid or Jerusalem know, a bizarre sort of bonding occurs at these cloisters. And since my time in Nauvoo was at the opening of the Joseph Smith Academy, there were only forty students there to cloister with, and we all knew each other well.
So to sum up (and add a few more details):
Little tiny town
Small intimate group of friends
Miles and miles to decent commercial opportunities
No ready transportation to or from
(Sounds like a good horror-movie setup....)
It was at this time that I wrote a puppet musical called, cleverly, "A Musical Extravaganza."
Starring two black gloves with yarn wigs named Marcus and LeAnn, it was the story of two Nauvoo-based BYU students and, ah, their, ah, relationship.
"A Musical Extravaganza" premiered at a talent show we students put on and went into regular rotation ala "Cats" or "The Fantasticks." I was performing it most nights, often with multiple encores. I would set up stage behind a couch in the lobby and Marcus and LeAnn would sing their way to true love.
The show was not just beloved by the masses, but it was also controversial. If it had not been so powerfully popular, I think the Powers That Be would have shut it down. I was talked to a few times about the appropriateness of its content but c'mon! Did that stop "Titanic"?!
The night before we left on airplanes for home, I performed "A Musical Extravaganza" for the final time--a double-feature with its equally popular (but doubly controversial) sequel which had been debuted less that a week earlier during a long bus ride.
Then I came home to a world that had never known "A Musical Extravaganza," that could never understand the impact it had on all those who loved it and quoted it and sang its songs. And I realized that I had created a cultural touchstone that had changed the world it inhabited.
And that world consisted of only forty people.
I don't imagine I can ever build enough karma to create a life-changing, culture-altering artwork ever again.
And so I've blown my chance at fame and fortune on a smalltown puppet show, performed gratis for a bunch of expatriate byuckers.
It was fun while it lasted.
I just hope it was worth it.
Pending byuck
.
I am about two months behind in my self-imposed schedule, but I am getting near sending off my revamped book proposal. All my research and talking with professionals failed to prepare me for the strange, strange process selling this book would follow. But at the end of the road, I am sure that my book will find its audience. It has rabid fans in its unpublished state, so surely it could make money--don't you think?
Those of you who frequent Tehachapiltdownman and doubt that its author could write a book, let me here state some vital differences between my blogging and my booking.
Every sentence in my byucky marvel has been carefully honed to make grown men weep and grown women wet themselves laughing.
Blog posts tend to get read over a couple times before being thrown out to the world.
My book went through years of prewriting and rewriting.
I often have no idea what a post will be about until I've already typed half of it.
My book should come with a triple-your-money-back guarantee.
This blog is worth exactly what you pay for it.
But anyway, in a matter of days, I will be sending the new version of my proposal (which is dozens of pages longer than any expert will tell you one should be) back to a publisher which behaves much like the large-mouth bass that lives at the bottom of the reservoir and has grown to a length of eighty feet soley on a diet of nightcrawlers stolen from young writers' hooks. I would love to tell the story (stories) of my roundabout relation with this company's head editor but there is the possibility that Edgy works for her and if I said something untoward, I would not want to scandalize him.
Speaking of Edgy....
For those who don't know, he works at a Utah-based publication company and one of my hobbies is trying to discern which one. Since I confessed this to him, there have been nearly zero further clues and so my hobby is perishing. But I rather hope he works in an office that will see my manuscript plop into his inbox--after all, I like Edgy, he likes me, how he help but to love my book?
The truth of the matter is, I would love to see this thing in print partly so I could start doing something else. Every other creative project I embark on has byucky ballast, as my manuscript kicks around in the back in my mind saying, "Hey! You! What am I still doing here?"
And that would be a good point to end on--don't write a book unless you want to have it constantly whining at you until it's happily published. I swear, they're worse than children.
I am about two months behind in my self-imposed schedule, but I am getting near sending off my revamped book proposal. All my research and talking with professionals failed to prepare me for the strange, strange process selling this book would follow. But at the end of the road, I am sure that my book will find its audience. It has rabid fans in its unpublished state, so surely it could make money--don't you think?
Those of you who frequent Tehachapiltdownman and doubt that its author could write a book, let me here state some vital differences between my blogging and my booking.
Every sentence in my byucky marvel has been carefully honed to make grown men weep and grown women wet themselves laughing.
Blog posts tend to get read over a couple times before being thrown out to the world.
My book went through years of prewriting and rewriting.
I often have no idea what a post will be about until I've already typed half of it.
My book should come with a triple-your-money-back guarantee.
This blog is worth exactly what you pay for it.
But anyway, in a matter of days, I will be sending the new version of my proposal (which is dozens of pages longer than any expert will tell you one should be) back to a publisher which behaves much like the large-mouth bass that lives at the bottom of the reservoir and has grown to a length of eighty feet soley on a diet of nightcrawlers stolen from young writers' hooks. I would love to tell the story (stories) of my roundabout relation with this company's head editor but there is the possibility that Edgy works for her and if I said something untoward, I would not want to scandalize him.
Speaking of Edgy....
For those who don't know, he works at a Utah-based publication company and one of my hobbies is trying to discern which one. Since I confessed this to him, there have been nearly zero further clues and so my hobby is perishing. But I rather hope he works in an office that will see my manuscript plop into his inbox--after all, I like Edgy, he likes me, how he help but to love my book?
The truth of the matter is, I would love to see this thing in print partly so I could start doing something else. Every other creative project I embark on has byucky ballast, as my manuscript kicks around in the back in my mind saying, "Hey! You! What am I still doing here?"
And that would be a good point to end on--don't write a book unless you want to have it constantly whining at you until it's happily published. I swear, they're worse than children.
2005-11-07
It walks!
.
So I seem to be alive again. At any rate, I am vertical and mobile, which is close enough.
And I return to learn that I am much more interesting to googlers than I have been in the past. Searchers have come looking for def poetry and cropdusting. I’m much more comfortable with this than with all the naked women searches of yore.
Also, someone from MIT accessed Tehachapiltdownman, which suggests I am smart. Take that, stupid people!
Today was the first day in many that I did not wake with bread pudding to be hocked from my sinuses which is wonderful. Now if my balloonheadedness will just pass I will be as healthy as … usual.
Which is not necessarily as healthy as people get. But it’s healthy enough for me.
For I am Theric, He of Mediocre Health.
Theric woke up. He was still tired.
He walked to the bathroom or the kitchen or wherever, running into immobile things like walls and moderately mobile things like pingpong balls as he went.
He took an overlong shower that dried his hair and skin and left the bathroom a sweaty sauna as he tried to dress.
Or: He ate something with out a full complement of vitamins and minerals or even calories.
Then Theric left for work, driving too fast and with too few of his faculties up to their alleged diurnal speed.
Theric arrived at work, where he carried, lopsided, loads of books and papers and cds and other exciting whatnot, his spine curving as he stumbled from room to room.
(And so on with equal excitement.)
-----end story-----
Anyway, what a pleasure to be back.
(this is me, dancing)
So I seem to be alive again. At any rate, I am vertical and mobile, which is close enough.
And I return to learn that I am much more interesting to googlers than I have been in the past. Searchers have come looking for def poetry and cropdusting. I’m much more comfortable with this than with all the naked women searches of yore.
Also, someone from MIT accessed Tehachapiltdownman, which suggests I am smart. Take that, stupid people!
Today was the first day in many that I did not wake with bread pudding to be hocked from my sinuses which is wonderful. Now if my balloonheadedness will just pass I will be as healthy as … usual.
Which is not necessarily as healthy as people get. But it’s healthy enough for me.
For I am Theric, He of Mediocre Health.
A Day in the Life of Theric, He of Mediocre Health
Theric woke up. He was still tired.
He walked to the bathroom or the kitchen or wherever, running into immobile things like walls and moderately mobile things like pingpong balls as he went.
He took an overlong shower that dried his hair and skin and left the bathroom a sweaty sauna as he tried to dress.
Or: He ate something with out a full complement of vitamins and minerals or even calories.
Then Theric left for work, driving too fast and with too few of his faculties up to their alleged diurnal speed.
Theric arrived at work, where he carried, lopsided, loads of books and papers and cds and other exciting whatnot, his spine curving as he stumbled from room to room.
(And so on with equal excitement.)
-----end story-----
Anyway, what a pleasure to be back.
(this is me, dancing)
2005-11-02
Nasal irrigation and more
.
Note: The first part of this post is educational and gross; the second part is cute and gross. If you do not like cute, be sure to skip the second half of this post.
I heard on NPR recently of nasal irrigation, a scientifically sound traditional cold treatment that involves squirting water up your nose.
According to the story, people use ear bulbs or squirting machines or simply snort a saline solution. At this point, snot and saline come poring from the nostrils and down the back of the throat. The effect is that, with the sinuses cleared, the immune system is freed to be all it can be; the cilia are reenergized, and voila! health!
Sounded lovely. So now that I am fighting a cold, the last two mornings I have taken eight ounces of warm water and a quarter teaspoon each of salt and baking soda. Unfortunately, I lack the apparatus to send a stream of saline up my nose so I have just been pouring my solution into a ramekin and breathing in.
Following by coughing and hacking and a distressing lack of streaming mucus.
Yesterday I was hocking up stuff the color of burnt caramel. And maybe I got it all out before salining myself. Anyway, streaming snot or not, I could breathe better on my way to work, that was sure. But today I could not get my left nostril to function no matter the snorting technique applied.
The saline solution does dry out my nostrils, so this morning I put in some Neosporin. In record time, every milliounce of Neosporin plopped down on the back of my tongue which was not, I am sorry to say, a pleasant end to the experiment.
--
The Big O (23 months less six days) is developing might muscles. I know this because he has taken to carting around a footstool with cast iron legs. He uses it to stand taller and see things. And do things. Like open and close the dvd player. And, new favorite, watch his parents cook.
For his first birthday, we celebrated in grand Korean fashion, including an activity that tells us his future.
On a table we placed certain symbolic objects—a pen (representing the life of a scholar), a knife (life of a chef), a rice cake (government lackey) and others. O picked the knife.
(A butter knife, perfectly safe. Not, for instance, a cleaver. In the first couple years of our marriage, Lady Steed always wanted a cleaver. For reasons she refused to specify. And that therefore made me nervous. I refused to help her get one. We still don’t have once. Not coincidentally, I am still intact.)
He is already living up to his chefly destiny with his new hobby of watching food preparation. Last night I was making French toast.
Eggs from my mother’s chickens. Some real vanilla. Some salt. I let O do some whisking. Then he dipped his finger and tasted the goods.
“Mmmm!”
Again.
“Mmmm!”
Lady Steed called then and I pushed the raw egg mix away from O to protect him from such things as salmonella. We chatted then I hung up the phone. I turned back, only to see the Big O tipping back the eggs and taking a good long draft.
“Mmmmm!”
Such are the epicurean delights of our household.
Note: The first part of this post is educational and gross; the second part is cute and gross. If you do not like cute, be sure to skip the second half of this post.
I heard on NPR recently of nasal irrigation, a scientifically sound traditional cold treatment that involves squirting water up your nose.
According to the story, people use ear bulbs or squirting machines or simply snort a saline solution. At this point, snot and saline come poring from the nostrils and down the back of the throat. The effect is that, with the sinuses cleared, the immune system is freed to be all it can be; the cilia are reenergized, and voila! health!
Sounded lovely. So now that I am fighting a cold, the last two mornings I have taken eight ounces of warm water and a quarter teaspoon each of salt and baking soda. Unfortunately, I lack the apparatus to send a stream of saline up my nose so I have just been pouring my solution into a ramekin and breathing in.
Following by coughing and hacking and a distressing lack of streaming mucus.
Yesterday I was hocking up stuff the color of burnt caramel. And maybe I got it all out before salining myself. Anyway, streaming snot or not, I could breathe better on my way to work, that was sure. But today I could not get my left nostril to function no matter the snorting technique applied.
The saline solution does dry out my nostrils, so this morning I put in some Neosporin. In record time, every milliounce of Neosporin plopped down on the back of my tongue which was not, I am sorry to say, a pleasant end to the experiment.
--
The Big O (23 months less six days) is developing might muscles. I know this because he has taken to carting around a footstool with cast iron legs. He uses it to stand taller and see things. And do things. Like open and close the dvd player. And, new favorite, watch his parents cook.
For his first birthday, we celebrated in grand Korean fashion, including an activity that tells us his future.
On a table we placed certain symbolic objects—a pen (representing the life of a scholar), a knife (life of a chef), a rice cake (government lackey) and others. O picked the knife.
(A butter knife, perfectly safe. Not, for instance, a cleaver. In the first couple years of our marriage, Lady Steed always wanted a cleaver. For reasons she refused to specify. And that therefore made me nervous. I refused to help her get one. We still don’t have once. Not coincidentally, I am still intact.)
He is already living up to his chefly destiny with his new hobby of watching food preparation. Last night I was making French toast.
Eggs from my mother’s chickens. Some real vanilla. Some salt. I let O do some whisking. Then he dipped his finger and tasted the goods.
“Mmmm!”
Again.
“Mmmm!”
Lady Steed called then and I pushed the raw egg mix away from O to protect him from such things as salmonella. We chatted then I hung up the phone. I turned back, only to see the Big O tipping back the eggs and taking a good long draft.
“Mmmmm!”
Such are the epicurean delights of our household.
2005-11-01
What it's like to lose a monkey
.
The first thing I felt, as you might imagine, is a sense of panic.
Monkey! My monkey! Where's my monkey!
It is a terrible feeling, but it fuels the frantic search that comes next. Ripping sheets from beds and spare tires from trunks and gophers from holes.
Then comes despair. A hollow-eyed, brain-numbing sense of loss, of finality. Despair is often accompanied by beating one's head against the pavement, ripping one's hair from one's head, and slamming one's fingers in a car door, repeatedly.
But as Vincent Price once said, you can only take so much horror before you get used to it. Then the numbness and despair pass.
And are replaced by a feeling of release.
Hey. I don't have to pick up after that filthy, lousy monkey any more.
And that is a beautiful feeling indeed.
The first thing I felt, as you might imagine, is a sense of panic.
Monkey! My monkey! Where's my monkey!
It is a terrible feeling, but it fuels the frantic search that comes next. Ripping sheets from beds and spare tires from trunks and gophers from holes.
Then comes despair. A hollow-eyed, brain-numbing sense of loss, of finality. Despair is often accompanied by beating one's head against the pavement, ripping one's hair from one's head, and slamming one's fingers in a car door, repeatedly.
But as Vincent Price once said, you can only take so much horror before you get used to it. Then the numbness and despair pass.
And are replaced by a feeling of release.
Hey. I don't have to pick up after that filthy, lousy monkey any more.
And that is a beautiful feeling indeed.
2005-10-31
For those who like the letter Z
.
zzzzZZZZZZZzZzzzzZzzZzZzZzzZzzzzzzzzzZZZzzzzZzzZzzzzzzzzZZZZZzZzzzZzZzzZzz
.
zzzzZZZZZZZzZzzzzZzzZzZzZzzZzzzzzzzzzZZZzzzzZzzZzzzzzzzzZZZZZzZzzzZzZzzZzz
.
Heterosexual
.
There is something I would like to tell you all about, something I would like to get off my chest, something I don't want to pretend about anymore.
I like girls.
I remember when I first discovered I liked girls. It was early 1999, shortly after I had moved to Provo, Utah. I had volunteered to give a girl a ride in my automobile and after she got into my car and put on her seatbelt, I turned on the car and prepared to back out of my parking space.
"You like girls, don't you?" she said.
"What?"
"You like girls."
She gestured to my cd player which was, I believe, playing K's Choice, a Belgian band fronted by a woman.
"Everytime I get in your car, there's a girl singing."
I thought back and realized she was right. Moonpools & Caterpillars. Juju Club. Natalie Merchant. Even a Lilith Fair cd! How could I have been so blind!
I was stunned and could give no answer but this:
"I guess you're right."
And it's been downhill from there.
There is something I would like to tell you all about, something I would like to get off my chest, something I don't want to pretend about anymore.
I like girls.
I remember when I first discovered I liked girls. It was early 1999, shortly after I had moved to Provo, Utah. I had volunteered to give a girl a ride in my automobile and after she got into my car and put on her seatbelt, I turned on the car and prepared to back out of my parking space.
"You like girls, don't you?" she said.
"What?"
"You like girls."
She gestured to my cd player which was, I believe, playing K's Choice, a Belgian band fronted by a woman.
"Everytime I get in your car, there's a girl singing."
I thought back and realized she was right. Moonpools & Caterpillars. Juju Club. Natalie Merchant. Even a Lilith Fair cd! How could I have been so blind!
I was stunned and could give no answer but this:
"I guess you're right."
And it's been downhill from there.
2005-10-28
Spoken word
.
Today I took my juniors to watch some poets from HBO's Def Poetry Jam, which I have never seen, but I am interested in slam culture and spoken word and all these things (though not so interested that I have ever actually attended anything) (let alone participated). But I like to see poetry living and alive when so many have given it up as dead.
Anyway, the headliner was Shihan and he was entertaining. But the kids were only marginally more capable of being good for him than they are for me, and he takes his charisma and crowd control on the road.
He had two poems in particular that I liked, "Song Speaks" and "Love Like" (which can be found here), and I though I would talk about them and write about them here at Tehachapiltdownman. However, when I found them online, the words seemed a little limp and dead.
And if I can't appreciate Longfellow today--he was the Most Popular Man in the Universe 150 years ago--is it because I have never walked to the lyceum and listened rapt to his tales of Gitchee Gumee and then cried and laughed and sighed with a smile and been filled by the living words as they ran from the poet's mouth and down his long beard and into the audience.
The audience, where I sit, and I listen, and think eh to that one but oh this one is brilliant and says something I have never heard before--not even imagined--and this, this is what poetry is! and why have I never known this before because it is beautiful and it matters and it is real and it's like my head is lying on the poet's chest and listening to the sound of his heart beating. And that is poetry.
-----
Or, to be absolutely prosaic, maybe it's just a matter of poor punctuation.....
Today I took my juniors to watch some poets from HBO's Def Poetry Jam, which I have never seen, but I am interested in slam culture and spoken word and all these things (though not so interested that I have ever actually attended anything) (let alone participated). But I like to see poetry living and alive when so many have given it up as dead.
Anyway, the headliner was Shihan and he was entertaining. But the kids were only marginally more capable of being good for him than they are for me, and he takes his charisma and crowd control on the road.
He had two poems in particular that I liked, "Song Speaks" and "Love Like" (which can be found here), and I though I would talk about them and write about them here at Tehachapiltdownman. However, when I found them online, the words seemed a little limp and dead.
And if I can't appreciate Longfellow today--he was the Most Popular Man in the Universe 150 years ago--is it because I have never walked to the lyceum and listened rapt to his tales of Gitchee Gumee and then cried and laughed and sighed with a smile and been filled by the living words as they ran from the poet's mouth and down his long beard and into the audience.
The audience, where I sit, and I listen, and think eh to that one but oh this one is brilliant and says something I have never heard before--not even imagined--and this, this is what poetry is! and why have I never known this before because it is beautiful and it matters and it is real and it's like my head is lying on the poet's chest and listening to the sound of his heart beating. And that is poetry.
-----
Or, to be absolutely prosaic, maybe it's just a matter of poor punctuation.....
2005-10-27
Comic King
.
Although Master Fob graciously educated me in superheroes while we lived in the same mountain valley, I have to admit that my taste in comics runs along a different line than his. My favorite of recent years was this book, and in the last week I've spent a hundred and fifty dollars (pretax) on this and this, which add to my proud collection that already includes this and this and will soon include this and this.
Yesterday, I escaped the Devil's Den (I went in the use the bathroom) without purchasing either this or this, though I fondled both inappropriately.
The fact is, I love comics or comix or sequential art or whatever you choose to call it. I think it's a wildly expressive medium and if anyone is looking for a primer I suggest this again, or this or this.
If you want superheroes, perhaps my favorite of Master Fob's suggestions was this one.
And of course, if you haven't already indulged, you should certainly try this.
Or this, which Time just called one of the best books ever.
Or this. Or this. Or this.
Although Master Fob graciously educated me in superheroes while we lived in the same mountain valley, I have to admit that my taste in comics runs along a different line than his. My favorite of recent years was this book, and in the last week I've spent a hundred and fifty dollars (pretax) on this and this, which add to my proud collection that already includes this and this and will soon include this and this.
Yesterday, I escaped the Devil's Den (I went in the use the bathroom) without purchasing either this or this, though I fondled both inappropriately.
The fact is, I love comics or comix or sequential art or whatever you choose to call it. I think it's a wildly expressive medium and if anyone is looking for a primer I suggest this again, or this or this.
If you want superheroes, perhaps my favorite of Master Fob's suggestions was this one.
And of course, if you haven't already indulged, you should certainly try this.
Or this, which Time just called one of the best books ever.
Or this. Or this. Or this.
2005-10-25
Crazy hair day
.
This is homecoming week at Bedrock High. Yesterday was superhero day, tomorrow is favorite sports team day, today is crazy hair day.
My hair, as many of you know, comes in only one style: crazy. But apparently mere crazy is not crazy enough for crazy hair day.
By a stroke of luck, one of my freshman had brought paint with her and so she and some fellow frosh hairstylists offered to goop me up with red and yellow, turning my head into a reasonable facsimile of eternal damnation.
Now my head matches my shoes.
I have a pair of shoes (which unfortunately I canna find a picture of anywhere but they are orange leather Vans) which the kids love. They are "tight kicks" and make me an object of some veneration. If one ne'er-do-think dislikes them, a posse of the righteous will hang them by their intestines for dissing such sweet shoes.
My hair today elicited similar responses.
I have been informed that I should wear my hair this way everyday.
I think it's time to get it all whacked off.
This is homecoming week at Bedrock High. Yesterday was superhero day, tomorrow is favorite sports team day, today is crazy hair day.
My hair, as many of you know, comes in only one style: crazy. But apparently mere crazy is not crazy enough for crazy hair day.
By a stroke of luck, one of my freshman had brought paint with her and so she and some fellow frosh hairstylists offered to goop me up with red and yellow, turning my head into a reasonable facsimile of eternal damnation.
Now my head matches my shoes.
I have a pair of shoes (which unfortunately I canna find a picture of anywhere but they are orange leather Vans) which the kids love. They are "tight kicks" and make me an object of some veneration. If one ne'er-do-think dislikes them, a posse of the righteous will hang them by their intestines for dissing such sweet shoes.
My hair today elicited similar responses.
I have been informed that I should wear my hair this way everyday.
I think it's time to get it all whacked off.
2005-10-24
Three ways to slay the dragon
.
Thrust sword into heart.
Sling smooth stone into eyeball.
Dress as girl dragon and lace lemon maiden pie with dragonsbane.
Thrust sword into heart.
Sling smooth stone into eyeball.
Dress as girl dragon and lace lemon maiden pie with dragonsbane.
Deception
.
My body tricked me this morning. It made me think it woke up a fraction of a second before the alarm went off at 4:34 am ready and rarin' to go.
Then I had to pull over on the way here and sleep five minutes.
And another ten in the school parking lot.
Hopefully I was not drooling as students and fellow teachers walked by.
My body tricked me this morning. It made me think it woke up a fraction of a second before the alarm went off at 4:34 am ready and rarin' to go.
Then I had to pull over on the way here and sleep five minutes.
And another ten in the school parking lot.
Hopefully I was not drooling as students and fellow teachers walked by.
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