Something I found amusing

Hilary Clinton's Top Ten on Letterman was actually quite amusing:

My favorite, though, is from 2000: Top 10 reasons that I, Hillary Clinton, finally decided to appear on 'The Late Show.':

#4 was: When they threw in a "Late Show" tote bag, I said, "Gas up the Taurus, Bill, we're goin' to Dave's."

It's the "Taurus" that does it.

My life in folders

So I know I'm anal about certain things: like the BBQ sauce needed for chicken nuggets, or the way I highlight my books (although recent evidence has shown someone is a bit more anal, using a ruler to underline passages). But what really bugs me is disorganized computer files. I have a very rigid way of identifying (and sorting) my files. I'll explain it so we can all laugh at my disability. Here's an example of my Folder Structure:
My Documents >
My Music
My Education
My Teaching
My Pictures

Now, let's take one of these a little more in depth:
My Teaching
Northeastern U
Fall 2004
Spring 2005
ENGL 111
ENGL 111 (Paper 1 – Summary)
ENGL 111 (Teaching Log)
ENGL 111 (Digital Resources)

Nothing gets saved on my computer that doesn't have some type of similar designation. Sometimes it boggles my mind how/why people don't do the same. A computer desktop is like any other desktop; A space that needs to be cleaned and organized routinely to be as efficient as possible. Would you pack your insurance papers in a folder labeled "Recipes"? No. Would you put your bills in folders with your classwork? No. Don't be ridiculous! (Balcy Bartacamous, Perfect Strangers).

In other words, I'm a freak. Label your files as you choose. Just don't ask me to track down a file for you.


Some snippets from a conversation with some officemates regarding Chick Fil-et:
-I love Chick Fil-et
-They're so nice there
-Yes, but they're uber-religious. I think last time I ordered Moses Fries
-In nomine patri at filii et chickenus sancti
-Chick Fil-Amen

Afterwards a conversation ensued about whether or not we were mocking Christians or just Christian practices. We came down on the side of practices. And Chick Fil-et.

A Brief Defense of Michael Vick

I was watching ESPN the other day at lunch and an analyst tried to make the argument that we should be a bit more sympathetic towards Vick because he was getting a harsher punishment because he was black. While I don't think that's the case, there is something to be said about this. I originally wrote a much longer version of this, but it stalled out with all the work I've had, so here's the argument in brief.

We must first acknowledge some "facts":

1. That professional athletes of any stripe, though particularly in contact sports like football, hockey, boxing, etc. are to a certain degree raised to be fierce and competitive. I speculate (fairly, I think) that no linebacker likes to think of the moral implications of clothes-lining a running back or taking someone out at the knees. This much is stripped out of them in the early years of their training.
2. That professional athletes are, in some degree, perceived by spectators as sub-human, a perception that filters down to the athletes themselves. This might be linked to the "fierce" "competitiveness" that is instilled in them, as these seem to be, in our "highly refined and cultured" society to represent our "base" instincts. Much like gladiatorial competition, we thrive off seeing others being beat to their core, simultaneously humanizing them in their mortality, but dehumanizing them in that we don't so much care for their well-being because they are somehow "less" than us.
3. This leads us to the final point: That such a training must invariably affect their conception of themselves, others, and the world around them. If they are trained not only to devalue human life but their own lives as well, is it not understandable that they would devalue all life? And can the blame rest solely on them?

For every child that worships an athlete, there is an adult who devalues them, or values them for purely selfish reasons (their success equals YOUR success). This argument, of course, neglects the racial politics involved in such a reading as well. It is not uncommon for these associations to be made in particular with black athletes because of the history of degredation and dehumanization.

Anyway, I'm not trying to say what he did was right, but we need to be a little self-reflective ourselves. Perhaps the fault lies not in the football stars, but in ourselves.

Much Ado About Nothing

It's my first week of class and I've spent most of it alone in a group study room in the library. Still getting a feel for my classes and whatnot, but I'll keep you posted as more interesting things happen. Hope all is well in the other various corners of the country.

Why I live at the PPO

As some of you may know, I've been living without health insurance for about 3 years now (which was illegal in Massachusetts for 1 of those years, but let's not tell Devall Patrick). Living without health insurance is like playing a giant game of chicken, except that you KNOW sickness doesn't blink and you KNOW eventually it will find you. Very much like death.

So, back in school, I'm required to have health insurance if I want to do things like: enroll in class, step foot on campus... that type of thing. So I have to buy into the partially subsidized health plan. So now I pay $300 for the year (a very fair price, on the surface). So I've been psuedo-sick all orientation week: my throat has been hurting and I've had a dry cough. So I wake up this morning (Saturday) and I'm feeling worse.

I enroll in my health plan which is retroactive to August 6, so for starters, I have to pay for weeks of coverage I never had. I decide that my illness now warrants a trip to a physician. I look up where I should go: Student health services. Okay, I planned for this eventuality. I figured a university plan would run through Student Health services first. So I check PUSH (Purdue Univ. Student Health) hours: they're closed on weekends. So I go back to the pamphlet for where to go "after hours." Well, I could go to another physician, but it's not an emergency, so I'd have to pay full price.

Thank god I've got this health plan.

Orientation Wrap-Up

I'm going to go out on a limb and claim that 60% of all orientation week events are useless. I'll preface this by saying (although I'm not actually prefacing it, or I would have said this first) that I really valued my time in the classroom working with my mentor and classmates and did genuinely find some of the information important, useful, and well communicated. But let me give a quick run-down of Day 5's events:

9:00am-10:00am: All Graduate students at Purdue show up for a "welcome." The speakers include three deans who welcome us, a Graduate Student Council president who asks us to join up, and the mayor of West Lafayette who tells us about all the parks that the town has to offer. Let's be honest with ourselves; how many times do I have to be welcomed to the University by people who could care less what my name is or what I'm doing. One of our welcoming speakers was the Dean of Research who, though seemingly a nice guy, proceeded to tell us about all the opportunities available to Grad students... in the sciences. At one point he made a comment about lab safety because "all of you, at some point, will be dealing with some radioactive isotope of some sort." I turned to my English peers with a paniced look and asked if that was true. Perhaps, in addition to the foreign language requirement, I was being asked to pass a lab-exam, too. Regardless, the entire event could have been summed up with a toast at the complimentary breakfast that followed.

10:00am-11:00am: Complimentary coffee and cake. This was more of an activities fair than anything else, except that half the tables were unpopulated (since most of the student body isn't back yet) and didn't really have much to offer as a result.

11:00am-12:00pm: Talk on Employee Benefits. This hour-long snooze-bomb was basically a verbal retelling of everything I'd already read in pamphlet form a week ago, or summary of information easily accessible on a website. What's worse is that the speakers knew it and kept repeating that all this information could be found on the website.

1:30-2:30: Syllabus discussion meeting. This was actually the only useful part of the day. We got to meet with other (veteran) instructors teaching the same syllabus approach as us and discuss some of the opportunities available.

2:30-4:00: Composition Teacher Meeting. 200 of us gather for a welcome back message, a few words from the graduate student council VICE president, a few reminders about things that have already been told to us once or twice before, followed by the highly amusing "introduction of new instructors" portion. Again, valuable information that could be easily condensed rather than spread out over a very long day.

That being said, I think the program and the staff are terrific. I've never seen such enthusiasm (I'm more familiar with the bitter sarcasm or tacit compliance of other institutions), so it was a breath of fresh air. Anyway, Orientation is over now. Last weekend before school starts. Getting a bit nervous.

Week One

Many apologies for not posting recently. I've been in orientation all week and it's taking a while for me to get accustomed to this 9-5 gig. The class itself is really interesting. It's a tech-centered composition/rhetoric class. Finally some strong guidance, superb peers, and a well organized program (actually, the #1 undergrad writing program in the country). While I won't go into the specifics of the class itself yet, I'll share a story of a grading exercise:

We were asked to design a grading rubric to be passed out with our student's papers so they know exactly where they're losing points. After reading these papers, we went around the room announcing our scores. They went like this: 72, 67, 70, 65, 75... 30. Guess which one was mine...

I had a lot of problems working with a rubric. For instance, if a paper has no thesis, and a thesis is worth 15 points, then the student gets 0 points. Of course, that's not really how it works in the real world. Even an F grade is worth 50 points. So essentially, a student need only exist in order to get half credit. I'm fine with this, but that doesn't translate well to a rubric, because it then becomes an inaccurate representation of a student's value/lack of value. Imagine:

A student gets a paper back in which he's been given a 5 out of 10 on the thesis portion of his paper. A though bubble appears over his head which reads "Jinkies! I got half credit on my thesis, I'm almost there! I should go home and celebrate with a bubble bath and a Corona" Meanwhile, the teacher is thinking "That poor sack of potatoes just failed the thesis portion. I sincerely hope he improves on that the next time around or else he will fail the class and his life will grow dismal and meaningless."

Anyway, rubric aside, I'm confident in my grading practices, I just need to figure out how to work with these grading sheets so that my student average isn't lower than GW's IQ. BA DUM TSSSS!

Keeps My Feet on the Ground II

The second philosophical question came up at dinner. Erin and I went out to celebrate our new endeavors at the only Italian restaurant in town, La Scalia. While the meal wasn't bad, it wasn't very good either. Looking around, Erin asked me if I thought it was sad when people say "this is the best meal I've ever had." Having had the great fortune of eating actual Italian food in Italy, as well as spectacular Italian food in New York and Boston as well, I think I would be sad if this meal was all that I had ever encountered. But of course, this is Plato's cave. If I hadn't had those experiences, would it still be sad? I suppose not, as I wouldn't know that there was something better out there. But as an onlooker, having had more authentic Italian food, is it my place to feel sorry for someone who hasn't and probably won't have the fortune of having such a meal in their life? Or, in some warped biological game, do the taste buds on his/her tongue react to this meal in such a way as there IS no better meal that he/she could have? I know for myself, I'd like my last meal to be homemade chicken nuggets and Open Pit BBQ sauce. Anyway, to reframe the argument another way, is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? But I abhor a cliche.

Keeps my feet on the ground

So yesterday I wound up with two philosophical questions running through my head.

The first was in a conversation with my father about whether or not it all "happens for a reason." On the religious side, if there is a God, an all powerful, all knowing, yadda yadda God, then he COULDN'T abandon us here on this cold, lonely rock. It just wouldn't make sense to create something and then "leave" it. Beyond that, if God is everywhere, he couldn't leave anyway. The absence of God would be a cruel irony about his LACK of omnipotence. And why would any being create something just to leave it? The point of creation/procreation is to pass oneself on. According to Christianity, man was made in the likeness of God, and we are often referred to as his "children." In which case, Christianity, at the very least, posits a God that wishes to see us grow. While he might not directly interact with us, he has set us down a particular path just by the very act of creation.

Read more secularly, we might say that "everything happens for a reason" because the world itself is not chaotic. It can't be. There are certain rules that govern who we are, how we grow, how we interact. Everything that happens to us has a series of events that preceded it, and a series of consequences for whatever choice we make. Therefore, everything that has happened has been that way for a particular reason.

Now none of this is to say that we can discern, predict, or understand the plan. Just that there is a plan for a reason. I suppose it's up to you to decide if plans tend towards the happy (whatever doesn't kill us, makes us stronger) or the unhappy (all life ends in death, thus life is meaningless). But at the very least it's comforting to think that there is something out there that governs us all, be it God or nature.

Employed

It's hard to keep a good woman down. After one week, interviews with three different companies (and two more scheduled), Erin found her first salaried position. She'll be working in homes to help families reconnect with one another. For more specifics, ask her.

Erin and I went to see Stardust today. It was entertaining. A lot of funny moments throughout. I don't like Claire Danes much, but she did well. A sweet, heartfelt, romantic comedy. Incredibly cheesy and not "ground-breaking" in any way, but definitely enjoyable.

I don't really have a lot to say. I start orientation on Monday. We'll see what happens.

If you wanna go 'n take a ride wit me...

So here's a humorous little ditty from about a week ago that I never got around to telling.

I should have known from the start what evil humbuggery awaited me after the phone call from Geico. I told the salesman "I come from NY where we have the DMV, then moved to MA where we had the RMV. Where to now?" To which he laughingly responded "Indiana has a BMV. B for Bureau." A light rain started to fall. The sun of my heart was setting.

I rode to the BMV with Erin in tow. Every _MV trip needs a wing(wo)man; someone with whom to kvetch about the long wait; someone with whom to mock the ex-hippie cyclist with the leather jacket and no shirt. Today was no different.

The line stretched to the horizon, or what would pass for the horizon in these parts on a rain-soaked day such as this. We rode in like Joe Pesci and Marisa Tomei in "My Cousin Vinny" ( "Oh yeah, you blend"), hair tossed to the wind, freedom in front of us, a head full of bad memories behind...

The woman at the counter, the first counter that is, asked for my identification. While the drivers license itself was high on the list of priorities, I also needed to register my car in the state, so the two different transactions seemed to stimy the poor woman who must have had a sugar deficiency in her diet, or might have benefited from one, I suppose. After a few minutes of blank staring at the documents laid out in front of her, she finally decided to tackle the drivers license first.

Now, I come from NY and MA, two of the worst trafficed states in America. Both states have declared at one point or another that I am fit to operate a vehicle in some of the worst driving conditions known to modern transportation. However, in the state of Indiana, a state who just raised their speed limit to 70 mph, a state who boasts 10 stoplights across the vast abyss of a corn field they call a state, a state who, should nuclear winter hit, would show absolutely no signs of population or teraform change, in the great state of Indiana, in order to transfer my license over from MA to IN, I need to pass an eye exam (reasonable) as well as a 50-question written exam.

Now I'll be honest with you. I'm a book smart kind of guy. I test well. Not standardized tests, but test-tests... you know, legitimate ones. But when I first got my license in the mid 90s (in fact, exactly 11 years ago from last week), I passed a 6 question exam on the back of a Long John's Silver placemat in White Plains. Now, I'm not saying New York didn't have it's act together, but I will say that it's not like I studied for the written exam back then.

The sky overhead rumbled with thunder and the pitter patter of rain on the roof of the shack they called a "bureau" was palpable. So I sit down in the dank asylum, pencil in hand, and rummage through the questions. I give you a sample question, paraphrased, but as close to the actual question I can get:

What do you do when a school bus stops in front of you:

1. Zoom past like you would any car that stops in front of you
2. Ignore it, the stop sign on the side of the bus is not for you
3. Come to a complete stop and wait for the bus to turn off it's flashers and proceed.
4. All of the above

While the absurdity of such a simplistic question is apparent, I just want to know one thing: who chooses answer 4?

Long story short, I failed. I got all the questions right in the first part, but missed a number of "signs" questions. Apparently I didn't know the difference between a "regulatory" sign and an "informational" sign, and as such, I am unqualified to get a license in the state of Indiana. So they handed me back my paperwork, told me i could retake the test tomorrow, and gave me back my MA driver's license.

I got back in my car and drove home.

Anyone else see the flaw in the system here? Also, there was no rain. It was a metaphor for the raging storm within my soul. It works on a few levels. Think about it.

He grows up... one mp3 at a time

About a year ago when I got my new computer, I decided that it was high time for me, a working man, to start paying for his anti-virus software rather than finding freeware copies whenever he could. While this worked in college and Grad school, I thought I should grow up and start paying for the services I use.

In the same vein, about two months ago, I decided I would start paying for music downloads. Today, however, marks the first day I actually want to download a song. I have since met a problem: I don't know where to go to legally download music.

Here's what I'm looking for:

• A pay site, not a pay software (like Limewire)
• A LEGAL site
• Something with no restrictions on how/where I use the songs i.e. the computer, an mp3 player etc. (unlike iTunes that doesn't give "mp3" files)
• Preferably a place where I can listen to clips of the songs before I download them
• And finally, a site with an extensive library of songs, both of modern rock as well as standards, classical, classic rock, etc.

I ask for your suggestions. Thanks.

Hail to the Chief

So for those new around these parts, I’ll tell a quick story. Erin and I adopted a kitten back in October. She was sick when we got her, and we named her Squints (or Echo, on her official documentation). She was a delightful kitten, very social, always friendly, she liked to put on a show whenever we had visitors. Unfortunately, she was too sick and wound up succumbing to her illnesses a few months later.

After moving to Indiana, we decided we still needed that fuzzy presence in our lives. We found a cute little “squidge” at the humane society in Indianapolis and adopted her. She’s a bit crazy (she nips toes), and also a little sick (she has a cold), but she’s quite cute.

Erin and I are having a debate about what to call her. She likes to sit on her hind legs with her front legs up, so Erin wants to call her Roo. However, she also swings from the couch cushions, so I wanted to call her Coco (like the monkey). Although, with her cold, I have started calling her Wheezer lately. So we can take votes on the better name in the comment section.

To conclude today’s post, I will share a story from Jason regarding his move with Available Movers, scheduled for tomorrow. Available Movers apparently called Jason and cancelled his move tomorrow. A day before the move. This is after they had already asked to postpone his move. How is this company still running?

Dust in the Wind (or Cardboard in Brooklyn)

So Erin and I walk up the steps to our new apartment taking bets on whether or not our stuff was delivered. We resign ourselves to the idea we’ll be on the air mattress again. It’s 11:00pm when we walk in the door to be greeted by: OUR STUFF!!!

I’m not really the type to sleep when there’s a job to do, so I quickly set to work unpacking what I could. The movers did not put together all the stuff that they had taken apart, despite the fact they were obligated to. It seems they took their tip, drank our Gatorade, and left. Around 2am, Erin tells me it’s time to stop. We head into the bedroom and Erin plops down on the bed. We start to move it and here a pop. All four bed leg screws have been bent and the bed is now unstable. I can’t take them out of their plates because the screws are slightly stripped and completely bent. Erin and I take about 30 minutes unscrewing the plates from the frame, assuming we’ll just rest the frame on the floor and deal with it in the morning. When we get the plates off and lay the frame down, the cross beam that runs up the center of the bed is about 2 inches lower than the rest of the frame, and the bed rocks back and forth. Once again, we throw the mattress on the floor, prop the frame on the wall, and go to bed.

The next day, Erin and I finished unpacking the boxes and I get the suspicion we’re missing things. Sure enough, we’re missing between one and three boxes. And of course every box of books makes it, but the one “important” box, is MIA. Contents of said box:
All knick knacks sitting around the apartment (decorative)
Coasters
A number of toiletries including my razor
All of our framed pictures
Bucknell Diplomas
Erin’s engagement ring certification
Aunt Doris’s hand-made quilt
And of course, Erin’s jewelry box…

After another phone call to the movers, I’m fairly certain we’ll never see that stuff again.

So here’s our Visa commercial:

Miles Traveled by land: 4880 miles
Cost of moving: $2500
Cost of lost/damaged objects: $2000
Miles traveled by air: 1800 miles
Times someone mentioned the similarity of our names: 31
Phone calls placed to the mover: 27
Days living on the kindness of family/friends: 20
Number of total pages of blog posting describing the trip: 14
Number of states: 10
Wedding sites visited: 7
Number of shark attacks: 0 (despite it being shark week on the discovery channel!)
Sharing this experience with the love of my life: Priceless

Tune in tomorrow for our new friend.

Welcome to the family

So Erin and I made it to NY on time and were met by my smiling mother, fresh from Fed-Ex/Kinkos where she had acquired the materials for our “project”: putting together the bulletins for the wedding. Tony did a remarkable job and they came out looking quite elegant. Highlights of the endeavor were poor Uncle Mike pricking his fingers trying to curl the bows and Aunt Doris nagging my father to keep helping.

We hopped in the car on Thursday to head up to Rene’s home town of Brooklyn, CT, birthplace of Vanilla Coke (no joke: The Vanilla Bean Café). Erin and I drove with Mike and Doris and I’m proud to note that, in spite of their best efforts to get to me, I outlasted Uncle Mike in listening to Yanni on the ride up. When we finally got into town and filled our gullets, we went to go try on our tuxedos. Of course, we had to pull off on some side roads for the annual “Wild West” party that Brooklyn, CT seems to throw. Lots of chaps and cowboy boots in rural Connecticut. I think my grandmother summed it up best when she said “you could put the whole lot of them together and have enough teeth for a single person.” I kid, of course, they weren’t “hicks.” But some reeeealllly bad singing made us long for the days when Spears and Aguilera crooned their ways into our hearts.

The rehearsal was delightful and the rehearsal dinner was also a blast, capped by Tony, Eric and Tim taking golf drives in the moonlight. The next morning, we woke up bright and early and I played my first nine holes of golf. On the first hole, I hit par… of course, every hole after that I hit between 8-15 shots. I think I hit par once more on the 9th hole, but by then I had embarrassed myself sufficiently enough. Tony and I met up with the family for lunch where we had a 30-minute photo shoot with Tom, the owner of the Vanilla Bean Café.

The wedding itself was beautiful. Mom had carefully planned a “dummy version” of the ceremony program for Rene with the wrong color ribbon and pages out of order and upside down. Dad looked stunning in his frock as he helped pass out communion. And Tony was cool as a cucumber in his Mandarin tux. Of course, Rene stole the show… but what else is new.

I couldn’t tell you much about the reception. We spent about 3 hours taking photos. I think all told, 1000 pictures were taken and the photographer said she had run out of film. The introductions were a blast, my speech was crappy but heartfelt, and dinner was deeeelish. In fact, the only downside for the evening was the drunk DJ who apparently had been left by his wife a week earlier, so Rene said she got a strong “Wedding Singer” vibe off him. This was accentuated by the fact that the microphone had a high bass to it, so that his voice was very Darth DJ-like. But of course, that couldn’t stop mom from dancing on the tables.

The next day, Erin and I got a ride home from Rob and Tati and went on a scenic tour of Connecticut with Rob’s parents. We revisited their old stomping grounds: Shanigans. Apparently, Uncle Rich has been going to Shanigans every year for the past half century. Literally. It makes you think. Is there something special that YOU do once a year for an extended period of time? The closest I have is 8 years straight of going to LBI. Post YOUR hit streaks in the comments section!

When we got home, Erin and I had dinner with the family and then we met up with Mark, Patrick and Matt for a birthday beer before heading back to Indiana the next day.

Tune in tomorrow for the end of the moving debacle and the arrival of a new member to the family whose NOT Rene.