On the Corner of 5th & O

Part 5: Endings OR, ...

2011-10-20T11:11:00.000-07:00

Note: This post was meant to be published on Sept. 1, 2011; the anniversary of these events. I was unfortunately otherwise occupied with other anniversaries and current events. So here (a year and some odd months late) is the last installment in my ill-fated jaunt back to South Korea, presented as always; no proofreading, no critical eyes and no second guesses.

August 31, 2010

7:00 AM

"Games Without Frontiers" - Peter Gabriel

The sun poured in through the windows of Evelyn's apartment. Slowly my eyes opened and with a sudden realization that I was no longer in the Chinese restaurant I sat up with a start terrified at the thought that it was not the night before and I had no clue how I had gotten safely onto Ev's couch. I searched through my inexplicably folded and neatly presented clothing from the night before making sure I still had my wallet. Everything was where it should have been except for, as I perceived, myself.

There's a certain amount of horror that crosses your very being when you realize that you've lost several hours and had no clue how you got where you are. It's not even an existential terror or fear of what did happen. It is the list of questions that your mind can't begin to answer. Why hadn't something awful happened to me? When did I lose track of the rest of the evening I was so thoroughly enjoying? How did I get so neatly tucked away in this apartment? Evelyn would later explain to me that her friend had stayed coherent enough to make sure I got back safely, but once I had composed myself I realized I needed to make it to the airport.

Riding the subway back to Geumchon, I was thankful for the absolute terror that had awoken me. I navigated back to the small, flooded apartment to find that most of the water on the floor had drained or soaked into the walls. This had made the smell worse and further hastened my departure.

Returning the fifty I had borrowed from the startup funds envelope, I looked around the room wistfully cursing my predicament. So many high hopes were put into this venture and to have this be the symbol of those hopes being --- "crushed" is an overly dramatic word I wouldn't use "suppressed" might be a better verb--- well, it was painful to close the door on my way out. It hadn't occurred to me just how much I was toting around until I stepped out into the now emerging sun. I thought I had a handle on the sheer amount before, but now, moving these bags without any assistance made the reality clear.

Unfortunately, the first taxi I hailed had turned around and parked on the opposite side of the street rather than recognizing the burdensome luggage in front of me. Letting the weight of my belongings propel me across the busy city street I got in the taxi and realized I had forgotten the word for airport and prematurely packed my phrase book in my heaviest case which, at this point was buried in the trunk or the car. So I looked, with wide eyes at the driver and stammered "Incheon?" assuming that the bags would be the necessary part of the equation telling him that I was in need of the airport. Apparently the visual clues were not sufficient.

I began to use the words "airport" and "plane" in several different languages I did remember hoping there was a common root to the word I had forgotten then I resorted to sound effects and hand puppets. There's something very humbling about using such a form of communication out of necessity. It would be nice if I could say that this sadly condescending means worked, but it was met with a cell phone connected to dispatch; a young woman was on the other end trying to communicate in broken English. After another frustrating conversation where we finally got going on the first step to the Rosetta Stone, I handed the phone back to the driver who looked at me with recognition and then made the same sound effects and hand motions I was using moments before. This was the saddest moment of all my travels realizing how utterly ridiculous and unprepared I was.

In South Korea, the taxi drivers are incredibly honest, except for those who aren't. When they aren't, you're likely to be dropped in a bad neighborhood miles away from your destination. Fortunately, I got to sit in the back and watch the meter climb as we followed the same roads I took on the way into the city. Just as had happened numerous times when I lived in Goyang years before, the driver attempted to put me at ease by speaking the few friendly English phrases he had learned for this occasion and the many more he would inevitably encounter and he put on the English radio station enjoying the sweet rumblings of Olivia Newton John, Elton John and John Cougar.

The meter rolled on. I was working under the assumption that the amount I had in my wallet allotted for the taxi would be sufficient. While passing highway markers for Incheon, I realized that I had been wrong. Instead of panicking and telling him right off the bat, I hoped an ATM would be close enough that I could jump out of the car and get more when we arrived at Incheon International. I wasn't right, but I wasn't particularly wrong. The driver was happy to wait, partially because he knew that if I didn't come back he'd have a lot of American goods in exchange. Or so I thought.

By the time I had done a lap around the terminal finding an ATM wedged against the far wall between payphones and a coffee shop he had not only taken my bags out of his car, but loaded them onto a trolley. I knew tipping was a cultural faux pas, but I was so grateful I felt the need to cross these barriers. It was either that or a great big hug, and that would just be weird for everyone.

1:00 PM

"Road to Peace" - Tom Waits

Keeping the trolley close at hand I asked anyone who looked like they might possibly point me in a direction to get on a wait list or gods-willing, a flight back to the states. Anywhere in the Mid-West would do. Unfortunately I was met with no after no; sent to and from different airline booths; and put on numerous wait lists to be called if a wait list opened up.

Finally, I decided to take out the laptop and do some online research with the little amount of battery I had left. There was promising development with Canadian Air. I chased all the way over to their counter in the terminal where I was greeted by a young woman who told me I needed to find the offices to book a flight, but couldn't tell me where that was. The new mission was to find this office within the hour because it was already 4:30 and the flight was leaving at 7:00.

Well-intentioned and underinformed people directed me to several different offices that took me from the basement to the third floor with a stop at each until I finally found a back hallway on the terminal floor that led to a little office that housed Canadian Air as well as a few, more obscure airlines and judging by the layout, a massage parlor. The young and utterly frustrated woman who greeted me after a fifteen minute wait told me that the flight I was looking for did not actually exist. I showed her the orbitz page that clearly said I had to go to a real person to book the flight which reminded her that it was in the system, but completely booked. She then sent me back to the front desk to get put on the wait list which would then cost me an extra $500 if I was one of the lucky ones. Defeated and lost I conceded and used the last of my battery to book the first flight that was going to O'Hare in the morning.

Flight booked and a little more at ease with much less money in my bank account, I realized I had a twelve hour wait ahead of me in which I could either spend more money and get a ride back into the city or wait it out and entertain myself in the airport until morning came.

8:00 PM

"Long Walk Back to San Antone" - Junior Brown

There was no option for me to check my bags early and the comfortable places to sit and read were all occupied at this point. Besides, by the time most people left the sitting areas, they were being corded off for the night. The Bennigan's had some semi-comfortable seating out front so I set up camp and made the best fort I could with my luggage and the chairs and tables. Reading proved entertaining for only so long until I nodded off in a relatively uncomfortable position with my feet up on one bag, head rested on jacket and body slumped in a modestly padded chair. I didn't dream, but I slept pretty soundly.

For the second time in a 24 hour period I awoke unaware of exactly where I was. I found had been asleep for only two hours and there was a young man who had created a similar fort in the row of tables across from me. He was a tall man of a very young complexional with gaunt features. I noticed, as I took my book back out that he seemed to be glancing over at me in expectation of a companion to pass the time while he too waited for the night to be over.

Making a gesture for him to come talk, I noticed he seemed to bounce over as though there was an excess of rubber in his heels. With each bounce he swung his arms reminding me of the Shaggy walk from Scooby Doo.

There's a curious phenomenon that most Americans abroad suffer, and that is the assumption that people you meet in the airport will not only speak English, but will be American to boot. I'm not exempt from this affliction and found myself surprised when I noticed his French accent and stereotypical striped attire. When confronted with this sobering realization, that should be obvious to us, it's not that we suffered this, it's how we handle it. Some of us will meet it with anger or indifference and some with curiosity.

His name was Sebastian, which I found to be quite inappropriately expected, like meeting an American named John Smith. We spoke for quite awhile exchanging stories of what brought us to Incheon International and where we were going after. We had discussed many things when it occurred to me that I had several boxes of Ande's Candies (which I explained came from my hometown) in my luggage that were just going to go to waste. So in a diplomatic gesture I offered him one which he very gingerly ate with centimeter bites and a rodent-like mastication process. We spoke a while longer before I decided it was time for me to go back into my fort and fall asleep in preparation for the flight in the morning.

September 1-August 31, 2010

"All I Know" - Screaming Trees

Unable to sleep for more than an hour at a time, the majority of the early morning was spent using a phone card to make calls home arranging for rides from the airport. I also put in a slightly mean-spirited call to Dana in which I may or may not have misled her into believing I was still going to be in Korea the following day. An important thing to remember is that I never actually said that; I just neglected to mention I was at the airport.

The flight was booked to capacity and space was limited to begin with. I noticed that flying to South Korea was a much more pleasant experience than flying back to the US. I wholly expect this to be a reflection of intention on the part of tourism boards and political policy, but that truly is a conversation for a different venue or at the very least, a different story.

For some, flights are loathsome and something to be passed by quickly in an alcohol or over the counter medication induced haze. I'd like to say that I was one of those who enjoy them in an effort to be contrary, but in the absence of an open bar, I prefer to hide in my books and iPod. Also, I don't use any kind of medication unless I can't avoid it. Passing that clumsy stream of consciousness by, I read and watched in flight movies until arriving in Tokyo where a three hour layover would introduce me to a dishonest WiFi hot-spot company, a very disruptive line at McDonald's and a vaguely racist Navy Seal who was happy to finally be going home most remarkably, as he noted, without a crippling STD.

I made the best of my short time in Japan. I wasn't particularly happy that I didn't have time to leave the terminal, but there's enough inside those walls to keep people occupied for hours. Between all of the different eateries and the veritable shopping mall to peruse and buy countless things you don't need, I could see how it would be easy to miss your flight. It was in this spirit that I decided after an hour of wandering to get food and sit down to wait for boarding.

"Heroes and Villains" - The Beach Boys

Another phone call home helped me to feel better about my decision. I was still unsure that I had made the right one, I'm still not even sure it was the responsible choice. This was most certainly not the easiest moment for me. I had been preparing to return for three years and not once did the thought occur to me that it would be like this. People reminded me over and over again it wouldn't be like it was before. I wasn't deluded enough to assume my place again as though I'd never left, but it wasn't even in my purview of thought that I'd be put in as untenable a position as this.

I sat and thought on my options for the future from this point while I hoarded the only power outlet available charging my phone and laptop. The laptop because I wanted to start looking for job openings at home and restart circulation of my resume, and the phone so I could undo everything I had done the week before as soon as I set down on American soil. I would need to cancel the kill order on my phone contract and get back two jobs as soon as I could. There was no certainty of what was going to happen. The promise of my old jobs wasn't even there. Sitting in the terminal waiting gave me even more to think about.

A very lonely and frightening four hours passed in what seemed like a sealed envelope to me. I had no contact with anyone and there was a certain amount of anonymity to the entire stay (aside from the racist Seal) that made me second guess every decision I had made until that envelope would be opened back in Wisconsin. There wasn't a lot more to be done or said.

October 21, 2011
"Oscar Wilde" - Company of Thieves

Looking back to my decisions and what it's meant for my life, I'd like to give the eternally optimistic response that I made the correct choice. I can't truly say that, but I can, with certainty, say it was not the wrong decision.

I remember, between moments of mourning and relief, thinking that perhaps it was less about what I really wanted and more about what I had romanticized my return to be. I wanted so much for Korea to be the same place I remembered it to be and I think part of the problem was that it was.

So I waited for the plane to leave Japan and deliver me to the home I've escaped from and returned to many times before. Falling asleep in the uncomfortable airline seats, feeling particularly in a moment of crass plagiarism, I beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

Part 4: With a Little Help From My Friends OR, Sorry I've withheld this portion for a while

2011-03-19T16:40:00.000-07:00

August 28, 2010

"I Will Go Quietly" -Shivaree

The evening and my sleep passed as quickly as it could, considering the lack of a mattress, blanket or dry accommodations. Once more I hoped that I would look again, and everything would be fine as it did in my dream, or at least bearable. Then the smell of mildew hit me again.

Without leaving my boxspring bed, I began rolling all of the arguments possible building a pro/con list in my head taking into account that many people have it much worse than I do. Regardless of what my liberal guilt said, that argument held water until I looked at my formerly checked luggage, now in half an inch of water. After thinking a little harder on that list I realized how insulted I felt, and like so many Americans before me, I reacted to insult with anger. It was time for me to leave.

Since there was no WiFi connection anywhere I could find, I left my laptop packed along with the rest of my belongings and went off in search of a PC bang (room). I did remember seeing many on my way to the subway the night before, so it wouldn't be difficult to find one. Or so I thought.

It was only seven in the morning, I only had about three hours of sleep and I hadn't a single clue how I was going to get to the airport because I had no way to get ahold of anyone that had a car; A taxi would be in the hundred dollar range, so that would be a last resort; and the subways most certainly would be more of a headache with my luggage to even get me in affordable taxi range. All problems I would worry about when necessity declared itself.

Right, PC Bang. Easy to find I'd wager. Well, perhaps not so much. I rifled through my change to get the requisite 500won piece to pay for half an hour and found this to be the first difficult task. Going to an ATM was out of the question, as apparently my bank was deciding to hold onto my money for a little while since I tried using it the night before (yes, I called and did an in person appearance to let them know where I'd be). My needs were many at this point:

1. Check my e-mails and other contacts with the rest of the world.

2. Book plane tickets.

3. Somehow rip the bank a new one for screwing up again.

By the end of the day I would have succeeded at two of three.

The first couple of places I came to had the steel gates shut despite the five or six exhausted looking school children inside playing what looked to be some iteration of WoW or Guild Wars. The next place I stopped in took me up a couple of stairwells in a back alley where I was handed an access card and hand lotion... I stopped and thought about the ramifications of this and kindly returned the articles to the matronly ajuma in favor of continuing my search over momentary gratification.

An hour later I followed a bewildered young man with hipster glasses and a Starcraft 2 t-shirt into his shop. I think he was less worried about the following and more worried about the layer of sweat and crazed look in my eyes. He brought me an orange soda later. It was probably an offering to appease me not to bring my American fury onto other customers or him after witnessing the angry IMing that went on between me and bank support.

I stoically started reading e-mails of support as my father, like clockwork, circulated news of my impending return across much of the family. Finally, it occurred to me that my friend Ev was still living around Seoul. A hop, skip and keystroke through facebook and I was set to meet up with her in hopes that she would be able to persuade me to stay.

Digging the change out, I scrounged together the amount in 100, 50 and 10 piece coins, much to the dismay of the attendant with the hipster glasses and Starcraft 2 shirt and was on my way to Itaewon to kill time before meeting up with Evelyn. I decided to take a portion of the startup fund the school had given me to get around for a while with the promise that I would return it before, if, I left and was off to the subway for the long sojourn that was more familiar to me than most highways in Wisconsin.

"Bucephalus Bouncing Ball" -Aphex Twin

Watching the stops fly by, I attempted to navigate without using the subway map; A little test to see if I still knew my way around. This was a test that my nerves ruined and I had to cheat. I recognized the apprehensive stares as people got on and off the train attempting to avoid being in proximity to me, or, in the case of a couple old men, avoided being more than a foot away from me.

Two transfers and an uncomfortable conversation about American bowel movements later, I made it to Itaewon. This was a stop that I often dreaded when I had lived there four years previously. The constant barrage of drunken servicemen, tourists and oueguk wannabes made it one of the most hazardous places to be if you didn't know what you were doing. In cases like mine, it was even more dangerous if you knew what you were doing and for some insane reason wished to have a "pretty damned good" story to tell later. Between the inebriated, the solicitous and the ignorant, a well navigated evening could result in a faithful recreation of many pulp novels of the mid-20th century. Being a few years older now, I realized I wanted to have another adventure like nothing else. I'd find, thanks to Evelyn and the friends I'd meet later, that I would be on the receiving end of one such story, but not as the instigator or the observer. Instead I'd find myself the ignorant.

August 28-30, 2010

"With a Little Help From My Friends" -The Beatles

You'll have to forgive the vagueness with which I describe much the next leg of my odyssey. Some of it is to obscure events for protection; some of it is because the time spent could be summed up in two sentences; while some yet are simply forgotten for one reason or another. Regardless, from this point on, there's only one event that occurred on a specific night that I can recall with absent exactness (a phrase which will make sense later).

Ev and I met up outside of the subway, that I had memorized nearby landmarks years prior for ease of rendezvous such as this. Ev looked as though she had not changed since the last time I had seen her. It was nice to see her. At this point, it didn't occur to me that she'd be playing host for the rest of the weekend.

We went through a few familiar routines and went off to lunch. It wasn't exactly what I was hoping for as we were in Itaewon and the choices are slightly limited. By "limited" of course I mean the options are Western style food with burgers and pizza or Mediterranean food with kebobs and lamb dishes. We opted to get some burgers at a pub that, to this day, I can't remember the name of. I remember that it's down an alley, up a steep hill with dangerously designed concrete stairs and an Irish motif. I'm certain that within twenty minutes of this post being up Evelyn will have corrected me on twenty points, the name being one of them.

I was working on a limited amount of cash equaling, roughly 50USD. This was a promise I had made to myself seeing as I wasn't sure how much money I needed for a plane ticket if it became necessary. I was certain I was going to be leaving, but at this point I was hoping that the familiarity and promised joy of the diversity of Seoul would still change my mind. In light of this, I ordered the buffalo chicken sandwich and some kind of amber beer which I ate and drank slowly hoping to soak up the atmosphere. We spoke on many topics, attempting to catch up on four years of personal experiences and gossip.

We ventured back to Ev's apartment to wait for an evening out and relax. I looked around and wondered at the comparatively palatial accommodations with the narrow hallways, kitchen, windows... dry floors.

We ended the night at a nice little pub where I met several of Ev's friends. Wonderful folk with whom I shared this evening enjoying new faces in a vinyl record themed room with a long bar and multitudes of giggling expatriates straight out of college just happy to be away from their respective homelands.

Sitting alongside this gathering of young travelers I became uncomfortably aware of my receding hairline and growing annoyance with the the youthful energy that surrounded me. Was I really getting that much older? Was I cut out for this kind of adventure anymore? Did four years really make that much of a difference? I pondered on these questions for a good amount of time, making my companions increasingly uncomfortable with the fashion in which I ponder things.

As an explanation to the oddity with which my family ponders:

My father talks to himself conversationally

My mother looks at random objects intensely as though the answer is inside

Matt stares at his lap occasionally looking up at the ceiling

Alex blanks out with an intensity as though the answer relies on his absolute stillness

I stare at an unseen computer screen momentarily paging through imaginary files

(Think Gary from Alphas)

After not liking any of the files, or simply not liking the answers coming up, I decided to join the party. What brought me to was offering of a true Flaming Sambuca. For those of you unfamiliar with the practice, the objective is to take the bittersweet liquor in one shot, keep it in your mouth and have a friend light it as you stare at the ceiling with your mouth open, sambuca pooled up like the birdbath monster from Gary Larsen's Farside. All this is done with the hope that you don't burn the inside of your mouth, or as I'm prone to do, burn off your eyelashes.

Stepping forward to the next day, I woke up on Evelyn's couch as I was still not in the mood to go back to my apartment. Evelyn seemed more than happy to continue playing host. It was difficult to decipher moods as the shock of travel and disappointment of assignment was still making me woozy. However, we made our way through the next day to the next night, when I met more people from all over the world as we used the great equalizing agent of drink and conversation to get to know each other. Unfortunately, that same agent causes people to act in odd, sometimes violent ways.

"Street Fighting Man" -The Rolling Stones

We returned to the Irish pub in which I had eaten the first complete meal of my trip where we shared many of the familiar clear, bulbous pitchers of inexpensive beer. Again, I was meeting many fun and friendly people, sometimes not in the same person.

Suddenly, as I went to get some more beer, I noticed a group of guys talking about New Jersey. I looked over and was immediately able to identify them. Not to continue any stereotypes, let's pretend they were talking about Ontario. Regardless, I could identify by the level of intoxication and the general postures, we'd be revisiting these fellows as the night went on. Attempting to mind my own business I took the beer back to the heavy, wooden tables which we had moved to fit our party.

Exchanging pleasant conversation with a couple of the guys I became increasingly aware of the previously mentioned guys from "Ontario" getting louder. One moment, I was sitting listening to the growing argument with one ear and the other conversation about soccer and rugby, two sports with which I associate personal, nasal injury, the next moment, the training that Josh had given me propelled me to my feet quickly moving towards the "Ontarian" argument which had escalated to wrestling across the bar and to the floor. I noticed that one of my rugby enthusiast friends had already flanked to the other side of the fight. Apparently he had the same "stand up" conditioning that I had gotten in the past few years.

We moved in quickly from both sides to break up the fight and began the process of physically ejecting the combatants who were so far gone that they didn't even realize the situation they were in. Just then, a very large employee of the bar stepped in pushing us off. The two of us watched carefully from afar unconsciously looking like bouncers as he pointed out the finer points of polite interaction to the pair. We both grew rather agitated as we watched them go back to the bar and order more drinks. The rest of the night was mildly tainted by the fact that they stayed in the bar after we were chided for trying to do the bouncer's job.

At this point I realized I wasn't going to be able to make it back to the apartment with the intention of figuring out how to make it back to the airport in time to get a ticket, so I was destined for another day of contemplation and revelry with Evelyn.

I started the next evening with full intention to leave in time to make the subway. An endeavour which was not to be met with success.

We began the evening at a larger hof sitting along the open wall along the street people watching, talking of many things, chief among them my decision to leave. Evelyn and a couple of our friends who had joined us at this point made many compelling arguments that I should stay. Every one of which was countered by the image of my luggage being kept off the ground in interest of keeping them dry. Many other options were presented including possible jobs at private schools in Seoul. All of which were countered by the amount of trouble presented by paper work and bureaucratic entanglement. In hindsight though, much of my argument was fueled by the irrational insult I felt and the entitlement I believed was due to my level of experience and education. I decided to put the argument out of my mind So I could just enjoy the company and scenery. One by one, our party grew and moved forward; deeper into the city.

We were sitting at a Family mart eating instant noodles when the decision to get a real dinner at a Chinese restaurant. It was at this point too that I realized that once again I had missed the train and wouldn't be making it to the airport early in the morning. However, I was on my last few dollars. The rest of the startup fund was sitting on the desk in Geumchon. This combination meant, I had to leave on Tuesday. Regardless of what would happen Monday night, I was going to either stay indefinitely or leave completely.

Eating in a Korean setting is always an interesting experience. The Chinese food provided a nice back drop as order after order kept coming. Along with it, bottle after bottle of soju kept coming as well. A bounty of Korean drink was eagerly consumed as we played all the different games that I missed so much after four years of boring American settings where the only objective is to drink and listen to bad music where there isn't even chance for conversation, much less organized games. The downside to these games is that they genuinely take your mind off of the level of intoxication and the types of alcohol put in front of you.

The games continued until a new bottle came out at the suggestion of one of the guys, whose name I never quite caught. It was a black bottle shaped like bell with only a red star standing in for a label. It was foreboding enough that the girls decided it was their time to say goodnight. Unaware of the time, I thumbed the directions to get into Evelyn's apartment while I contemplated staying out making it a guys' night. We continued the game with the stand in bottle.

With each round of the game the room got a little darker, until I could not perceive any light or sound. It's at this point that the night ended for me, but my participation did not.

Part 3: 1,000 Steps OR, The Beginning of the End

2011-01-01T10:22:00.000-08:00

The sun woke me through the small window outside of the laundry nook. I looked at the muted light through frosted sliding door and began to wonder. Did things just look bad in the monsoon season haze and my jet lagged depression? The mildew smell was no longer unbearable and the mess seemed to have been exaggerated in my head. All in all, I was excited to start my first full day back in South Korea.

I slipped over just a little ways to grab the TV remote off the desk and turned on the cable I had previously thought to be non-existent. South Korea's version of A&E was playing a musical that fused modern dance and traditional dance from the Jeju island region. Not much in the mood for dance I started surfing until I found a station playing Live Free, or Die Hard and planted watching Bruce Willis carry that annoying "I'm a Mac" pratt through the movie.

There was a little bread in the fridge, so I munched on that shortly before I decided to get moving (there was a lot to do).

Just like the rest of the apartment, I had only imagined how awful the bathroom was. So, I dug through my luggage, pulled the travel case of soaps and cleaned the flight off.

Emerging from the basement level of the apartment building, the sun was warm and the streets were busy. It was the Korea I had remembered. The street vendors were inviting me to eat various meats on sticks, little kids were looking up at me in amazement and I had a craving for shabu-shabu. But shabu-shabu would be saved for dinner.

I ordered bbq chicken on a stick from an old lady in a tiny stall on the corner of the rotary and continued exploring my neighborhood. There was the small market that Christina had pointed out to me the day before. I managed to find my way to the hospital where I was to go and get my health check on Monday. It was shaping up to be a good day.

Walking down the street with my chicken on a stick I noticed something unusual. My father standing across the street. I dismissed it as ridiculous and utterly improbable. What would my father be doing in Korea so I turned and continued my conversation with the late Groucho Marx about theoretical physics and it's application to Wile E. Coyote. I saw my father again. This time he was beckoning to me.

In the typical fashion of crossing the street in South Korea, I put my head down, pretended not to care about the speeding vehicles mere inches from me while keeping a sharp eye out for any careening out of control, as they are wont to do. Suddenly, a mid-sized Kia blazed past me laying on the horn creating that growing and fading siren sound and everything went white.

August 27, 2010 6:30pm

"Innocent When you Dream" -Tom Waits

One eye opened when the car horn echoed past my alley facing, port hole. I could feel the zipper of my jacket pressing into my right cheek. The smell of mildew was stronger than I had remembered and the monsoon rain hadn't abated, it was just darker with the approach of night.

I wanted to go back to sleep and hope that it would all look better tomorrow morning, but my body was letting me know it was time to eat. Furthermore, I needed to clean and at the very least buy bedding. I was going to get the best sheets you could possibly hope to put on two box springs with no mattress.

The rain wasn't as bad as before, so I put the umbrella away and hooded myself. The glass window walls on the shop down the street which were pristine on the way into town had already been defaced with graffiti. The empty spray paint cans were still on the ground in front of them. The rain was streaming the paint more than it usually would making the signatures and phrases unreadable.

The market that had been pointed out to me was more or less empty so I thought I'd take the moment to get some groceries and, of course, bed sheets. I wasn't entirely certain that they would have any padding for a bed, but I was going to look. There wasn't a lot of hope for it, but I remained cautiously optimistic.

An old lady, about two heads shorter than me, came barreling at me using a chiding tone. Never having learned enough Korean to understand more complex phrases like "Go away" or "we're closed," her pushing me back out the door told me all I needed to know.

Outside, walking towards the rotary, I thumbed through my coins trying to get enough for subway fare before realizing that I had no clue where the station was. Luckily, street signs were aplenty and it wasn't difficult finding it --- forty five minutes later. This was quite a change from my last apartment as I only had to walk thirty seconds before I got there, so I was pretty unhappy so far, especially because my co-teacher had told me that it was "not far at all." Another realization hit me, I didn't have anywhere I was looking to go that night.

It struck me that I should probably find out where my school was. Using the change that I had set aside to get on my subway ride to gods know where, I stepped onto the bus that I had been told would take me to my new school, something I was loathe to do. Buses in Korea are always, at best, unpredictable. You never know who you're sitting next to (who could do some wacky thing like hit you as hard as can be with a hand bag), the space is extremely confined (and being 6'2" and 200 lbs makes that worse) and the driver often times drives like a PCP hopped NASCAR driving with a pygmy marmoset sealed into his long johns. Yeah, it's that good of a time, but I'd have to take the bus for the next year or get a car, so I had to get on it at some point.

Speeding past stop after stop I began thinking of that scene in Harry Potter and the Curling Team of Merlin or whatever it was called while waiting for my stop. I listened intently, while trying not to disturb the old lady next to me for fear of the hand bag at her side, which I swear had ball bearings loaded to the top. After about an hour it became apparent to me that my pathetic grasp on Korean had fallen into disrepair. I was told it was only forty minutes away. Just as I was about to pull the cord to stop at the next corner to turn around I heard the word for high school.

The rain had stopped and only an uncomfortable humidity mixed with a scent of food waste replaced it. I looked around in the dark and saw no buildings that could be defined as looking school like. Attempting to resume my dwindling optimism despite being a little disheartened at my school being a half hour walk to the bus and an hour bus ride to the school, I began to walk --- for another fifteen minutes before I reached a large gated building that looked vaguely like a prison you'd see in Ghost Hunters or a Stephen King novel. Perhaps it was just the dark. I looked for the name of the school on a bronze plate mounted on one of the gates when it hit me, I just spent over an hour and a half getting to work.

Imagining getting up three hours before school just to assure I made it in time or, as Christina had put it, the time that would be better, I added up everything that was working against me. Location, apartment, health concerns, comfort, pay and treatment. I realized I was being taken advantage of. They put me in a rural school but put my apartment in a city. I can really only guess that this was an attempt to not pay me rural benefits: Food, transportation, higher pay. Why would they not give me better accommodations after the previous teacher left in such a hurry.

The bus stop where I waited another half an hour seemed like a good place to contemplate my situation as a pack of stray dogs paced back and forth in front of me playing the primal hunting games they remembered in their genetics from when they had larger teeth and bigger frames. It occurred to me that perhaps I made the wrong choice coming back.

I made the long journey back to Geumchon trying to figure out what my next step would be. I went to a store, picked up an international phone card and looked everywhere for a payphone. Unfortunately, just like the US, Korea has been fully inundated with cell phones and they were becoming a thing of the past. Fortunately, another expatriate passed by me who just so happened to have an internet phone. I called my dad to let him know that I was going to hop on the next plane I could. I was surprised by the lack of disappointment on his end, mainly because of the amount of disappointment I had in myself.

Sitting in my basement apartment, I looked out my small ventilation window in the laundry room at the spinning barber poles and neon crosses listening to the night sounds of the city. Much like 2006 I curled my chin close to my knees and began to cry. Then it was because I wanted to go home, this time it was because I didn't actually want to leave. I took one more look up at glowing red cross and mumbled to myself, "I failed."

Part 2: Arrival OR, Troubled travels, troubled homes and troubled dreams

2010-11-11T23:10:00.000-08:00

August, 27 2010 2:00pm

"Highway One" -Dead Rock West

... Mr. Paek's SUV sped down the highway sealed in favor of the air conditioning aiding in the nap I was told by Christina to take. During the hour and a half drive I woke up long enough to see the familiar sights of Seoul's surrounding cities and despite the bouncy, and seemingly air headed and immature woman I'd be working with for the next year, I was excited. Excited to be back in Korea and at the prospect of earning real money again. I would soon see my friends again and be around people that shared similar backgrounds, yet from world's apart, to me.

In one of my moments of awareness she turned to look at me in the back seat and see what must have been an odd view to her. I can't imagine the last time she had a white man, over six feet tall with jaw full of facial hair in her back seat sitting straight up with one eye half asleep and the other looking wildly at his surroundings.

"I think..." she said uncertainly, "...that you will have good time because you are familiar to students."

I looked quizzically at her still unable to form complete sentences.

"What I mean, is you have dark hair and dark eyes." After a short evaluation she said, "I think you are Korean too." Without time for me to respond, "The students, will make you frustrated I think because English is not good to them. It is not that they are bored with you, they are bored with English."

I had heard all of this before, and I wasn't terribly concerned, I was just happy to be back. I wasn't going to let anything ruin that.

"I am apologizing because you will not have air con[ditioning]. The school has less money, and they could not buy for you."

South Korea in monsoon season is brutal. Not only is it raining all of the time, it is horrifyingly hot and sticky. What is commonly called AC here is called Air Con there, and almost everyone has it out of modernized necessity. Even the shop owner in my old neighborhood sat with his door open, a hand fan or folded newspaper constantly waving in his face and an electric fan between him and the air con pointed directly at his half unbuttoned shirt.

But that wasn't going to bother me either. Be off putting, yes, but not bother me.

A little longer into the ride, in another one of my moments of clarity, she turned to me and informed me that while I'd be teaching in Paju, my apartment would be in Geumcheon, which was why I didn't get the special pay a teacher would get for working in a rural area. Okay, that got under my skin a little bit, but that could be a grievance I'd talk about later. All I cared about was getting to what would be my dwelling for the next year.

The more we traveled North, the more familiar everything became. I started recognizing road signs, parallel subway tracks and skylines against the monsoon rain. We even passed through some of the larger districts where I used to shop that I recognized immediately. My head started creating foot maps of the shops and the neighborhoods.

Arriving in Geumcheon, Mr. Paek suddenly looked confused and asked his wife a question, to which she began shrilly instructing him to, as I understood, drive aimlessly around the city while she pointed at things to tell me what they are. We covered everything in the surrounding area aside from the two things I cared about at the moment: My apartment and the subway station.

"That is a PC room, where you can go online... there is the medical center where you will go tomorrow to get your health check for work... that is Family Mart... and another PC room... this is Christian church where you can go... that is PC room."

I did remember one of the things she showed me just before we got to my neighborhood which was the Geumcheon Rotary. Quite literally the hub of the city, I spent a good amount of time up there with my friends three years prior. It was from this point that we went off onto a side road which wound around into an alley, and from there we drove into an even smaller alley towards a dense population of four story apartment buildings where we stopped abruptly.

Sitting in the rain, not moving, I looked eagerly wondering which building was to be mine to terrorize or keep safe as I see fit. Where was it that I would be bringing friends back to for fabulous home cooked meals? Was that the place I'd be stumbling back to after a long night of soju punch bowls and cheap 4000cc pitchers of beer? Ah, that must be the structure to support my wild nights of debauchery cleverly disguised by the fact I have to get up for work in the morning.

My co-teacher was wondering the same thing too. She knew the approximate area, but had to make several panicked phone calls before pointing to our left, "That is where your apartment is."

I shifted to ready myself for a mad dash to the apartment building, "Mr. Paek does not like rain." she said to me putting one hand up. "We will wait until rain is finished."

I'm not sure if she was familiar with monsoon season, or if I had misunderstood it the last time I was living in Korea, but I was pretty sure that this rain would last sometime into October. As much as I relished the idea of sitting in an SUV in the alley of an alley for a month or so, I began getting antsy. But I humored them and sat back trying to look less anxious. After all, I was an old hand at this. There wasn't anything here I hadn't already seen.

Twenty minutes of sitting without conversation passed as we watched the rain. It passed rather painfully too. I wanted to get to my apartment and get on with my new life. Christina began squabbling at Mr. Paek in that stereotypical Korean girl, shrill attack as he sat slumped in his seat, slowly dropping his arms from the firmly crossed position on his chest. His head dropped in the universal sign that a significant other had just brow beaten him into doing something he didn't want to do.

August, 27 2010 4:30pm

"Little Black Mess" -Shivaree

Hurriedly, we got out of the car and dragged the luggage into the mailbox hallway. Christina put my backpack down and made another quick phone call with a relatively relaxed confusion.

"Your apartment is B3."

I looked down the dank stairway, "Oh great, the basement?"

"No. That is third floor."

I insisted that the prefix of B meant basement, but she was already halfway up the building's only stairwell with Mr. Paek in tow. I dropped my head in the same fashion I had seen just minutes earlier and dragged my bags, which seemed to be getting heavier by the minute, and began to ascend the stairs.

She and her husband were pacing the hallway trying to find B3 which they hypothesized was somewhere between 302 and 303. I dropped my packs and did one lap of the hall and then said, "I'll check downstairs."

Walking down the stairs I noticed the smell of mildew which I had missed earlier. I stood with hesitation on the last stair looking down the dark hallway that was somewhere between the first floor and Satan's breath. There was one light that flickered occasionally and the mildew smell was much stronger. I leaned around the corner, still on the stair to see four faint glows indicating that each door had a keypad lock.

As I took that final step off of the stair I turned my head "It's down here." I heard a splash as my boot submerged into a half inch of water. Looking along the wall, each half foot tall window had small streams of water flowing from the various cracks in the panes as well as the glass.

Christina and Mr. Paek, seemingly unaware of the river running through my hall bustled over to the door labeled B3. "Here is your code." She said punching four numbers into the keypad. A short midi jingle chimed out and the lock pulled open. Maybe, just maybe the apartment would be nice and well kept despite the hallway. Christina started to open the door and then turned to explain more about my health check to me.

"You will go to clinic tomorrow or Monday. Here is the number. Here is your door code. You will take the..." To be quite honest I zoned out shortly into the conversation as the water started to soak into my sock. The next thing that registered was walking into the apartment.

I stepped into the apartment leaving my boots behind in the puddle of water at the door stoop.

Dropping my bags in the entry way I realized there wasn't quite enough room to set my stuff down and walk. The whole apartment was roughly the size of and entertainment center. I'm not one to have a problem with size, what caught me was the fact that nothing had been cleaned since the last tenant.

"Administrative Lady was supposed to come and clean up." Christina said apologetically.

Looking around the apartment I'd say she had. I was expected to believe that the last English teacher who lived there mailed home all of his dishes and linens but didn't take home several back packs and expensive luggage.

Wandering the apartment I did the thing I normally do when moving: I started taking mental notes of what I needed to fix, or find a way around. Box spring instead of mattress; Refrigerator that is warm, freezer that's too cold - no temperature control; wardrobe/dressed - drawer track broken off; cracked gas line; and the list kept growing.

Christina started making phone calls and became more despondent with each one I perceived as a defeat. She decided it was time to change tactics. American's appreciate two things and those would be brass tacks and dinner.

I could see all the elementary punctuation in her speech. "You will come to work on Tuesday. The 600 bus takes to my school. It will take forty minutes. Be there by 8:20, but 8:10 is better. You have done this, so, you will have hour classes ready Tuesday..."

I interrupted, "What should it be about?"

She said a very familiar phrase from the frustrating job I had last time, "... Teach --- as you like."

I could feel my countenance dropping without control.

"There is no more money, so there is no air con for your apartment. Here is your 500,000 won (~$500) to start. I think you need to go buy bed sheets and dishes if you will eat and sleep."

Standing in the same spot that I stopped cold in for the conversation. I thought about reaching my arms out and touching the East and West walls at the same time. Then Christina nervously started talking again.

"Now we will eat dinner."

Jet lag makes me cranky, and I knew that this was my first impression, but I was not in any kind of mood to go to dinner. I gathered up a smile the same way a small child gathers firewood; not enough, but well intentioned. "Actually I need to take a nap." She looked quizzically at me "Sleep."

"But we will have dinner."

"No. Thank you, but I really cannot." Looking at the disappointment on her face, "I will get my new life prepared, and we can get dinner this week?" It seemed to placate her.

It was at this time that I noticed Mr. Paek had been digging around the apartment, and the more he looked at the apartment the more angry, for me I think, he got. He opened a dresser drawer, watched the front fall off. He looked in the freezer, and poked at the huge block of ice that was where open space should have been. He slammed it shut and without moving looked into the bathroom and sneered. It seemed that was the last straw so he went and waited in the hall peering in as though the room wasn't even good enough for him to stand in.

Christina thought for a minute, picked up a few of the things the previous tenant left, dropped them in a pile in the middle of the room, "Yes. You should nap and then awake, I think... You must clean much."

And with that she left me an umbrella and a hurt expression.

I sat on the edge of the bed, bundled my jacket up and used it as a pillow. I fell into a troubled sleep dreaming of airplanes, broken furniture and, oddly enough, unicorns.

Part 1: For Those of You Wondering OR, Remember that time I lived in Korea for a weekend?

2010-09-05T09:53:00.000-07:00

*Disclaimer: I will be using names under the assumption that if you're reading this, you know most of the people I'm talking about and promise that if you don't, eventually it will all become clear to you.

Years from now I will still be telling stories of my friends and daring exploits. Many, even today seem terribly fantastic and get many people to accuse me of fabrication or at the very least exaggeration. Some of my stories wind around until I get to a lesson I learned and wish to impart, but many of them are meant to entertain. I'm still not sure which of those stories I'll be telling when I tell the one that begins like this, "SO, remember that time I lived in South Korea for a weekend?"

August 29, 2007 - August 24, 2010

"To Morrow" -Jim Henson

The last three years of my life have been spent with obvious discomfort. It's always been punctuated after long nights spent out with Josh and Metta where I ended up at the Olympic Diner in Lake Geneva. Three years of me sitting in the same booth, looking at the same parade of alcohol and domestic abuse in different faces thinking to myself "a year ago... two years ago... three years ago at this time I was walking down the streets of Seoul eating vendor food surrounded by people from all walks of life and all corners of the Earth." So I told myself that I'd work hard, enjoy what time I had left in Walworth County and get back there once I saw the open door.

I worked, struggled and played for three years treating everything as the temporary stop that this was until the day finally came for me to get back on a Korean Airlines, non-stop flight to Seoul. The days grew longer and shorter, my excitement waxed and waned, I accumulated (not many, but some) very good friends and more, until finally I found my chance to get back to the place that had defined who I was at twenty-three after I had been the stage performer, hopeless romantic, resident assistant, paid actor, shattered romantic and mildly disappointing scholar.

I signed my contract and I was following all of the roadsigns that indicated I was on the right track. Many things happened that do warrant me telling stories of between then and now, but this story begins on ---

August 25, 2010

"Let Me Go" -Christian Kane

Finishing packing was difficult. This was partially because I didn't know what rules of luggage had changed since last time, I wasn't sure what I actually needed and I knew I'd have another night in a Chicago hotel to continue second guessing my choices on what to bring and what to leave behind. It was a difficult reality for me to face that I'd have to leave my PS3 behind and trust FedEx later, but I figured underwear to be more important than Uncharted (oddly pants weren't more important than Gears of War). I must have shifted my X-Box from checked to carry-on and back three times until I settled it in my carry-on.

Mom and Dad feverishly discussed how we would all stay in contact the entire drive while I stared out the car windows detached, only speaking when directly asked a question. I was excited, but at the same time I was (quite unexpectedly) feeling a slight reticence. It had occurred to me earlier that week that, since high school, I hadn't really built routines or even stayed in the same place for more than a year. There was Madison, but that hardly counts as staying in one place. Being a resident assistant is anything but routine setting material especially considering the lack of people truly interested in talking to me or that I was interested in talking to. I had finally spent three years, more or less, in the same place with the same people. But I was going back to my adventures, my calling, and that was worth the sacrifice.

We arrived at the hotel and took my luggage up to the room I'd be spending my last night in America for a long time in to find my one-day-roommate laying in his bed with one hand under the pillow, propping his head up and the other lazily channel surfing looking for whatever it is that twenty-two year old, recent grads watch (which turns out to be the reoccurring "Jersey Shore"). For the life of me I don't remember his name so we'll call him Steve.

My parents left, this time with no tears, gnashing of teeth or rending of garments like the last time and I stood in the hotel lobby with five minutes until the "orientation" was to start. I took a seat close to the front spilling ice water from the poorly designed water jugs all over my papers as I poured myself a glass. While cleaning I noticed something odd about the recent draft of my working contract. Where it was supposed to read 23,000,000 Won, it read 21,000,000. I figured it to be an oversight and that I'd correct the mistake after I'd settled in. I wasn't going to cause any problems or even worry myself and ruin my good mood.

We started the meeting a half an hour late which made me think "Ah, it will be nice to get back on Korean time." It was pretty much the same as last time, except instead of twelve of us there were about forty-two, and forty-one of us, including their nervous parents had a lot of questions --- for me. Our organizers had kept deferring to me and double-checking if the information they were supplying was really what it was going to be like since I was the rather rough looking, returning teacher after my three year hiatus. I was more than happy to answer questions, but I realized that what made the parents excited, bored the new teachers and what excited the new teachers, frightened their parents. All I could do was speak of my experiences, whether they were the good ones or the bad ones.

Then we had our specially made "Korean" dinner provided by the hotel and a local specialty chef, which consisted of three Chinese specialties, Sushi, one Korean entrée and kimchi. Unenthused by the meal I decided to wait for Josh to come get me so we could eat some good Cajun food later that night at Buddy Guy's Legends. Until that time, I hid from the nervous parents and their questions.

I'd like to say that there were lots of stories to be told about my time on the streets of Chicago beyond great food; a little blues; a crazy, homeless tour guide named Joe and a relaxing little jazz lounge, but Josh and I were so exhausted from moving my apartment and the marathon revelry we had participated in over the previous seventy-two hours that all we had energy to do was wander the streets of Chicago. It was worth mentioning though. Not many friends I've ever had would be willing to help me move and then come take me out in Chicago for my last night in town on top of the myriad of other things Josh has done for me over the past three years. I was glad that he was the last person of consequence I saw before leaving.

August 26, 2010

"Hello New Day" Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers

There were two different shuttles picking us up at the hotel to get us to O'Hare International. One was coming at 9:00 and the second at 9:50. I decided to get down to the lobby at 9:15 because I knew the first would be late and I'd either catch the tail end of that one's availability or I'd just catch the second one with the rest of us who don't wake up before noon unless we have to. So I moved my X-Box back into my carry-on one more time and went downstairs.

The lobby was so full I had to ask the front desk if I could leave my bags with them as I breezed my way past the escalatingly worried parents and my slightly terrified colleagues. Today was the day and the shuttle was late! Once more I became the guru because our travel organizer, Sun-Mi, wasn't answering her phone. I calmly explained that this was to be expected and the shuttle should be around soon, which was not the case.

9:40 was when I began to think we had been forgotten. However, it was 9:45 when I realized that one of the parents had become overly concerned at 9:05 and told the hotel to call the town cars.

Roughly, three by three we were taken to O'Hare International in a rather inconsequential fashion with me taking up the rear after making sure that everyone got in a car safely and no bags were left behind. Call me crazy, but I did feel a tinge of responsibility for these folks who had no guidance besides me.

Despite the rather lackluster way our organizers had forgotten us, I did speak with the driver, who was Korean, about the differences between English and Korean as he, in the typical Korean nature, questioned my ability to eat spicy food, and despite me saying that I had lived in Goyang for a year already warned me that Korean food is very different from American food.

Quite surprisingly there was nothing remarkable about the time spent at O'Hare aside from a friendly security guard who wanted to hook my X-Box up to one of the announcement screens and go get the copy of Madden he had sitting in his work locker and an overly friendly, portly Korean-American married to one of the other teachers recognizing the SG-1 hat Dana had given me for the trip and an overpriced Pepsi that almost made me late for departure. Pepsi, can you believe it? Maybe if it were Coke it'd be a story worth telling.

Our ticket stubs were taken, our seats were clearly marked, the fasten seatbelt sign went on, the attendants showed all of us how to safely die in the event on a crash landing and I closed my eyes in preparation of thirteen and a half hours on a plane.

Somewhere between August 26, and August 27, 2010

"The Realness of Space" -Bob Schneider

Korean Airlines really has some of the best amenities I've ever seen on a standard 747. Each seat comes equipped with a private screen where you can choose your movie, video game or even just watch a map with a little plane animated into it showing exactly what part of the ocean you'll crash into if the plane goes down. Two very good meals are provided as well as a great assortment of... well, let's just call it what it is: an open bar.

I had said my goodbyes to people, so the time on the plane that would usually, for most people, be allotted for regrets, second thoughts and worries was used for entertainment and boredom relief. Interestingly enough, all of the nervous, recent grads I had taken under my charge seemed to feel the same way, especially the three sitting two rows ahead of me. We'll call them Tom, Dick and Jane because I don't remember their names either and the ones I was calling them in my head might offend those with a weak stomach.

Since my movie and dinner choices would simply bore those who aren't either movie enthusiasts or airline cuisine fetishists, it'd be best to move straight onto lights somewhere over Alaska.

There is a certain wisdom in modesty when drinking, especially at very high altitudes. That's why I started with the Japanese beer, Kirin premium instead of whiskey. It's also why I decided to only have one drink every two hours. Eventually I started getting cramped, bored and in need of amusement, preferably amusement that involved leaving my seat. Such amusement came in the form of leaning against my seat in front of the attendants' stand sipping on drinks talking to my next-seat neighbor which just so happened to be Steve. I didn't realize until that moment just how tall and lanky Steve is, which was another reason for me to be standing, other than the atrophy my legs began to suffer after seven hours.

Suddenly, Dick needed to use the bathroom. Seeing as he was in the window seat, had a few to drink and was a door knob wearing a sideways poker visor, he launched himself to a crouching position in his seat and proceeded to stand up on his arm rests, ramming his head full speed into the carry-on compartment. He didn't seem to notice and I found myself torn on the reason why. It might have been the alcohol, the hair helmet or the fact that Madison lets most anyone get a degree from them these days. In two strides on his neighboring arm rests I was amused by his face first effort to cop a feel on the girl in the center section, aisle seat. I was less amused though, at the Korean village mentality clumping him with the rest of us, which I discovered when I wasn't allowed another whiskey sweet.

"Excuse me, m'am. Could I get another drink?" holding my plastic cup aloft.

"No." The young stewardess said without thought.

"I'm sorry? Are we out?"

"You have had enough. The people," she said pointing to the back of the plane "complained about your friends."

Not to be outdone by drunk college kids, "But you can tell we're alright." I said indicating me Steve and our row neighbor.

She looked around nervously as I cocked my head to one side and smiled to the other, then she bustled off. Confused by the abrupt end of the conversation I turned back to me mile high friends just as she came back with three more cups that weren't what we were drinking since she swiped them off of someone else's order, but were just as good. "Here. But if you please stay quiet."

Quickly, Tom, Dick and Jane ordered more drinks, but apparently weren't as charming as me and Steve. In fact, you could hear them be not charming all the way to the back of the plane before they passed out in their seats.

There was some peace on the plane, and I wasn't in the mood to drink or be entertained, so I took off my boots, stowed them beneath my seat and attempted to sleep.

August 27, 2010

"The Way" -Fastball

Waking up to turbulence is never a good thing. That first drop of twenty feet really can make for an unsettling feeling when you wake up. Much like that feeling when you're just about to fall asleep and your leg twitches making you shoot up with an adrenaline rush. Only when you remember where you are do you calm down. Not when turbulence shakes you. There's a good amount of time where you're unsure if the plane is just dropping, or if it's really dropping.

I shook myself out of it when the pilot told us, in four different languages, that we were approaching Incheon International and would be landing shortly. I quickly went to my crash location map to see if that was true. It turns out, that I slept through us missing the airport and looping back around somewhere over the Yellow Sea. There were a few angry businessmen, but for the most part, everyone seemed okay with it.

Getting out of the plane and through the terminal I blended into the crowd of confused English Teachers trying to see if anyone else would take charge. Instead, we huddled through the airport, more or less they way bees will surround, and move with a queen, staring up and out of the cascading glass walls as we descended an escalator to claim our bags. One by one, my hive peeled off and disappeared out the comparatively, poorly guarded exits to another escalator and glass wall where we could see everyone waiting at the gate.

Carrying my burden of luggage I poured over the faces waiting and lithely read the name placards held in front of eager faces of co-teachers coming to assure that their new co-worker made it home comfortably and safely. Many, if not most, of them were made with care and had an almost professional sheen to them as they displayed full names, perfectly hand written or designed by true graphic artists. I began looking for names that could be construed as "Tim" or "Timothy" or "Tim Beringer" or dare it to be, "Timothy C. Beringer."

The closer I got to floor level the more feverishly I read the signs and the more maniacal the co-teachers' faces seemed to be. "Tim W." "Timothy Staten" "Timothy L. Johnson" even one adorably written with stars and a teddy bear reading "Timmy".

I continued my placard and visage search all the way through the gate exit and found the Gyeonggi school board representative with a checklist and I eagerly told her my name, possibly hoping she would bring me to a well heeled, professional educator with my name written in standard style who would greet me with a care package and full curriculum plan. The plan would be carefully written and well thought while the smell of fresh kimchi would waft from the care package beckoning me back into my old life.

She would be caring, but not so much as to be smothering. Ready to take me to what would be my new home for a year, a modest studio apartment on the top floor of a twenty story high rise with a comfortable roll for a bed and a simple kitchen, she would smile. Her greeting would be modern, but tinged with the old world tradition as she told me how wonderful it was to meet me.

Her husband would be with her, the eager, doting man he is, having taken the day off from his busy schedule at the office to welcome their foreign friend, but would still be dressed well in two parts of a three piece suit carefully ironed. He would ask the few English phrases he knows, "How are you?" "Are you married?" "What is your blood type?" "Do you like baseball?"

Perhaps I was delusional.

She put one hand in the air and shouted something that finished with "... Ber-in-jaa ieyo."

Suddenly a young woman dressed in a brightly colored cardigan came bounding out of the crowd shouting in the excited ESL monotone "Hello hello hello hello hello... hi!"

I remembered spotting her from the escalator praying that her placard was not for me.

Approaching with a barely contained enthusiasm, she bounced up and down waving as she held the name placard just under her nose like Stimpy with his new copy of Don't Whiz on the Electric Fence which read "TiMOtHy" in uncertain, multicolored crayon strokes on green construction paper.

"Hello! My name is Christina!" She said in a very calm tone attempting to control herself. "You are Tim. I will work with you until the next year."

I remembered my customary greetings as I bowed and said "Anyong haseyo. Beringer Tim ieyo. Gomup sumnida." Which I remembered to mean "Hello (respectfully). I am Tim Beringer. It is very nice to meet you."

Letting out a squeal as she waved wave the construction paper around, "You speak Korean!"

Before I could answer to this accusation she grabbed a disheveled looking man about a head shorter than her wearing a striped white and blue dress shirt that looked like it had been just purchased, but worn with the discomfort of sack cloth. "This is my husband. He is Mr. Paek."

Upon hearing his surname the befuddled and obviously nervous man conjured a smile, a slight bow and then a quick handshake remembering that American's don't bow.

"We will drive to your house now, because you are tired." she said gripping my arm and taking my back pack from me. In the same motion she handed Mr. Paek my wheeled carry on pack as I carried the remaining 150 pounds.

Being dragged out of the airport, I looked to the rain outside and watched in backward glances as the exit gate grew farther and farther away.

I watched Shrek 4, Iron Man 2, Clash of the Titans and ten minutes of Kick Ass. I ate baked airline chicken, a fruit cup and bibimbop.

Aurora Disappointment OR, the triumphant return that no one asked for.

2010-03-11T20:23:00.000-08:00

SO, I had to take a road trip today to Aurora. We all know what this means; I had to drive through Illinois and in correlation we also know that it means I've come home in something resembling a bad mood, but not really a negative mood. Driving in Illinois is an exercise in amused frustration for me. I get very worked up and then slightly crazy with a foul mouth.

However, I'm not prone to fits of anti-semitic epithets. If you can consider negative generalizations about people from a different state to be racism, then I suppose most of what came from my mouth today could be considered racial slurs, but somehow I don't think it counts.

I'm not sure how many people are familiar with what it takes to get from Williams Bay, WI to Aurora, IL, so let me illustrate my one hour and fifty minute (each way) journey.

To fully appreciate my feelings towards driving in Illinois we have to step all the way back to my sophomore year of college when I had a job in Dundee, IL taking pictures of little kids with Santa. It was there that I learned the entertainment value of little kids howling in terror as "dead-eye Dave" tried in vain to look inviting and that people driving in Illinois will stop for no apparent reason and turn with even less warning. I also learned that it only takes 5 mph and the bumper of a Maxima to completely fold the front end of an Aerostar. But that's not the story I'm telling.

I departed from Wisconsin around ten thirty and, in the same fashion as when I enter Milwaukee county in a car, felt the world shrink and my Lost in Space warnings begin repeating in my head. The world shrinking could have been a product of the Panera coffee that seemed to be coming from a half barrel I was unaware of that kept refilling my travel mug. In a place where people don't seem to recognize driving etiquette and the state doesn't feel the need to take care of the streets, post proper signs of speed or locations, but have no problem with signs pointing you towards the historic Wild West restaurant, being completely wired on coffee from urns that haven't been cleaned since Florida's electile dysfunction is an extremely dicey proposition.

Now, I was already under stress from the hurried nature to go hand over an inflated amount of money to make sure that I don't have to trust my future to the brain-donors at my institute of "higher education," but adding the head rush without the energy that Panera coffee offers me makes it that much more hazardous to everyone's health.

To interrupt the story, I do have to say that it is damned considerate of Troy Duffy to put a musical cue in the director's cut of Boondock Saints letting us know that there's a new scene coming up. However, the fact that I have the music from that movie memorized and that I can identify when there's a guitar overlay that wasn't in the original speaks volumes to my capacity for useless information.

Which reminds me, I did see Boondock Saints: All Saints Day and never really got the chance to sound off about it. As I understand it, Duffy is a pain to work with, and by "pain" I mean unbearable. When watching this film, it shows. If you're looking closely, and even casually, you can tell when someone was fired/quit/ disappeared from the production. The cinematography was inspirationally bad. He tried too many things that didn't fit with the style of the script and acting that ruined a lot of the experience. On top of it the script was an entire festival of "remember when we did this on the first one? ...yeah, that was a good movie wasn't it."

Driving in Illinois, right -

I do have some preconceived notions about Illinois and I'm sure that hyper-sensitizes my perception of what's going on around me, but driving for roughly two hours in the rain, pounding awful coffee will make anyone disoriented. I knew that my head was going south when I started looking at city names (which are only displayed on banks and hardware stores) and found myself feeling antagonized. Places named Marengo, Coral and Batavia were mocking me as the feeling left my thighs. When I thought it couldn't be much worse I noticed Pingree Grove. I couldn't wait to get back to sensible names like Manitowoc and Waukesha.

On top of all that I get extremely bored extremely fast so my mind wanders. After being on the road for just over an hour I began wishing there were some adult book stores in view of the highway. Not so I could go it and patronize the shops, but so I could simply ponder what it would be like to go in. Genuinely, I had no desire to go shopping for intimate apparel; after all, going there for me would be like wearing a tux to walk the dog; I just figured it would be entertaining to try and imagine what the inside of them would be like. It might be some loose wires somewhere in my head, but I enjoy hypothesizing what I'd find when I step through the beaded curtains every movie has at the entrance to a store that deals in fantasy.

Would there be the idealized philosophical and beautiful woman who is working there more as a method of self-expression who utters nothing but golden pontifications causing me to fall irrevocably in love or would I be greeted by a ponderous man wearing a gravy and sweat stained tank-top eating a chili dog admonishing me to "take a good, long look around" and to ask his expert opinion about any of the products? You never know! Unfortunately, there were none, so I had to settle for Borders on my way back home.

I get a very loving feeling when I walk into supermarket sized book stores. It's kind of like listening to Al Green, Barry White or Black Sabbath. The smell of the pages, the sensation of running my hands across the spines of random books, the smiles from the employees who want me to read the same crappy "young adult" novels about vampires, wizards and adolescent detectives they're reading elicits a wide grin from me.

While hunting for volumes of mythical creatures and good bathroom reading material I looked down and noticed the oddest bit of associative book filing I've ever seen.

These two books were right next to each other on a bottom shelf by the help desk. For a moment I considered purchasing both and doing a comparative analysis, then I decided, like most American's would have, that I'd take a picture and post it on my blog. So I took out my phone and crouched down.

In an urgent voice the woman at the desk exclaimed, "Oh no! Don't take pictures of the products. We're not allowed to do that!"

It wasn't in a chiding or disapproving way. She said it with genuine concern and an undercurrent of terror like the feeling I get when I catch someone putting Indiana Jones and Kingdom of Crystal Skull in a DVD player.

I was so caught off guard that in a concerned tone, "Oh my god! I've already taken the picture... I'll delete it right away."

She warned me with such earnest that after deleting this golden picture all I could think was thank god she was there and I walked away feeling lucky that I hadn't taken any pictures of the merchandise.

After such a jarring experience, all I can think to settle myself is this picture.

When driving for as long as I had been, in an area full of imagined hostility and hazards, each intersection becomes an attack on my senses. At one point I found myself praying for either the Galena intersection or a full blown psychotic break, whichever would come first and offer merciful relief.

I eventually made it to Aurora University thinking how nice it would be to be back on a true university campus and, as the website refers to it, a "metropolitan area." Accepting that disappointment, I sauntered into the registrar's office. I had to saunter because all of the coffee pressing on my bladder in concert with the permanent nerve damage in my legs from the vibrations of poor road work and a rumbling engine made it so I couldn't do much besides walk like I just got off a horse. Further disappointment came to me when there was no parade or fanfare when I arrived. After driving for that amount of time with my imagination that's what I was hoping for. I expected it and all I got was a woman who politely laughed at my jokes and handed me a stack of envelopes after taking my money... not even a kazoo.

Seven Pomegranate Seeds OR, Ranting about living space, self and relationships

2009-09-04T18:01:00.000-07:00

SO, back at Caribou because I kind of feel like ranting in a public forum. They've already talked me down from the table, so I decided to just sit and write instead. It's always iffy when I rant about how I feel though. People read this, as is the intention, and it becomes a Carly Simon song. and people end up pissed at me. Believe it or not, there actually is a lot going on in my life, it might be about you, it might not be about you. Chances are if it is about you, I've already talked to you about it, so it shouldn't be a big ol' shock.

Secondly, there's no guarantee it'll make me feel better. I really would like to feel better after letting loose all the built venom, but it's always 50/50 on that front. Either I'll feel better, or it'll be hell for anyone who sees me in the following 24 hours. However, I like to think that when I rant I give people things to think about. It is about me, but in the same way a motivational speaker talks egocentrically, except mine are usually less based in fiction than motivational speakers. Which is funny since I'm obsessed with escapist fantasy.

I need to get started though, so let's talk about my new apartment.

Accommodations

I've finally gotten fairly settled into my new apartment and it only took me a week and a half. The original plan was to find a roommate and split the rent, but after remembering what it was like to live on my own, I'm not so sure that's a stellar idea. Of course if Jason were still planning on coming out this direction I'd gladly turn my study into his bedroom, that's right, I have a study. It's not done yet. That's really the only part that doesn't look the way I want it to. Still needs a good desk and some bookshelves. I'm thinking of getting a stuffed animal, cutting off the head and mounting it on the wall above a fake fireplace.

It's not the most original place as it's a simple two bedroom apartment with a kitchen, walk in pantry and a full bathroom. Real crackerjack stuff to be honest, but I'm making it interesting. For truth I'm relieved that I can put my Sean Connery poster up where it's supposed to be. I think a few of you know where that is.

Which reminds me, each of the rooms have their own purpose, hence their own theme.

Kitchen: Not much to tell, it's a kitchen so I have my hot sauces displayed and various other cooking stuffs.

Porch: Oh yeah, forgot to mention that I have a porch. It's shared, but still, it's nice. Well, that one has a Gothic/plant theme. My mother kindly provided me with greenery on top of the plants I liberated from Silo House as well as the euphorbia (Look it up, it's hard to explain) Matt and Sara got me for my birthday. Then on the window sills I have my gargoyles Wayne and Bruce. Pretty soon I'll be putting up a dollar store crow. Still trying to find a name for him.

Living Room: Fully intended for entertainment and socialization so the seating is all focused on the entertainment system, but retains an inward curve for conversation with the guests that I will probably never have. Then my movies and video games are prominently displayed as well as the movie posters.

Bedroom: This is the room intended to refresh me. Therefore it's theme is reflection and self. I'm in the process of putting up keepsakes from my life and travels like metro maps and such. It's cliche I know, but hell, there's a reason for cliches. Besides, my bed is finally comfy again. None of those sanatorium style mattresses for me anymore.

Study (second bedroom): This is also the computer room, so of course that's where my computer and router are and I'm still not sure exactly how I want things displayed there, but it will be my shrine to nerddom. That's right, I'm bringing back the 16" talking Ash, the multitudes of comic books, and posters. I can finally keep all of my long boxes in my place. It's place where graphic novels will be displayed proudly and action figures can roam freely. In short, that door will be closed when women come over.

"You'll make some one very happy... some day."

On that note, and since Tom Jones's Delilah just started playing on my mix, here comes the rant.

In the past two months I've been asked on numerous occasions why some girl hasn't snatched me up yet. Seriously, I wouldn't mention it if so many girls hadn't asked me that. It really is one of those questions that gets annoying. I've taken to seeing how genuine people are being and forcing the response of "well, I don't mean me." Funny how people can see how great you are for other people.

Although, the question does make me stop and think. Why is that? I mean, I come from good stock genetically speaking. I'm interesting, intelligent, polite and just a little funny. Aren't those the BS qualities that most women say they want in a man but never follow through with? I've ranted on here before about the dating scene and such, so I decided to do a little reading into what I've said in the past and my thinking recently and believe I found an answer, or something resembling an excuse.

I'm picky, I prefer to think of it as standards, but picky is what most people will say. I used to not think I was asking for too much, but it's become apparent that since starting college various traumas, experiences and unfulfilled desires have made it difficult for me to settle my head and heart on anyone. To add insult to injury, when I do it makes... well, injury and insults. I mean in the past six years of the women who've met my wants turned out to be in relationships, lesbians and just plain nuts with a few exceptions, but this isn't a rant about the mistakes I've made.

Another factor is that I'm living in Walworth County. The pool is shallow and so are the people.

Back to standards. I really need three things when it comes to someone else. I need to like them, be attracted to them and respect them. There have been plenty of girls that I've been attracted to and kind of liked, but had no respect for. On the flip side, there are plenty I like and have immense respect for, but I'm not attracted. There are a few more combinations I've run into, but really haven't found a paramour to hold my attention because the three mitigating factors aren't in conjunction (sorry it sounds like I pulled out my dictionary for that one). It's difficult to get all three for me, and around here it seems that the respect one is the biggest difficulty.

Even though Ben Folds is too whiny these days, Shatner is still awesome. Oh. Are you reading this on Facebook? Man up and visit the Corner of 5^th & O so you can see the video.

Standardized and Formative Assessment

There are lots of things that go into deciding what each factor means. Attraction is physical of course, but I'm sure we've figured out by now that that is the least important of the factors for me because it's so malleable. What do I find attractive? Well, I talked about that earlier and it was less than conclusive. Plus, it can be influenced easily by the other two factors. "What wart? Hey! Did you know that she speaks three different languages?"

I have found a lot of people around here that I like. Find the right topic and everyone has something in common. When you get into a conversation about something of interest, it becomes easy to be friends and enjoy each other's company. Some people on the other hand, can only talk about those things. I don't hold it against them, but it works hard on the other factors.

The most difficult thing for me to find is respect. Back in the day, when I was even more cynical on the outside but optimistic on the inside, it was so much easier to find that respect. But these days, dumb, crazy and boring just don't get glossed over. In high school and early college that was really easy to overlook, mainly because I didn't know any better when I saw the signs of them. Had I seen them, I'd not have these mental blocks in my head these days. However, it's the time travel paradox all over again. I've negative results from learning my lesson, but if I go back and never learn my lesson I'll just fall prey to the same mistakes over and over again until I go back in time and make me learn my lesson, but if I never learned my lesson in the first place I'd have no reason to go back and make it so I don't learn my lesson then I wouldn't interfere hence making me learn my lesson due to my non-interference, then later on I'd get the idea to go back and change it so it never happened and then I'd be back where I started and ended in a perpetual loop. Or I'd have discovered multi-verses and I'd be stuck with the hand I was dealt while some other Tim is reaping the benefits of my efforts.

Good Enough for Now

I know I'm a huge nerd, but if Big Bang Theory has taught us anything, geek is the new chic. Which actually, is an incorrect statement, because mainly girls are going for the guys they would have been attracted to anyway and not the real geeks that have been waiting for this day... well, that's a rant for a different time.

In any even, I really hate being so damn picky, but this doesn't work for me. That's right, another video...

(I can't stand fanime music videos, and most anime in general, but I do love Weird Al.)

Believe me, I've tried to ignore things, and would be happy to have ignorance be bliss. I've even tried other less savory approaches to fill the gap. Not that I really need to be with some one, but it would be nice. My head is built that way. I like companionship, I always have. There're other things I like too, but my mom will probably read this now that she's on facebook with much enthusiasm, so I'll refrain from explaining that and the "less savory" comments.

Does it help?

So all in all, I'm a victim of my own past and neuroses that have accumulated and caused me to become too discerning for my own good. I firmly believe that's best for me. After all, it makes a filter, on the other hand it makes me a relatively judgmental person when it comes to choosing how I relate to people that I might possibly, one day, eventually, mayhaps, consider, thinking about, sort of, kind of, hypothetically have a relationship with.

Although, it's possible for me to defer back to my shallow pool theory and say that I haven't met someone who meets all three requirements and shares my view of such a connection.

And before you even ask; Yes, telling myself that does help me sleep at night.

Bid for Battlestar OR, The one where I show how boring I am

2009-08-19T17:22:00.000-07:00

SO, I'm in the process of packing for the big move to my new apartment tomorrow. I've learned that errant bookshelves are my archenemies too (points for what movie I'm referring to). As I was moving furniture in my bedroom I went to lift the bookshelf by the top when the nails came loose after I lifted as hard as I could to dislodge it from between the wall and the couch. Now, I'm no good with science so maybe someone can help me with this. I can cold press about 200lbs, the shelf was held in by four nails on both sides working against my upward lift, one side came loose causing the four nails on the otherside to act as a lever sending this teeter-totter from hell straight into my face. So who's up for crunching the numbers. I believe all you have to do is figure out how much opposing force four nails would present and then factor in my lift and then compensate for the lever action of the other four nails.

All in all that is the equation for how much my face hurts right now.

Instead of moving heavy stuff from that point on I turned on the TV and started watching Battlestar again, this time with the hopes that it will end differently, which brings me to my second detour. Does anyone have $250 to give me so I can go get the complete series on Blu-ray?

Most recently I'm taking a break and checking facebook. Here's what I got out of it.

Put YES next to the books you've read.

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen YES
2 The Lord of the Rings YES
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte YES
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling I read one and really can't bring myself to read the rest.
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee YES
6 The Bible YES and have annotated it.
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte YES
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell YES but I do believe it's actually called 1984 when written.
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens YES
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott YES
12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller YES
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare - I'm about two plays shy.
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien YES
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulk
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger YES
19 The Time Traveler’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell YES
22The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald YES over and over again.
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens YES
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy MOSTLY
25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams YES
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky YES and I can also pronounce Raskolnokov
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck YES
29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll YES
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame YES
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy YES
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens Yes
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis YES
34 Emma - Jane Austen YES
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis YES
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini YES
38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden YES
40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne YES
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell YES
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez EXCERPTS
44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery

47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy YES
48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding YES
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan
51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52 Dune - Frank Herbert YES
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen YES
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens YES
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley YES
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck YES
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov YES
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas YES
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac YES
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy YES
68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding
69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie YES
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville YES
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens YES
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker YES
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett YES
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce YES
76 The Inferno – Dante YES
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession - AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens YES
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro YES
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry

87 Charlotte’s Web - EB White YES
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle YES
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad YES
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery YES
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams YES
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas YES
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare YES didn't we cover that with the COMPLETE works of Shakespeare?
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory YES
100 Les Miserables — Victor Hugo YES

Wow, I lead a very boring life if I've read over sixty of these. Excuse me, now I have to get back to packing and Battlestar.

Damn Fly OR, the one where I violate the tacit promise not to talk about porn.

2009-08-18T10:58:00.000-07:00

SO, with another extended stay at Caribou Coffee I've decided it was time to put my fingers to keyboard and dispense more drivel that no one really needs to read, but for some g'awful reason people do. It makes me wonder, if my life is so boring that I'm writing this, how bored are the people reading it?

Sleep Deprivation

Being sleep deprived and with a ringing in my ears once again, courtesy of Panera's grit and vinegar flavored coffee, my thoughts are disorganized, manic and slightly inappropriate. That's a great combination when I have to go to a job that depends on me being a pleasant person in three hours. What will follow might be confusing. It will also, most likely, be slightly offensive and shocking. Abandon all hope ye who enter here.

I've issued a fatwa on the fly that is currently making its home in my bedroom. I've removed anything he could possibly want yet he remains. Worst of all he loves the top of my head. If I had a full head of hair still it wouldn't be a huge problem, but having a shaved head means you get to feel every little contact. What's worse is that there must be the fly equivalent to piercings in his wings because every beat sounds like a chainsaw in my ear. Last night I got absolutely no sleep because of this winged evil.

Genesis

It started while I was trying to watch the final episodes of Samurai Champloo, which five years later I still haven't finished. Sitting back I felt a disturbance around my head and kept swatting like a dog with chewing gum stuck on its ear. My policy on ahimsa standing meant I had but one option, so I opened the door hoping beyond hopes that he'd catch a whiff of something in the living room. When that didn't work it was time to open a window and see if he'd like to join his wild brethren. No. Apparently I managed to domesticate a fly without realizing it because he didn't leave my side. I decided at about midnight to name him Nigel.

Rolling around in bed, I found a little peace when there was something on the other side of the room that caught his little interests, but around one in the morning he decided that my ear was more of a draw. Open window, open door and yet he wants to hang out with me. I had to eventually give up on the window because there was another disturbance that wanted my attention in the form of a cat finding the nest of rabbits that live just outside of my room in the bushes. I had to get up, being followed by Nigel, and close the window. A pane of glass does not shut out the sound of the Watership Down massacre occurring outside.

Twenty minutes of this cat systematically mauling every member of that rabbit family and I felt like Clarice trying to silence the lambs complete with Nigel buzzing in my ear about fava beans and a nice Chianti. Being very disquieted I began thinking about some personal things going on my life right now as well as the fact that I am going to be moving to my new apartment on Thursday and all the things I'll need to do to prepare for that. Then I found I was re-reading The Great Gatsby in my head just to quell the noise. I need to invoke my right as a thinker that Jon Boisvert pioneered to shut my brain off.

In Bad Taste

With my eyes bloodshot I dragged myself out of bed at three thirty in the morning and check my e-mails. When my body weakens my mind wanders and takes me unexpected places. For some reason I thought about a conversation I had with one of my roommate's friends. He had come up to visit because in was on his way home from GenCon. Knowing that, you'll better understand how the conversation around the firepit turned to porn. I won't go into exactly what the conversation was because the admittance to follow is bad enough.

I decided, after emptying my e-mail in box, to do something I'm surprised I've never done. That is to see what kind of depraved porn I could find. Don't get me wrong, I was caught off guard once when someone sent me a link to two girls and a cup, but I've never actually looked to see how nasty things can get on the internet. I conjured whatever keywords came to my mind after putting up special firewalls and anti-everything settings. I figured that it was kind of like wading into the Amazon, it's not guarantee that you'll get covered in leeches and attacked by that fish that swims into your urinary tract, but it's best not to take chances.

I only had the heart for about fifteen minutes this, but that was probably more than a well-rested mind could take. Besides, I think in that time I managed to violate numerous U.S. laws, and if they aren't violations, they should be. To be honest I really hope that I wasn't being monitored because I would like to get a job as a teacher someday and I'd hate for a fly, a cat, rabbits and some guy from GenCon to jeopardize that.

Perchance to Dream

So to cleanse my eyes and my mind I decided it was time to completely shut off my computer and watch an episode of Firefly. Nigel gave me a reprieve, the rabbits were all dead and the awful things I had seen were fading from my mind. I finally found solace and fell asleep at five in the morning. I dreamed of rabbits in a field and tea leaves flowing in a river.

At 8:15 am my eyes open wide when six legs and two beating wings land on my nose.

Warmups OR, Old Republic, umbrellas and epic battles with old men.

2009-07-08T10:43:00.000-07:00

SO, I'm having a hard time getting moving on the paper I have to finish before tomorrow. Hence, I am getting warmed up. Just like any thing you do, you really should warm up on writing, otherwise you get all sore and tingly and don't want to do it anymore. However, seeing as I don't have anything profound to say I thought I would just put down a list of things I've noticed today.

-When a doberman with cropped and taped ears shakes its head, you don't want your face anywhere near it.

My dad's new puppy, Gus (Ring of Valor), was taken into the vet this morning to have his ears retaped and I was on squirm duty. Sitting in the passenger seat I had to hold the little guy, who is growing by the day, in my lap making sure he didn't jump out a window, step on a pedal or shift a gear on the ways there and back. Now, I'm not sure exactly what if feels like to have my ears cut in half and then held stiff by medical tape, but I'd imagine it to be rather unpleasant.

Gus agrees with that sentiment and started scratching and shaking his head. I, in a valiant effort, attempted to hold him still and keep in from scratching. I figured it to be a good idea to swaddle him closer to me. It calmed his scratching, but suddenly he shook his head in the violent fashion that dogs tend to and I caught a taped ear across the cheek.

I've only been slapped several times in my life, and I've been smacked by iguana and bearded dragon tails before. Believe me when I say, this one hurt.

-I am a huge nerd and am really looking forward to another MMORPG. Old Republic! Finally! Here are the timeline trailers.

Sorry if you're reading this on Facebook, but Mark Zuckerdouche doesn't encode for imported video. For those of you too lazy to actually click and button, visit my real blog and earn me some sponsor money, here are the... wait, tough nookies. Look it up your-damn-self.

-I'm starting to make involuntary noises when I pick up heavy objects... and not so heavy objects.

I don't feel old, but apparently when picking up my backpack with more than a folder and three books in it, the weight and effort elicits a slight groan. It's not that it's heavy, I don't feel like it's heavy. I just kind of made the noise. I believe it's that I'm past the quarter-century mark. Is it too late to have another quarter-life crisis, or do I have to wait for mid-life?

-Old folks hate it when you take their usual spot at Caribou Coffee and then don't yield to them.

I'm sitting at the big table, with all my research laid out neatly in a semi-circle around myself and suddenly and old man saunters in with his wife and walks directly to the table without ordering anything first. He looks at me and sets his bag down on the opposite end of the table. In response I smile and politely move the outlying papers and books into a tighter circle around myself and go back to digging for information on my topic.

His wife in the meantime is standing, like a good and obedient maiden waiting for her viking lord to conquer.

Unperturbed I turn to my iTunes playlist and load up all the Tito & Tarantula I have. Said old man stands for a moment looking at me waiting for me to completely vacate. I've laid my roots, nothing is moving me until I have to leave for practice. A few moments of him trying to make things tense for me and he deflates and points to the couch as though that's what he intended the entire time. The grey maiden dutifully followed in silence casting backwards glances to make sure I wasn't making movements to leave.

Once they were all situated on the couch, I decided that would be a good moment to run out to my car and get my earphones.

-You tend to get funny looks from cute girls passing by when you're using a bright green umbrella like a cane.

I have a long cane umbrella and in light of the rain that is coming, I decided it prudent to take it with me. However, you can't very well carry it over your shoulder, and it looks even worse when you hook it over your arm. I was not prepared, though, to be stared and giggled at by young women walking by as I tapped it to the ground every other step.

-Similarly, you get worried looks when you use said umbrella to clear swarms of gnats.

...yeah.

-I've wasted two hours of the time I specifically set aside to work on this paper.

I'm sure once I start I won't have any problem, but I wasn't expecting to waste so much time writing/watching youtube/making playlists/having battles of will with old men. So this caravan will stop temporarily.

Epidemics OR, A burning missive on body images, sex and idiocy.

2009-06-14T18:52:00.000-07:00

SO, I haven't written for a while and I'm back with a new batch of vitriol. I thought I'd take my brother's advice and just start posting random pictures of LoL aardvarks. However, since I started class again last week, I feel that would be an inappropriate use of my nervous energies between readings about eating disorders.

Pro-Ana?

Let me make something clear; I am not an excessively superficial person. I most certainly do not agree with the concept that women need to be overly thin and perfectly symmetrical to be beautiful even though the media shoves it in our faces like someone who just got the ugliest puppy you've ever seen and needs you to agree that it is as cute as they want to believe it to be.

I don't like it when I find stories of women starving themselves to keep up with Kiera Knightley or the horror show that is Calista Flockheart. There's really no reason that anorexia or bulimia should be a choice, but at this point it's no longer just a mental illness that hits without reason. In today's climate it's become just that, a lifestyle choice. It's not accepted as one, but just trolling the internet searching "pro-ana" and you find that it's becoming a big business to exploit and promote anorexia. So much pressure is put on women and men alike to look the way they're told they should.

On the other hand, I think most of this image that we've established to be what the media is telling us to be, isn't really what the media is telling us to be. I'm not sure if I've ever seen a scenario where Kate Moss came on television and said, "All of you young girls should be as thin as me or you'll never feel validation, meaning or love and kittens won't want anything to do with you."

I know there's a tacit understanding that what we see on Mtv is supposed to be what is beautiful, but is that really Mtv's fault? I would disagree on that point. Sure, that is what is understood to be the norm for beauty. Unfortunately, the thing that often is overlooked by pundits, sociologists and your mother is that we have developed capacity to reason and choose. We've also developed an entire series of mutations and variations in the gene pool that it would be impossible for many of us to attain the supposedly modeled version of perfection that we're "pressured" into thinking we should be. So is it logical to say that we shouldn't allow the pressure to get to us if we just stopped and thought about it for a minute?

I have a specific view of how I should look to be at the peak image of what I'm capable of for attractiveness, and I work on what I can to achieve it. I'll concede that there is a heavy burden on young women and men to look like ten year old boys... yes, that's what I see when I look on TV and attempt to figure out what's sexy. Either that or the men are all supposed to look like Hugh Jackman in Wolverine. I'll give you that one. I'd sacrifice a testicle and two inches to have abs like that, but that would mean steroids and I'm not that in love with the idea of a six pack and rippling muscles. The other option is to get someone to pay for my lifestyle while I work out six hours a day, and that's just ridiculous.

Beauty for the Sake of Continuity

When it comes down to it, the point isn't that it's okay for the media to purport that you should look one way or another, regardless of the fact that it's something that perpetuated our species since cave drawings of stick figures with two bulbous globes carrying a felled boar over its shoulders told men they needed a woman who could provide and had a great rack for feeding their children. The point isn't even that it's a valid argument to be angry that you spent all that time on an ab roller and yet you still have that muffin top when you put on the pants that are obviously two sizes too small, that's just nature telling you that you need that extra bit or you're doing it wrong.

Before I actually get to the point, I know it sounds like I'm about to, but I'd like to continue this thread. To reiterate, I am not a superficial person in the negative context. There needs to be physical attraction in initial stages. In other words if you respond with "I look for a good personality" when asked what you look for in a potential, you're lying through your misaligned teeth. There's no way in hell that you're going to be sitting at a coffee shop and see a leggy blond/ripped bad boy and instead approach the frightening looking one with translucent skin, head-gear, puffing on an inhaler every time there's a loud noise and a gut laboriously held down by a shirt that says "Mages do it with magic rods" thinking "da-amn, look at that personality."

I, personally, prescribe to the Greek image of the beautiful body and I prefer brunettes to blonds. Given the chance I will think bad, bad thoughts about... well that's not important. We all have our own idea of physical beauty, but most of our personal images of beauty have to do with health and cultural archetypes.

Survival Instinct

There are plenty of body types, and many of them are amazingly beautiful. Most of the time they are based on health and necessity. Even the malarkey of modern super-models is based on a survival instinct. If you need further proof of that one, just look at the chihuahua. It is one of the most perfectly adapted dogs to its situation. It's so small and helpless that it is taken care of and waited on hand and foot by the owners. Without the parasitic relationship it would die. Supermodels and that body type are very similar.

Why do I, on a physical level, like a buxxom woman who has curves, is admittedly pale, dark hair, tall and slightly forceful? Well, I'm from Wisconsin. You never know when you'll be stuck in a blizzard and I subconsciously want a woman who won't freeze to death, can fend for herself (and me if need be) and who, in extreme situations, I'd be able to slice open with my lightsaber and crawl into like a taun-taun... err, I mean I can cuddle with when it gets cold.

Here's the point, attacking the media for putting forth this image, while it does good for many who are "just fine the way they are" opens the door for excuses to be unhealthy. There's a duality that the image laden media needs to reconcile.

Another Pound of Flesh

Is it okay to tell people that they don't have to conform to the media's image of beauty, but with the same hand scold us about the nation's obesity epidemic?

To be quite honest and up front I would rather have the media telling me how I should look than telling me it's alright that my shadow weighs 42 pounds. I understand that, I myself am not the Adonis, however, I'm healthy enough that that doesn't matter.

Distraction:

==================================================================

Dear Lady on your laptop across from me at Caribou,

By no means do I, personally, expect you to have the body type of Natalie Portman (aforementioned ten year old boy). Yet, I think it's important to let you know this. Your french toast muffin doesn't need another pat of butter. Order the fruit cup and call it a day.

Sincerely,

Mr. B.

P.S. It's not a thyroid condition. Just for that you're getting a membership to a gym.

===================================================================

We blanket condemn groups of people in an effort to make the rest feel better about what they are saying is an injustice. I'm not blanket condemning people who are "beautiful" nor the obese. There's a great many who genuinely have conditions that promote bulk and weight gain. However, that doesn't mean giving up and angrily blaming the media for people not wanting to co-mingle their genes into a further unhealthy predicament than simply having a predisposition to diabetes, cancer and uni brows. You're going to blame the media for people's desires not to introduce heart disease, compromised bone structure and generally not being able to fit on the bus into their family line?

As humorous as this image may seem, it's not too far off from the truth. Where I found the picture someone, in an attempt to be mean and crass wrote "They're probably the same b****es that claim it's a thyroid condition." As awful as it sounds, this is the crux of what I'm saying.

Pass the Buck(et)

People are being fed on our "drive-thru" culture, and consuming unhealthy things at mass quantities for cheap because our governmental body and capitalist mindset is about gain and quantity. The voice at the back of our heads says if you're not on the go and have time to actually cook a meal you're either of the elite rich or you're a burden on society.

As I've said a million times, I would love to eat healthier and take the time to buy organic food and be able to research to see what food companies have ethical practices and don't pump preservatives. However, I don't have the money nor the time to do that. Of course I have time to prattle on at length about how I don't have the time, but this is an extension of my homework which is part of me playing into the model of having to be doing something productive at all times until I retire.

More towards the focus, who is it that gets needlessly hurt in this tug-of-war between people condemning anorexia and people condemning obesity? As it is in war, economics and explicit pornography, those of us in the middle are the ones who suffer.

The back and forth makes people with genuinely average body-types (and don't tell me there's no such thing as normal or average. Go hug a tree and eat more comfort-food after telling yourself "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough...") look from one extreme to the other with massive confusion. Someone who has reached a reasonable body-type and actually is fine the way they are can end up getting some real mental and physical health problems because we as a society create black and whites in this debate.

A young woman who has the aforementioned "normal" body type that keeps an active lifestyle and doesn't worry about what she eats to the point of obsession, but has relatively healthy eating habits might go through a hugely vicious cycle.

You should be beautiful like her!

But she's so thin, how will I ever keep up? Oh well. Over the teeth and past the gums look out fingers here it *Blorch* ...

Anorexia is killing our youth!

Oh no! I'm too thin, I might have a problem with anorexia, I'd better eat something.

We have an obesity epidemic!

Oh my god, am I obese? Should I cut back and start working out more. Oh no, my stomach looks big when I sit down *Blorch* ...

The Idiocy Epidemic

I'm not entirely sure it's even about people seeing through arguments, counting calories or just being okay with who they are. It's comes down to something that has bothered me ever since I became capable of thought and speech. People are dumb.

So many people look in the mirror, hate what they see and then go destroy themselves by over exercising, under-eating, etc... because there was a tummy roll when bending over. On the flip side there are people who get turned down for a date and become livid because the image-conscious media just ruined the chance of a date and continue to grumble while waddling away to get another big-mac. These instances create people who are angry and might not be getting the affections desired because they're negative and confrontational people due to years of image abuse, even if the image is wrongly placed. Then, just like the parisitic super-model type, you're wet-the-bed crazy.

Now don't get me wrong, a lot of this is very unfortunate and should be understood for what it is, various mental illnesses and social problems that cannot be helped. I'm excluding such cases when I speak of the idiocy epidemic. What I'm referring to is the case where the person should know better, whether it be that they don't fit through a door or fit into PVC pipes, and it wouldn't take a lot to make a difference, but for one reason or another just won't.

No Business like Mind your own Damn Business

There is a definite anorexia problem in America and pro-ana websites aren't helping much. We also have to face up to the "obesity epidemic". Starvation and overeating are huge killers in America in one way or another. To make a marked difference though, from my observations, it doesn't do any good to vilify victims or coddle idiots. However, the larger problem requires an entire societal overhaul. Most everything about the way we think and even how our government is run would need to be changed. Then we'd run into other problems.

All we can really do is genuinely think about what we do on a day to day basis and decide where we fall in the spectrum of being healthy and stop judging others and ourselves based on others. We need to find our own personal balance and stop bitching if our balance isn't someone elses.

In short, stop trying to guilt me into a date with someone I'm not attracted to who is also crazy, vicious and negative to boot and let me eat my damn cheeseburger

ABCs OR, I just finished with my last assignment of the semester and am waiting for class to start.

2009-05-05T15:14:00.000-07:00

The ABCs of Me.
Thanks Maggie.

A - Age: Quarter of a Century

B - Bed size: Full. I thought it was queen, but after buying new sheets, the bed now looks like a kid in hand-me-downs.

C - Chore you hate: Finals, yes, grad school is a chore.

D - Dog's name: Loki is the definitive.

E - Essential start your day item: Shower. Not really an item, but it's about all I need to get going.

F - Favorite color: Red, but I'm learning to like blue and love green.

G - Gold or Silver: I wear lotso silver.

H – Height: 6'1" flat 6'2" boots 6'7" in my heels. (You've gotta come see Rocky Horror)

I - Instruments you play(ed): Bass guitar and harmonica. I sucked at both.

J - Job title: Student/Photographer/Teacher/Bartender, I'm diverse.

K - Kid(s): Fun to screw around with their minds. Ask me some day about my plan for when I have some of my own.

L - Living arrangements: Up in the air since I was just told recently that my house will be demoed come August.

M - Mom's name: Mary Kay, but I call her mom.

N - Nicknames: Timmy B., Tim Bear, Mr. B., Beringer, Teacher Tim

O - Overnight hospital stay other than birth: Hasn't happened yet.

P - Pet Peeve: Irrationality.

Q - Quote from a movie: Good? Bad? I'm the guy with the gun.

R - Right or left handed: Left handed with pride. An unhealthy amount actually.

S - Siblings: Two brothers, twins.

T - Time you wake up: Depends, I have an alarm always set for 6:20, but that doesn't mean much.

U- Underwear: Come see Rocky Horror show and you'll find out.

V - Vegetable you dislike: Asparagus. Is it stringy? Is it crunchy? Deal with it!

W - Ways you run late: Forgetting stuff, detours, but generally I'm punctual.

X - X-rays you've had: Once got an X-Ray to learn I sprained an ankle. Thought it was broken.

Y - Yummy food you make: Indo-Chin-Talian spaghetti.

Z - Zoo favorite: Nashville Zoo because it was just plain awesome.

su-eet toransubeshitite OR, Them there Koreans do just about everything.

2009-04-15T10:43:00.000-07:00

SO, it's sad to say, but the video below has given me more ideas than anything else I've seen on the subject.

and in this one Frank looks like my old co-teacher.

One Artist

2009-04-06T13:11:00.000-07:00

Using only song names from ONE ARTIST, cleverly answer these questions. Pass it on to a gazillion people and include me. Try not to repeat a song title.

Artist: Peter Gabriel

==========

Describe Yourself:
More Than This

How Do You Feel About Yourself:
We Do What We're Told

Where Do You Live:
Humdrum

If you could go anywhere, where would you go:
Lovetown

Your best friend is:
Downside, up

Your favorite color is:
Red Rain

What's the weather like:
Sky Blue

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called?
Signal to Noise

What is life to you:
Games Without Frontiers

What is the best advice you have to give:
Come Talk to Me

If you could change your name, what would it be:
The Story of OvO

Your favorite food is:
Bread and Wine

Describe your lover:
Don't Give Up

Ironic OR, Transvestites, shame and What White People Like

2009-04-06T10:08:00.000-07:00

SO, I sit again in my little corner of Caribou, my head spinning from the coffee and conversation I had with my father at Panera this morning. Looking around I think of the absurdity all around me; listening to Scarlett Johanson sing Tom Waits songs, the woman at the table to my left who looks like she's trying to type on her laptop using her low-cut, bulging shirt and memories of last night's rehearsal still ringing through my head.

Self-Concious Transvestitism

Last night I got to try on my first corset ever. Being a big guy we decided that we need to get longer laces for the back, I keep telling myself that it's because I have such a wonderfully muscular and broad back. Yeah, that's what it is.

I've not really talked about it a lot, but I did get cast in Rocky Horror Show with the Lakeland Players in Elkhorn as Dr. Frank N' Furter. I'm not sure why I've just let people find out on their own generally, but this is something I do for most shows. I just don't talk about it all that much anymore. Perhaps it's that I don't want people to think I'm bragging like they used to. It reminds me of the reason I don't like talking about my love-life (or lack there of). The reason for this is that people either have preconceived notions or are just nasty about it.

At practice yesterday one of our lead actresses heard me mention, "I don't know where people get the idea that I'm a player or a womanizer because I generally have no luck when it comes to picking up women."

Then in her loud obnoxious voice so that everyone can hear her berate me, "Oh right Tim! Sure, let me play a violin for you! You just want everyone to take pity on you and tell you how hot you are! Get over yourself!"

Not to drone on, but my self-image is still on the mend from tragedies of days gone by, so when people do things like that I really have no other recourse but to shut up and retract further. Which brings me to the point I originally wanted to make; In the past I was all ready to play Frank in RHS. Regardless of my body-shape or ability, I had the confidence and the moxy to pull of the role. Present-Tim, not so much.

Two hours of practicing "Sweet Transvestite" and I still am no good at slapping my ass, popping my hip or femininely walking. I've got the leg spreading and pelvic thrust down, but I've apparently lost the nerve I used to have when, as Jacey once put it, I "oozed sexuality. Not sexy, sexuality."

I understand that to truly be back at that level I need to be comfortable and confident with myself and not care what people think of me, but there's a certain amount of external approval needed before self-approval can be anchored. So yeah, maybe I do need some people to tell me how handsome and wonderful I am rather than the abundance of people who want to keep my ego in check.

I'm conflicted, I hate Scrubs, but I love the Spree.

Pudd'nhead Beringer

On the flipside, I'm tired of people who try to dig graves for others because they want to assert their dominance. My professor for Teaching Directed Reading takes every chance to criticize or downgrade me whether or not its my fault. Between asking me "are you even trying!?!" after asking her what the assignment is without a satisfactory answer for the third time, or telling me how wrong I am about something, she belittles me at least once a class.

Talking to my dad today I hit on something that really got under my skin in class last week. Our professor, who is a prize-turkey, had me very excited after the first meeting of class. She teaches AP English and American Lit. So I figured I'd have someone to talk to about literature finally. Well, things didn't go so well when I started making fun of Thoreau's Walden. Apparently she really likes that work because last week she was talking about the American Lit. syllabus. She went on to say that it was a hard time trying to put together the reading list because, according to her, the only two authors that are necessary to get American Literature through to students is Thoreau and Frederick Douglas.

I gave her a minute to back peddle and think about what she had just said, "Really? Those are the only two that need to be on that list?"

"Yes."

"..." I allowed her a moment to think about this, "So you don't think Mark Twain is a necessity when discussing American Lit.?"

"No."

I stopped for another moment wanting to bring up any of the other authors who made American literature what it is today, but decided it best to push one at a time "... Huck Finn?"

"Well, yeah, that's good..." that's good? "... but you have to admit, the second half of the book isn't that good."

It pained me, but I just wanted the conversation to end. "You're right..." even though it's widely accepted as the most important half of that book much less important pieces of Americana as a whole. "... but surely Pudd'nhead Wilson is a good, short and interesting thing for the students to read?"

"Not really. I'm mean it's poorly written." She said straight faced.

"Oh." slightly raising my chin trying not to punch hers. With seething anger and hunger I decided to drop the topic and get a coup of soup from the canteen and mumble quotes about idiocy and education from Twain under my breath for the rest of the class.

Stuff White People Like

Speaking of idiocy, this website has been brought to my attention numerous times, and I've talked about it before. Don't get me wrong, I'm not about to do a knee-jerk, snap-back about how much trouble I'd be in if I wrote "stuff black people like." No indignant rage about reverse-racism. Certainly not, because I really find this website to be funny as hell.

I am amused by it for the same reason I'm amused by Hairspray the Musical. Not because it's well written or interesting (this actually is both while Hairspray the musical wasn't) but because it's universally loved by the people it is supposed to belittle. I can't help but smile when someone laughs all the way to the bank at the expense of their audience. Quite frankly, stuffwhitepeoplelike.com should be added to the list of stuff white people like. It's only been suggested to me by some of my most "liberal" and white friends and none of my black friends.

I love my brother dearly, he's the first person who introduced this list to me saying "It's true, it's so true!" with an orgasmic ecstasy. According to this list, he is quite possibly the whitest person I know.

While I do like a handful of the things on the list, most of the things on it I've been annoyed with for a long time (reasons 6, 9, 20, 28, 48), grew out of in high school (17, 32, 49, 75, 102) or just have no taste for in the first place (10, 40). Please don't tell me how it's supposed to be satirical, or how the list isn't all inclusive. You're just showing how annoyingly white you are if you do.

While I'm a forward thinking kind of guy, I'm not a dupe. I guess common sense just sinks in a lot faster and earlier with me than with so many others. Not necessarily saying I'm smarter or better than... oh hell, who am I kidding? If you were black, would you rather be stuck in a room with someone prattling on about how they are so sorry about his ancestors' behavior while trying to be hip, blasting KRS One so he could prepare to take a trip to some less fortunate country for their random NPO for whom he promises to keep a journal, packing his Vampire Weekend shirt wondering if you knew the score of the last football game between Brazil and Spain so he had something to talk about with the guys in the league, or me?

Notice the irony of how this entry started versus how it ended?

Remember, OR, I just found my old LiveJournal, and it still works

2009-03-25T10:05:00.000-07:00

SO, I was going through old passwords and logins and found my old LiveJournal account. How bizarre it is to see what I was writing only four years ago... and how much I sucked at it. I honestly thought I was good back then. Reading it now though, I realize it's jerky, repetitive and very self-centered. Nothing like I write now (he says with a slight grimace).

Entertainingly enough, I found an old survey I did. So sit back and get into the mind of Tim circa 2005. With occasional commentary circa 2008

1.ONE OF YOUR SCARS, HOW DID YOU GET IT?:
A series of fingernail shaped scars on my knuckles from second grade when my first crush used to dig her nails into my hands. We were apparently early Sado-masochists.

2. WHAT IS ON THE WALLS IN YOUR ROOM?:
I actually have nothing on my walls except for my painting of "Tao"

3. WHAT DOES YOUR CELL PHONE LOOK LIKE?:
Stone aged Nokia

4. WHAT MUSIC DO YOU LIKE TO LISTEN TO?:
At the moment whatever music will play as Launch is being pissy. Oh Launch. iTunes made you worthless.

5.DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME YOU WERE BORN?:
1:30ish am

6. WHAT DO YOU WANT MORE THAN ANYTHING RIGHT NOW?:
For my movie career to take off. After years of reflection, probably best it didn't.

7. WHAT DO YOU MISS AT TIMES?:
Directly leading into, I miss working on the movie quite often.

8. WHAT IS YOUR MOST PRIZED POSSESSION?:
My DVD collection. I would shrivel up and die without it. Apparently I didn't when I left for Korea.

9. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SMELL?:
Rain

10. DO YOU GET CLAUSTROPHOBIC?:
When the situation is followed with crunching bones, yes.

11. IF YOU DIED TOMORROW:
I suppose I really wouldn't care much what happened, now would I?

12. THE LAST PERSON TO MAKE YOU CRY?:
My Ex, Julie. Ha, I think she had just called and rubbed something in my face.

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE COLOGNE / PERFUME?:
Ummm... Well I use the new scent from Antonio Banderas. I love it. But you prolly want a perfume name huh? Well I guess any perfume that is close enough to me to arouse my attention. You guys can just go ahead and ignore the Banderas drivel.

14. WHAT KIND OF HAIR DO YOU LIKE ON THE OPPOSITE SEX?:
Long and black.

15. WHERE CAN YOU SEE YOURSELF BEING PROPOSED TO AT?:
Depends on the proposal. This morning the girl at Starbucks PROPOSED that I have a cinnamon chip scone. So I guess Starbucks.

16. DO YOU LIKE PORN?:
Does the Pope shit in the woods?

17. WHAT ARE YOUR FIVE FAVORITE MOVIES?:
Brazil, Evil Dead Trilogy (Trilogies count as one), Starship Troopers, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, Fifth Element. (note: This is a very loose list that reflects what I watch the most)

18. WHERE CAN YOU SEE YOURSELF GOING FOR YOUR HONEYMOON?:
We'd go on an all out road trip of America searching out all sorts of landmarks for our favorite movies like the spot where the Evil Dead was filmed, and then onto various comic book related stops like Metropolis Illinois and round it all off with a tour'de tourist traps and hit House on the Rock here in Wisconsin and make our way out to Reptile Gardens in South Dakota and onto infinity... or Okinawa. Still true.

19. WHO IS THE LAST PERSON YOU MADE MAD?:
Probably my father as he's the only person who tells me he's mad.

20. DO YOU SPEAK A DIFFERENT LANGUAGE?:
Well I only speak two fluently; English and Bad English. I also speak little bit of everything else.

21. WHAT WAS THE FIRST GIFT SOMEONE EVER GAVE YOU OF THE OPPOSITE SEX?:
Well, when I was a little kid my mom got a Jem and the Holograms cassette, so I guess that's a gift of the opposite sex. Otherwise it was the scars and a stuffed orangutan from Mary in 2nd grade.

22. WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE SINGER(s):
Jeff Buckley, Tom Waits, Peter Gabriel

23. FAVORITE BAND(s):
Polyphonic Spree

24. WHAT KIND OF BOOKS DO YOU LIKE TO READ?:
Gimme fantasy any day. Particularly Neil Gaiman or Clive Barker.

25. FAVORITE DESSERT:
Bread pudding from Famous Dave's (If you're reading this Brad, I call a rematch.) Challenge still stands.

26. How DO YOU LIKE YOUR COFFEE?:
Black as midnight, sweet as sin.

27. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE QUOTE?:
"Hail to the King, baby."

28. WOULD YOU FALL IN LOVE KNOWING THAT THE PERSON IS LEAVING?:
That seems to be the only way to get me to fall in love. Quite ironic considering that I had no clue nine months from then I'd be leaving Karla for Korea.

29. WHAT IS THE BEST WAY TO TELL SOMEONE HOW MUCH THEY MEAN TO YOU?:
All the ways I thought were good have been dashed in the last few years, so it's time I learned some new ways. Still haven't learned too many.

30. SAY A NUMBER FROM ONE TO A HUNDRED:
pi

31. BLONDES, REDHEADS OR BRUNETTES?:
Didn't I answer this question already?

32. WHAT IS THE ONE NUMBER YOU CALL OFTEN?:
Oh wow, I think I call my dad waaaayyy too much.

33. WHAT ANNOYS YOU MOST?:
Weakness

34. HAVE YOU EVER DONE A PRANK CALL?:
Do porcupines float?

35. WHO IS YOUR CURRENT CRUSH?:
I would have to say Jessica Alba. Her bra was great in Fantastic Four.

36: WHAT IS YOUR WORST FEAR?:
Failure and disappointment (Betcha didn't think I could be serious huh?)

37: SAY SOMETHING TO SOMEONE YOU HAVEN'T SEEN/TALKED TO IN AWHILE:
Lu, I miss you so much little sister, and I'm sorry on behalf of America. Lu had just chewed me out telling me that if Bush was going to invade Brazil, they'd be ready.

38: HAVE YOU EVER SAID "I LOVE YOU" AND NOT MEANT IT?:
Never.

39: WHAT WERE YOU DOING BEFORE YOU FILLED OUT THIS SURVEY?:
Sitting at the front desk trying to get Launchcast to work, which I'm still doing.

40. IF YOU COULD GET PLASTIC SURGERY, WHAT WOULD IT BE?:
I'd have a heroic chinline.

41. WHY DID YOU FILL OUT THIS SURVEY?:
You ask me this now? Cripes, I don't remember. I think it had something to do with a lemur.

42. WHAT DO YOU LIKE ON YOUR PIZZA?:
Jalapenos.

43. WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF ALCOHOL BECAME ILLEGAL?:
Probably go, damn... okay, well I'll have a coke then. The Boondock Saints joke doesn't work without inflection.

44. WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY?:
For everyone important to me to be happy, and perhaps a free lap dance from Angelina Jolie. Still waiting people.

45. WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF IT SUDDENLY STARTED RAINING BLOOD?:
Say "Ummmm... yeah." And go back inside and act out a demonic version of The Cat in the Hat. Hey, years later and I still think that's funny once I work out why I said it.

So there ya' go. Tim's most intimate thoughts from his last year of undergrad. To see more visit backlogs at TimotheosRex.

Smiley Faces OR, I keep upbeat... for the most part.

2009-03-22T16:22:00.000-07:00

SO, as of recently I've been trying to keep positive when I write, but every time I've tried it's gone South. Now that winter is pretty well over I figure that I should do my best to combat my seasonal affective disorder. Living in Williams Bay with a bunch of guys that I can best describe in relation to when they come home for lunch and watch Home Improvement and laugh every time Tim Allen makes one of his feeble attempts at a joke. When they laugh raucously all I can think of is a tribe of cavemen sitting in a circle poking at a dying rodent as it squirms in an attempt to escape while these giant distant relatives laugh their barbaric laughs.

That was an awfully negative way for me to start my positivity. So I'll just get right back to happy thoughts while I watch Shoot 'em Up.

Suppressed Stories

Despite my general motif of negativity, it's very easy to make me smile. There are things that are unavoidably smile inducing or they're absurd enough that I have no choice but to smile. I don't particularly feel like writing them most days though, because as I've explained before, it's just so much more fun to write with a certain amount of disdain for the world around me.

There have been, however, some happy stories that I've held back because they didn't fit my mood at the time or I didn't feel they were long enough to really say anything of importance about. Well, I think I want to tell them and try my damnedest to stay happy.

But first an interruption about the movie... but Paul Giamatti plays quite an odd, and I use that term as an understatement, psychopath, and I use that term as an understatement.

The Real Deal

One of my friends from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers works at a bar called the Cruise Inn out in Tichigan. If you don't know where that is, just start driving towards the middle of nowhere and once you've hit bupkiss, turn left. After driving straight on til morning you'll see the place on your left.

It's a nice little place that really does lend some class to this area. It's setup like a supper club and every Saturday they get live music out for dinner and dancing. Blues, jazz and fusion come in, there's no guarantee that it's good music, but it's live music. This is the sort of venue I prefer to view live music. Some bands are good for concert halls, but I prefer small clubs and bar concerts. I bring this up because there's a band that comes in once a month called The Real Deal.

They do a lot of fun classic rock, blues and Motown songs. The great thing about this band is that, not only are they good, but they get the crowd up and dancing consistently. I don't bring it up simply because I like the fact that there's dancing and good music. There were a couple of observations that I felt bore repeating that I've noticed over the past few times I've been there that made me smile.

It's a lot of fun watching the people dancing. Just a few things that I love. I love the old guy who brings his sister to dance with and the entire night he does classic lindy-hop moves like crazy legs. I love how the crowd once did the electric slide to the Cuban Shuffle. Not correct, but creative. There are some things that are more entertaining though.

I remember last month when I was there, there were a couple families that had brought kids with them. You just can't control smiling when you see little kids bouncing up and down and dancing with their mothers and each other while the band plays "Play the Funky Music (White Boy)". There's something that just brings an uncontrollable smile about that. I'm not a big fan of kids, but it reminds me that I'll bring my kids to things like that whenever I get the urge to be a useful member of the gene-pool.

Even deeper, the thing that made me smile was when the band started playing "Stand By Me" and the older brother, about six, started dancing with his little brother of about four. They looked so happy to be with each other. Seeing something like that is just adorable-overload. That's right, I have a heart and things like that make me smile.

Acute Thesaurus

I have absolutely no clue what that means, but I heard some kid say it earlier today while I was sitting outside having lunch in Lake Geneva. There wasn't even a real context for it to be put in. I think he was just putting words together and seeing if they fit. There's a certain poetry to that phrase though. I just really really liked it as soon as I heard it.

Honey Museum

On my way to a shoot location one weekend several months ago we passed Wisconsin's Honey Museum just North of Ashippun, WI. There's almost nothing about that statement that isn't fun. First of all, a honey museum. How can that not be great? There's nothing I don't like about honey... barring where it comes from and what it actually is. Regardless (not "irregardless" because that's not a word and you should strike it from your vocabulary right now), honey is a great substitute for sugar in my coffee and it gives an amazing energy boost naturally. So a museum dedicated to it? That's fantastic. Finally, Ashippun? What a name. Say it aloud to yourself. It just makes for a smile.

Done

Well, I've resumed my night of crazy violent movies with Punisher: War Zone so I am going to cease the happy talk right now, but watch the Saturday morning cartoon of Watchmen. Lotsa fun!

Getting to know me OR, posted on Facebook, thought I'd give everyone else a chance

2009-03-12T13:23:00.001-07:00

For Those of you That Missed it on Facebook
1. Where you and I met:
2. Take a stab at my middle name:
3. How long you've known me:
4. The last time that we saw each other:
5. Your first impression of me upon meeting me/seeing me:
6. Am I funny?
7. My favorite type of music:
8. The best feature about me:
9. What do I want to do more than anything?
10. What is one thing that you think I should do?
11. Do I have any special talents? If so, what are they?
12. Have you ever hugged me?
13. My favorite food:
14. Have you ever had a crush on me?
15. If there was one good nickname for me, it would be:
16. Your favorite memory of me:
17. If you and I were stranded on a desert island, I would bring:
18. Do I believe in God?
19. Who is my best friend?
20. Will you re-post this so I can fill this out for you?

Posts OR, Me, games and coming to grips

2009-03-11T09:28:00.000-07:00

So, that last post really got quite heavy. I just suppose looking at starry eyed young high school Tim really got the wheels turning, and I know I'm not supposed to look backwards because forward momentum is the only momentum worth... well, let's just say that sentence didn't build enough steam to continue forward momentum.

The Written "Me"

I know it sounds like I've built a lot of negativity in my life. Lord knows that I certainly write enough negative garble whenever I sit down. I've said it before, and I'll say it again; That's some of the most fun for me to write.

For some g'awful reason I really enjoy reliving the horror stories in my life. Those are the stories worth telling. These are the moments that have made me stronger, defined who I am and where I've been. After all, how much fun would it be if I got on here and wrote:

Today I had the most delightful bowl of Easy-mac. I started out by boiling up some hotdogs in steak seasoning and then used that water to heat the macaroni. By the time I mixed in the assorted shredded cheeses I added some Cajun seasonings so there was a little bite. It was quite a wonderful confluence of tastes.

I mean really? How quickly would I lose interest in what I was writing? Probably faster than the two people who actually read this.

*tip of the hat to Jason, who is always 50% of my readership*

Honestly though, and this is something that I've brought up numerous times, I wonder how these things keep happening to me. Not bad things perse, but stories to tell. I've gone over the possibilities.

-They're mundane, but I just make them entertaining stories.
-I seek out stories to tell putting me in compromising situations.
-Interesting things really happen to me.

I'm not really sure what it is, but I don't loathe it. To me, a situation is only as good as the story I can tell about it.

Street Fighter IV

Not really a review

Floating-head Cammy here really strikes a chord with me. Not sure what that chord is, but then again, that's how I felt playing SFIV. Not the floating head part, the confused part. I remember Street Fighter II being one of the first games I ever played. It was so much fun, I was never really good at it, but it was really the only fighting game worth playing. After all, Mortal Kombat hadn't come out and we hadn't moved past 16-bits on home consoles yet. Even still, learning the codes for the moves and how to use the characters to the best of their abilities was a lot of fun. Built memory and hand-eye coordination.

I haven't picked up that game, or a game like it in over a decade. When I heard that Street Fighter IV was going to be just like II except with updated graphics, I was excited. I remembered having so much fun playing despite not being very good at it. It would be like seeing an old friend again.

I forgot that the old friend in question was the schoolyard bully.

I put the disc in my X-Box and with bleary-eyed anticipation, eagerly watched the opening cinematic, which never seemed to end and got down to business with playing arcade mode on normal difficulty. I reasoned that all games are default normal setting so someone of my video game background should have no problem.

The AI in the game is so terribly imbalanced that it is difficult to even get through your first fight, much less the hyper difficult end boss. It is intensely emasculating for an accomplished gamer to have to move down to "easy" difficulty. I'm not sure what level of emasculating it is to have to go to a setting called "easiest" but it's pretty bad. This is the setting that I had to use just to finish more than two arcade modes, then after that, I didn't even get the promised unlockable characters.

So really, between being reminded how much I sucked at that game, my embarrassment at being so utterly defeated by the game or the glitches I ran into, it was a complete waste of my time. Let's not even get into the potsers I encountered playing online.

Post-partum

Shortly after hanging up my controller on SFIV, I went to turn on some AVI files to watch my usual TV shows via X-Box media connections to my computer and the worst possible thing for a 360 owner that could happen did. Instead of getting the happy little logo on my screen, it remained a darkened box reading "Component 1". That's right, after three years of ownership bliss, the indicator lights turned red.

The red ring of death was something I took pride in. While those around me were all experiencing this horrific event, I pointed and laughed while my third generation system was still going strong, I never suspected that such a horrible fate would befall it. It's starting to make me think that I should give it a name when it comes back from Microsoft repairs. I'm open to suggestions. For those of you curious, my Playstation is named Bubbles and all my computers are named Bruce. That's right, I give names to most of my things. That way they're not just things and I don't have to worry about my anti-materialism getting in the way. It's very conditional love though.

Post-Mortem

Some things are difficult to come to grips with. As much as I'd like to say that one of the things on my mind recently is the fact that my iPod is on its way out the door. I'd even settle for thinking about my lizards' deaths this summer. No, I'm finally coming to grips with some news that I got around October.

Every once in a while people come into your life that you don't appreciate. I'm not going to lie here and say that we were amazing friends and I would have lain down my life for him, but Jorge Greenwood, in the short year I knew him, I never knew him to say an unkind word and his intentions were always benevolent to those around him, but not to himself.

We all parted ways with Jorge after an incident, which was terribly funny to look back on once Jorge became something of an Itaewan urban legend for us. Now it is recognizable that it was a symptom of a larger problem. I'm not going to apply false sentiment and say that we should have been more understanding, because quite frankly we did what was best for us. Unfortunately, what took his friendship from us took his life a little over a year after we met. Jorge was found in his Seoul apartment on October 4th killed by an accidental overdose. I had been under the impression that he was getting better and his life was turning around. Sometimes he would contact me, I was cordial but non-committal. I'm sorry for my actions, but I think he knows that.

I still keep the e-mail from Reagan in my inbox. Over the past few months I've read and re-read it. Occasionally I check his Facebook and Myspace accounts just to see who has been leaving messages of well-wishing and we miss you's. I haven't left one, and I never really talked to anyone about it. Jorge is only the second person that I've counted myself as having been close to who died young. Things like this still effect me, and I doubt will ever get easier.

Like I said, we parted ways. I could have been a better friend, but I'm not going in for self flagellation. Jorge was who he was and while he had his flaws, he still had one of the biggest hearts I've ever encountered. Where ever he is now... I don't really know what to say about where he is now. All I really can articulate at the moment is that I hope he's happy and at peace. Despite it all, I do miss him and as is evident from his memorials and online profiles, many others do too.

Good bye Jorge.

Timepiece OR, Want to know what puts me in a genuinely bad mood?

2009-03-07T11:10:00.000-08:00

SO, I've been sitting around for the past 72 hours (as of 9-7-09), with little interruptions of course, with something raging through my system. I'm feeling better, although it is disconcerting when you cough in the shower and suddenly there's a little brownish green thing creeping towards the drain after. Great imagery huh? Not my best work, but watching something come out of me that looked like that has arrested my sense of flair somewhat.

Partially due to my illness and partially due to atrophy, I've lost some of my creativity as of recent. What do people do when they lose their creativity? Well I suppose writers remake other people's work. Seeing as I don't particularly feel like writing about that time I moved to small town to help out as the new bouncer cleaning things up at Double Deuce, I'll just reminisce about high school and other things past. That was quite a summer though.

-This is why I don't do drugs.

Back in Day

So my friends on facebook know by now that I decided a good way to spend a weekend last month was to scan and upload old pictures that I had found from high school. I haven't really gotten around to uploading them to my photobucket, so there won't be any visuals with this presentation unfortunately. It was a lot of fun looking at them... that's a lie. Not that I didn't enjoy it, it's just that it's silly to think looking at pictures is fun. Amusement parks; those are fun. Hence the name Amusement. Looking is a passive activity, therefore not fun by definition.

It was strange though, as I looked at the pictures I continued to have my Tralfamadorian approach to memory. I was able to remember each moment that the pictures were taken with severe clarity. Well, I think I remember them clearly, I could just be making them up. My recall is pretty top notch with things that I'm engaged in though, so I doubt it. Most of the pictures were from past plays, forensics and dances, so they were moments I was very engaged and invested in.

I've been under the impression for the past eight years or so that I walked into high school with a full beard and hairy chest. The pictures, that go all the way back to middle school confirmed the question of "did I ever look that young?" I, in fact, did not go to school with a full beard. Looking at the pictures I started remembering my frustration in trying to get a good goatee going but being unable to grow a full moustache. The things that occupied my mind back then. There were also some pictures that brought back memories of people that I haven't seen in a long time and how dreadfully important they were to me at the time.

Anyone have $100 and want to get me a gift? Take a gander at the future of archeology.

Questions of History

Growing up in a small town county in Southern Wisconsin, some people spend the early part of their lives not caring what the future holds, some people talk about getting out of their small town lives and never looking back and some people do. As I walked through the poorly lit hallways of Lake Geneva's Badger High School, situated not twenty minutes from the house I was raised in, a thought that I can't put into words properly because it's so scattered but has been occurring to me more and more recently struck me again;

Where am I?

I don't mean that I'm literally disoriented. I don't even mean it as an existential question... not really. Albeit, within the first 22 years of my life I didn't get very far away from home, but Madison feels like a world away. I had bus service, theatre and people I could at least attempt to relate to in comparison to high gas prices, karaoke and time & misery addled locals. I escaped Delavan years ago in favor of Madison where I lived a fairly entertaining lifestyle because I had the option to.

How did I get where I am?

Unfortunately, like most great mistakes begin, I spent most of my time and energy on a woman when I was living in Madison. Great, sort of, except for the fact that she was still back in this one horse town. Several titillating details that would only entertain you later, I found myself alone in a city that didn't seem far enough away and was hardly familiar I made a realization, which sounds harsh, but I don't disagree with to this day; I had wasted three years of my life and energy because of her. The only difference now is that I realize it was my own damn fault, but still wasted time nonetheless.

I know, I know this is the part where I'm reminded that the situation couldn't have been all bad. "But Tim," you might say, "any time you spent loving someone and being with someone is all part of who you are and who you've become and therefore you're a better person for the experience." If you're one of these people, stay after class so I can flog the stupid from between your ears and re-educate you on human emotion and how not to waste everyone's time.

The experience left me a broken mess that took a year just to recompose myself, so really that would make for four years that living away from home qualified as worthless time. I was an unpleasant person to try to get close to even after recomposing myself. Don't believe me? I have references.

After months of messy attempts at redemption I started what I thought was healing with a vow/threat/promise. I swore to her, my friends and pretty much anyone who would listen, that I was going to graduate and leave the country and they would never see me again. Self-loathing, I figured if I wasn't wanted around, I wouldn't be around ever again; that would show them.

Who have I become?

In the time between I had to redefine who I was. I wasn't the person I thought I was, and I couldn't be the person I had been defined as with the person I allowed my life to revolve around. So where did it leave me? I didn't know, but it in the time I looked I tried many personalities, names and I even managed to work on a movie set with some B-listers teaching me that I knew working in the fraudulent nature of the film industry wasn't where I wanted to go.

Later, completely independent of and having forgotten about the blood oath of leaving and never coming back, I took a job in South Korea. There I was living a comfortable lifestyle: semi-disposable income, easy job, new people who overtly cared for me, something new every day, amazing public transportation. It was quite a lifestyle. To be honest, of all my previous lives, I think that is the one I miss most.

Unfortunately, culture shock is a difficult thing. I allowed it to keep me from staying in a place where, aside from the air pollution and xenophobia, I more or less felt comfortable and finally in my own skin. It was a good feeling.

Where do I belong?

I've earned a degree from one of the top schools in Wisconsin, learned three languages to an almost conversational level (one being a dead language) and many more enough to get around, been to the other side of the world on my own, had my childhood dream of stardom crushed and been more or less okay with it, achieved many things that many people only dream of. Let's just say I've been around and done some astonishing things. Yet somehow, at the end of the week I find myself in the same cities, bored in the local bars and small town versions of metropolitan coffee shops lamenting the fact that I've spent the better part of a decade becoming whoever I've become independent of the place I spent my younger and more formidable years and I've ended up right back where I started.

What the hell am I doing here?

I guess that's the point of this mini-autobiography. In these moments of muddy clarity I find myself resenting me and everyone around. These moments are usually triggered by the realization of the calibur of person I run into on my nights off. Sometimes the realization leads me to wish I could have a life as clearly laid out and immediately productive. Other times I wonder if I'm just as pedestrian and mundane as those around me. Is basically coming home after all that just as bad as never leaving, or is it worse?

-This is the other reason I don't do drugs.

First OR, Kinda poignant that this is the first thing I'm doing today.

2009-03-01T10:04:00.000-08:00

1. Who was your FIRST prom date?
Tiffany Watts. I do believe that she was more interested in being there with... well, anyone else be me.

2. Do you still talk to your FIRST love?
Occassionally when the star align properly.

3. What was your FIRST alcoholic drink?
Southern Comfort straight up as a penalty for knocking over the Jenga.

4. What was your FIRST job?
Bag boy at the local Piggly Wiggly.

5. What was your FIRST car?
First one that was mine to drive: '92 Chevy Corsica
First one that I actually owned: The Frumious Bandersnatch a '95 Escort Station Wagon

6. Who was the FIRST person to text you today?
Depends what you mean today, as far as I'm concerned, no one.

7. Who is the FIRST person you thought of this morning?
Michael Jordan. Not even kidding, next time you see me you'll know why.

8. Who was your FIRST grade teacher?
Mrs. Kahl, he says shaking his fist in anger.

9. Where did you go on your FIRST ride on an airplane?
Ever: LA
That I remember: Paris

10. Who was your FIRST best friend & do you still talk?
Quinn Staudt. Not in the least, but I hear tell that he's no longer a jerk.

11. Where was your FIRST sleepover?
Probably Quinn again.

12. Who was the FIRST person you talked to today?
By my count, no one. So it's a race, gimme a call, you'll have 20 minutes between now and the time I get out of the shower and get moving around for the day.

13. Whose wedding were you in the FIRST time?
I was an usher in Sean and Colleen's wedding. Lots of people have told me I'd be in their wedding, they're the only ones who have kept that promise.

14. What was the FIRST thing you did this morning?
Checked an e-mail I was very excited to get.

15. What was the FIRST concert you ever went to?
The Beach Boys in Milwaukee.

16. FIRST tattoo?
My skin is clean.

17. FIRST piercing?
My skin is un pierced.

18. FIRST foreign country you've been to?
Canada, but since that's kind of like America's guest house, France.

Canadian friends:
Just kidding, I love Canada. You know I'm joking and that's what makes my Canucklehead friends that much cooler.

19. FIRST movie you remember seeing in the theater?
I remember seeing in the theatre: Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade
I saw period: The Adventures of Baron Munchausen

20. FIRST Detention you had?
It was a lunch time detention for sharing a lunch ticket with one of my friends in middle school. Kind of ironic really.

21. What was the FIRST state you lived in?
Wisconsin

22. Who was your FIRST roommate?
Steve in Stephen's Point. The dude had the eyes of an ostrich and spent his freetime staring at the wall.

23. FIRST broken bone?
Still unbroken. I'm Bruce Willis like that.

24. FIRST album you ever bought with your own money?
Bryan Adams, Waking Up the Neighbors. That's right, still showin' love for Canada.

25. If you had one wish what would it be?
A dream is a wish your heart makes, so I guess today's wish would have to do with buying an iguana, learning to dance the lambada and eating Mexican food. All achievable, but not likely that I'll do today. 'cept for eating Mexican food. Go Supermercado American!

26. What is something you would learn if you had the chance?
Shaolin. I mean true Shaolin, unfortunately I'm not the right color to study in the temples.

Rules of the Road OR, Clinging to life, liberty and the pursuit of Coraline

2009-02-22T13:35:00.001-08:00

SO, I've decided that I would start writing another disjointed, incoherent stream of babbling. I do this because I need to occupy myself while Mom and Dad work on taxes. They're doing my taxes too, but at the moment we're printing. Mom has a laser printer at home and Dad has his jet printer from 19... it doesn't really matter which year, all you really need to know is that it was from the previous century, and that's not hyperbole. Printing off 20 pages of forms on a printer that you need to coax the paper into is nerve-racking. Not that I'm actually doing anything, but the longer this printer takes, the higher the tension gets in the room. Writing is the best way for me to phase out without looking like I'm being unproductive.

I mean, I could resume my doodle for the front flap of my day planner, but I reserve that for when I'm in class. I could read something, but that's a bit too intensive and I'd never be able to answer tech questions with any sort of clarity. I could read my comic books, but that would be way too obvious. So here I am on my laptop at the kitchen table writing a post and listening to music from Battlestar Galactica. They hear the music, but he's typing. He could be doing anything, maybe he's doing homework, maybe he's writing the next great American novel, we just don't know.

It's About the Journey...

Saturday was quite a strange day. It was an adventure, life threatening and not all that productive. Let's start with Wednesday though.

I was scheduled to work with Marie on a photo shoot this weekend in Milwaukee. Unfortunately, extenuating circumstances made a change and I was to not only work with someone else, but I was going to have to drive to West Allis (for the non-Mid-West folk that is a little over an hour's drive from me) by 8:30 in the morning. It wasn't a huge problem, sure it's twice as far as the East Troy office we usually meet in, but at least it wasn't at the usual six in the morning. Then Friday night the reports of a snow storm started coming in.

Friday night I figured, with our climate of fear, that the school would cancel the basketball games and therefore would cancel picture day and therefore I could stay out at karaoke until closing time. They didn't and I did. So come around six in the morning when I woke up... well, I didn't want to wake up and I really didn't want to drive fifty miles in six inches of snow, but I did and I did.

It was a white knuckle affair to say the least. Most of the drive was spent with my hands firmly attached to the steering wheel cursing people who didn't know how to drive in the snow as they rode up on my car and gave me a half a car lengths breathing space in case something happened like, oh I don't know, inclement weather prevented my wheels from keeping the car in control. Yeah, half a car's stopping time is enough on ice and slush and loose snow. Sure, because you've been driving in Wisconsin winters your whole life and just because you have a big SUV that is driving our economy down and gas prices up you can handle it. Sorry, I'm angry. I'll stop.

After an hour and a half on the road, in what should have been a fifty minute drive, I made it to the studio. Relaxing into my parking spot on the side of the road in front of the studio I thanked the proverbial gods that I made it without incident... then my car lurched to the side as the snow dragged my wheels into the curb. I should just learn to expect that nothing will happen on the way to my destination, but it's the destination that always screws me up. So I was stuck. It was no use trying to get the car out now. I had to get in the studio and get ready for work hoping that Mike would be able to drive.

Driving Sideways

I was a little apprehensive about working with Mike. I didn't know him at all, I didn't know how he worked and when I asked if he had experience leading shoots the boss's response was "You two will be fine." Not exactly the sort of thing to say to inspire confidence.

Walking into the studio I explained that my car was stuck.

"Oh. I wasn't counting on driving today, but I can. I'll have to unload all of the snow removal stuff. And I hope you don't mind, but it'll smell like gasoline the entire way."

The smell of gas was was the least of the worries. As I got into the van Mike informed me "you'll want to hold on, we're working with rear wheel drive."

Let me explain what happens, for those of you who don't have the pleasure of experiencing this, when you gun it in the snow with a rear wheel drive vehicle. Not only do you fishtail, but you also can remain moving forward with the rear wheels at an acute angle to the front wheels.

I clutched to the "oh shit" handle as Mike gaily explained that he's driven all sorts of vehicles before. He's driven big rigs, locomotives and more. He also explained that in the snow his van usually spends more time sideways than it does in one lane.

Attempting to compose myself, I explained that I wasn't nervous. Mentally telling people to get out of the way I told him that my philosophy is that he wasn't dead yet, so must know what he's doing. Pumping the imaginary brake on the passenger side I started talking with him about how different driving in Milwaukee was from Madison. He took a real pleasure in my self-preservative reactions my body had every time he was driving with his driver side window where the windshield should be until we finally made it to Bradley Technical High School where we'd be taking pictures.

Dig

The day went fairly well. Despite being in a school that has a report of violent crimes every week and ignoring the crazy lady who stormed in yelling about some guy trying to mug her out on the sidewalk, we had a pretty good time. Of course no one really ordered any pictures and we only had one team every half hour, but the eight hours went... I'm not going to lie, it was a long boring day. The only real point of note was when I was lining a team up to take the group photo and some of the boys were having a hard time sitting cross legged because they refused to hoist their pants higher than halfway down their thighs.

I demonstrated exactly how they were supposed to sit because the coach was being less than helpful just standing right next to me calling the kids all manner of demeaning names as a form of encouragement. When I sat down he looked at his team and said.

"Look how fat he is, and he has no problem sitting like that." As though my self-esteem weren't low enough.

I thought I'm gonna punch you in the mouth as I contemplated that if I just brought my hand straight out to my side I could send him to his knees. Instead I kept my mouth shut. I just finished lining the students up and put the coach in the most uncomfortable pose I could for the photo and then snapped three pictures without even looking at the quality. I figured no one ordered and they were being difficult, it's not my problem.

5:30 rolled around and we were out. Driving the whole way back down National Ave. sideways we got back to the studio in good time. In fact we got to the studio in time to watch a plow drive right past my car leaving a foot of snow around my wheels and on top of it.

Mike stopped outside the studio, "How about you take a shovel and work on that while I unload the equipment?"

Digging a car out of a rut is bad enough, it's worse when the plows deposit snow all around it. I suppose it was my fault for parking there, but contrary to parental, popular belief, admission of guilt doesn't actually make things easier.

Much later, driving home, I enjoyed front wheel drive again and contemplated driving, living and the contradictions inherint within the two.

Oh, I Feel Fine

I love how halfway through the video you clearly see Abbey walking and sniffing around behind him while he's still supposed to be explaining the concert to her.

Driving in the Mid-West

There are some things that I've observed while driving in Southern Wisconsin and Northern Illinois. While it can be argued that the cultural differences state to state are similar to country to country in Europe, there is a microcosm of that from county to county, especially when it comes to driving.

Quick geography as it pertains to me lesson.

I live in Walworth county. It's just this side of backwoods with miniature metro break here and there. As such, there's a lot of highway driving tinted with country roads. Watching drivers in the area, you can identify locals by the way they drive.

Walworth county drivers are identified by the following traits:
-Centering on the outside line instead of the center yellow
-Five to ten mph over when no police cars are present
-Five to ten mph under when police cars are present.
-Sheep flocking

This last characteristic is very localized. Flocking is the phenomenon that occurs in traffic when at least three cars are going the same speed in the slow lane. Two cars, at minimum pull into the passing lane and begin pacing the cars in the slow lane not wanting to speed up for fear that an officer is right around the corner waiting to pull someone over. The result is a grouping of cars that are all going the same speed taking up both lanes driving in formation slowing traffic until you leave Walworth county when the urging of others from other places forces the passing lane cars to actually pass.

This brings us, heading north, into Waukesha county. Generally, people aren't on the highway unless they need to be there because there is constantly construction. Being that it is an affluent area, there is usually one sort of beautification project or another and the city streets are always cleared of snow before the highways. However, you never see said plows.

Then it's Milwaukee county. This is immediately recognizable in the winter because there will always be about a foot of slush on the highway regardless of how much snow fell the night before. To make matters worse the drivers will start cutting you off if you are going anywhere under 20 mph over the posted speed limit. If there is no room to cut you off they will either ride in your blind spot, or ride right up on the tail of your car until you either exit, speed up to make an opening for them to cut you off or spin off the road after hitting a patch of black ice and pull to wheel to avoid being rear-ended.

"Welcome to Illinois...

...now turn right around." This is how the welcome signs at the Illinois/Wisconsin borders should read. The majority of times I've been pulled over driving it has been in Illinois, while I was respecting the speed limit. As I am a non-confrontational person, I've never filed for harrassment charges, but it's apparent that I could.

Most of the driving I do in Illinois is on six lane highways when you get into cities, two lane when you're not in the cities. Here's what is interesting about that. When in the two lane zones there is absolutely no one. If I see another car it usually has Wisconsin plates and the driver looks just as baffled with a tinge of fear as I do. Right when the lanes expand you are suddenly surrounded and boxed in by local drivers. No warning, no perspective, just cars on all sides that you have no clue where they came from.

The worst part of driving in Illinois for a Wisconsin driver lies in the roadsigns. In Wisconsin we have mile markers telling us what cities we are heading towards and how far away they are. It is dreadfully convenient when you're not sure if you're going the right way, especially if you know what is around your desitination city. Illinois is devoid of such signs. The only way to tell what direction you're going, approximately, is to look at the car dealership signs litering the highway or by looking at the dealership license plate frames. This isn't exactly fool proof either. Seeing as you won't be seeing any local cars until you are in the next city, you spend a lot of time looking at ads for hints. However, since everything is close together and dealerships are rather haphazardous as to where they advertise this can usually lead you astray.

As an example, take my trip to the McHenry Borders store last month. I started driving south on 12 because the website said that it was on 12 in McHenry. Shortly after leaving Wisconsin, 12 turned left and going straight would take me down 31. So I followed 12 going East.

McHenry is a half an hour away from Williams Bay where I live. The entire way I kept seeing advertisements for a Honda/Toyota dealership in McHenry, so I figured I was on the right road. After an hour of driving and passing through Waucanda twice, I realized there was something wrong. Pulling over into a vacant parking lot, I took my map out of the glove compartment. Apparently 31 is "old 12" from when the highway was diverted to avoid McHenry altogether. Cutting back North I drove through Waucanda again to meet up with a crossing road that would take me straight in McHenry. I learned, on that drive, that it is very easy to shake your fist in anger and exclaim "WAUCANDA!" It just rolls off the tongue.

Moral of the story is that, had there been road signs I would have saved myself an hour of driving by identifying that I was on the wrong road to get to McHenry. Hence, "Welcome to Illinois, now turn right around."

Coraline, Almost

I had gone to see Coraline this past week and was going to work out a review of the film because I have a lot invested in anything that Neil Gaiman has a hand in. Unfortunately, the only place nearby to see it was the Rock theatre in Janesville. It's a theatre that is rundown and full of little oddities left over from the '90s, which would be cool, if that didn't mean the equipment was rundown too it might be a cool theatre to see movies in.

I unfortunately watched the movie without sound from the rear right speakers. This, effectively, removes half of the soundtrack causing the film to be lopsided and removing a massive amount of the experience, especially in a Henry Selick film. So instead of writing a lacklustre review for a movie I didn't get to see, not really, I will just leave it at the contribution to the film from They Might Be Giants.

Coraline-Other Father Song

Spoilers

Whenever I get the urge to write again, which is getting clustered closer and closer together these days, I'll probably talk about living "back in the day", the HD experience and Street Fighter IV.

Hadoken!!!

River Wisdom OR, Education, families and SNL

2009-02-16T20:01:00.000-08:00

SO, I'm back at the house and you can bet that I'm watching Firefly regardless of how many days it actually takes me to post this. I'm going to try to get this out tonight because I'm in a positive, if not a slightly melancholic mood. It's as they say though, melancholy is the act of taking joy in misery.

Just Push Play

Despite having a rather lack lustre day working I'm feeling rather... well, happy's not the right word, but I'll just stick with the word positive. However, since I enjoy writing with a certain amount of trenchancy, I'll talk about my day at work first.

Originally, I was supposed to have a half day, but this morning before work I got reassigned. Interestingly, I almost missed that call. I had set my alarm for earlier than I usually do, so I responded like any sane person in the digital age - I hit the snooze button. Afterwards I promptly passed out again allowing my body to anticipate those delicious five minutes of attempting REM sleep.

Four minutes later my alarm, which is my phone went off. My body instantly reacted to it with the usual rage it does anytime it hears something wake me up. I slammed into my phone working to silence the offensive sound when out of the corner of my eye I noticed instead of saying "Snooze" where I usually press it said "Mute". Well that's not right. Groggily I answered and accepted the upgrade to a full day.

Here's where being a sub is good and bad. I got there and learned my lesson plans for the day consisted of telling the students to read and then showing a movie. I've never heard high schoolers gripe so much about watching movies instead of doing work. Quite frankly I would have preferred to led a discussion, but that's not really a sub's job. We're not trusted with the minds of today's youth, just the supervision of them.

Albeit, our options for films were limited, but I gave the classes the opportunity to vote. Many just kept reading their books and chose to stay out of the democratic process, but those that didn't get what they wanted complained, some quite offensively. I think I know how George Bush has felt for the past eight years... except, you know, I wasn't making decisions that affected the entire world.

Towards the end of the day the classes got progressively offensive spouting off "This movie sucks!" uncontrollably directed at me and O' Brother Where Art Thou? The worse part is that he voted to watch that over Cheaper by the Dozen, Hitchhiker's Guide and Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. About a half an hour later he came up and asked if he could go to the bathroom.

You know how you can tell when someone is asking to be excused because they're bored? Yeah, that was the look in his eyes. So I looked right at him and said "No."

He blinked a long blink of disbelief, "What?" he said in genuine confusion.

"No. You're bored and you don't really have to go to the bathroom. Also, you haven't earned the right to be excused."

"Well... how do I earn the right?"

"You show respect to the people in the class, including the teacher."

Without argument he sat down bleary-eyed and utterly befuddled that someone told him he couldn't do something because he was being disrespectful. Too bad that approach never worked when I was working with the kids from Long Island at the Towers. Whenever I spoke to a student like that there the company had to deal with yet another lawsuit that was supposedly my fault. I can't wait until I'm union.

"Your toes are in the sand"

Harry Wong

(No, that's not a euphemism)

I was sitting in class today, and I'm not going to lie, it's a class that I've been nothing but negative towards, and we covered some very interesting stuff tonight. It was, perhaps, the first time that I felt it wasn't just three hours of me smiling and nodding. Yes, for the most part I was blanking out and not paying much attention, but then we watched a video from Harry Wong's The First Days of School. (If that was my name, I would go by Harold)

Unfortunately I can't find the video anywhere. Apparently educators don't like doing illegal things, like posting copyrighted material to Youtube, so enjoy just one of many reasons that Saturday Night Live is worth watching again.

Harry Wong talked about our culture and the decline of education. He made an argument that has been made by all previous generations, but made some very elegant points about it. While the point that we no longer sit down as a family has degenerated our values and removed positive culture in our lives is often made, rarely is it actually backed up or actually rationalized. He made the point that if you look at fast food restaurants they are designed for only one or two people to sit down at; not families.

While this is true, I've always argued that the problem isn't just in the families. The family unit is suffering because of American "work-ethic" and "productivity". As a family and as people I do believe that every person has a right to work and earn a living equally. However, the problematic issue is that in our rush to make things fair and our rush to be good capitalists, we've neglected to take time to adjust for families.

So many families need both parents to work, and often long hours, just to support the family. Sometimes both parents work out of stubborn self-interest to prove equality. The common thread here is that our work force is no longer taking children of these people into consideration. If two parents must work long hours just to pay bills or work long hours because they want to be productive members of society it means that they've all but forgotten that they have a child at home who needs to see them. It's not that we're bad people in our new society, it's that we no longer have the "luxury" of raising our children. This isn't the schools' faults or responsibilities either. We just have to do what we can without replacing that family unit.

Seeing as most culture is learned around the dinner table, it is rather depressing to think that, for one reason or another, even the best intentioned families either can't or have difficulty finding the time to make and sit down to dinner. Once kids reach a certain age it's difficult to change these patterns and cultures.

I made a serious faux pas in class after thinking about this though. I started making generalizations in my head and came to the conclusion that all people who wanted to be teachers had the experience of a supportive family and full structure that is prized. So I decided to open my mouth and asked the class how many of us had this experience, fully expecting every hand to go up... not every one did and I had realized just how offensive I was being as the faces connected to the hands that didn't go up dropped.

In the future, if I find a woman tolerant enough to have children with me, I will apply a hyper-intensified version of a social rule I keep with family and friends. People who know me and are close enough to me know that if I am needed, hell, even if I'm just wanted, I'll drop whatever I am doing to be there.

Hear that ladies? You want to be professionals? I want to be a house-husband.

"No power in the 'verse can stop me"

Asian Families are soooo Much Better

Harry Wong went on to say that if we want to see good models of family togetherness and respectful students look at the Mormon and Asian families around you. This is, of course, erroneous because all generalizations are false. As soon as I heard this I began thinking of my experiences in Korea with students and families.

A few observations about my experience have shown that saying all or even a majority of Asians are good students and have a strong family unit is a fairly ridiculous claim. I learned that respect for those at a "higher station" has become outdated and quite often the family unit was riddled with abuse, disinterest and infidelity. Quite often students of mine had to be admonished to listen to me despite being American.

Then I started to think about the fact that I hate when my father scolds me for not qualifying my statements with sold fact and cited sources. I also started listening to the general cultural points he was making. Quite often in Asian families dinner is eaten with several generations and there are protocols and procedures that are just implicitly followed. The dinner table is set to induce communication, sharing and ultimately community.

"My food is problematic."

My Korean Family

This caused me to abruptly change thought processes towards the way I lived two years ago. Despite being foreigners, all with very set ways, we inadvertently developed towards very Korean tendencies. Becoming acculturated, despite living on our own, was quite a feat. Think about this made me really miss what I started referring to as my Korean family.

Every weekend, give or take, a handful of us would get together and without even thinking about we would sit down to a family style dinner where we ate whenever we ate, talked, shared and drank together. Over the course of dinner and drinks which could be as short as a half an hour over burgers and beer or all night long over shabu-shabu and soju while we shared what happened to us over the past week.

We even had family roles laid out. Jen and Leif definitely adopted the roles of parents in our family while Jason, Ev and I were the bratty children that were loved nonetheless. T-Money and Gibbs took the role of those crazy uncles and Chris was the grandpa who is kind of crotchety, but has his moments of clarity and enjoyment. These people and more made me love my time there because I had a family unit.

The more I thought about that, the more I realized I have a need for that sort of interaction which, as far as I've noticed, has only been met with my real family since I've come back. While it's great that I can relate to my family, it's saddening to me that I can't relate to my friends on that level here with precious few exceptions.

"She understands... she doesn't comprehend."

Getting Home

Bringing me to the final, and possibly most pressing issue on my mind right now is the fact that I miss Korea. It's not like when I had a nervous breakdown complete with waking my father at two in the morning just to talk to anyone. This is a more serene, pleasant and peaceful longing.

I think about all the people I met, and how much they meant to me in such a short time. I think about the lifestyle. I think about the money. I think about so many things and wonder why it was that I was so anxious to leave. After longer reflection I think about the neighborhood I lived in and the students I had taught and stop wondering that much. However, it doesn't stop me from talk of return.

The other day I was online with Jason and we were talking about our future plans and I found myself almost pleading with him to go back to Korea with me. Of course that is part of my plan that is a stepping stone towards living in Japan, but nonetheless I started feeling like Jack in Lost pleading "We have to go back!" after spearheading the efforts to leave in a hurry.

Much of this thinking has recently been exacerbated by the fact that Brad recently went to Japan, and listening to his stories and hearing about his longing to travel just reminded me what every day was like for me. Sadly, I have to finish my business here before I pick up and leave again. I need to do this because no matter how bad I felt dealing with culture shock and racism, it was nothing compared to the difficulty that I bore returning home without a plan.

"They were waiting to be, but they forgot. Now they see sky, and they remember what they are."

OKStripclub OR, Similarities in online dating and gentlemen's clubs degenerates into stupidity

2009-01-27T11:55:00.000-08:00

SO, I felt it fitting that the day after Valentine's Day I would write about being pathetic. I've belonged to an online dating site for a little while that is also a social network site like Facebook with quizzes and such. Not that I take it too seriously, but it'd be nice to think that I'd at least meet some interesting people.

Thus far, I've been proven completely wrong. I've come to the conclusion that going to these websites is no different than going to a strip club. Awkward social interactions full of people trying to get attention.

Intentions

As I've come to understand it, from my own research and observation, that going to a strip club, for many men, is an attempt to simulate what it feels like to be on a really easy date. Online dating is, for men, about the illusion of getting a real date easily. It's important to home in on the word "illusion" in those two statements. It's more obvious at a club if you can read people (setting aside the whole "she just wants money" transparency). Looking at the bored looks on the girls faces after telling people their fake names as the men tell them about their fake jobs.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Hi my name is Ashli"

"I'm John."

"So what do you do John?" She says looking around the room wondering who is more willing to give her money.

"Oh yeah, I'm a corporate head-hunter." He says as his mind reels looking for a job title that sounds cool. "I travel the area looking for talent." Realizing the usual protocol for a date is to talk about the woman, "I'm an excellent judge of character and I'll bet you're real good at quality assurance." Completely unaware of what quality assurance means.

Suddenly remembering she has to pay attention to her customer "Oh! Yeah, of course. Hey hon, I'll be right back." she says giving him a disinterested kiss on the cheek before she darts off to the guy who just tipped her friend ten dollars after a dance.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

With that, the easy date is over and John the corporate headhunter has to attract another date for the night.

Now, to answer the question of why I think online dating creates illusions? There are many reasons, but for the purposes of my point I'll assume that it's not one of those sites where the conversation goes.

"Hey baby. My name's Cindi, what's yours?" Types the three hundred pound, bearded body while he is multi-tasking by checking his World of Warcraft simulated profits from selling his legendary orc-slaying battle axe at the same time.

No, I refer to how, in the past I've only known of three people who have met someone from a site, and it didn't turn out so well and the only people I have ever met from these sites have some sort of hook that is basically hiding flaws in plain site.

-Neglecting to mention crazy exes, but mentioning that she's had man-trouble in the past.

-Gorgeous pictures... from the neck up.

-"This is a picture of me from high school" being the caption of the only picture in the profile.

-"I'm a Wiccan/Pagan/Buddhist and I'm very serious about it." She says only for you to find out she has no clue what the hell her BS religion actually entails.

-Mentioning that family is very important to her which later translates to that she has no intention of ever moving out of her father's house or that her mother will probably hit on you because the two are on the same maturity level.

There are a lot more little tricks that I could mention, but instead...

Introductions

It's no secret that I have a severe distaste for people who do things because they're chic or things that are cliched. I've complained at length about them in the past. I didn't miss the irony of the fact that I'm writing this on my sticker-clad laptop while watching Lost, Firefly and Battlestar brewing a pot of coffee and looking at my autographed concert posters above my HDTV in a darkened room while burning candles. However, if I decided to defend the cliches that I support, I'd never move onto pointing out other people's flaws and hypocrisies.

It's a pain in the ass when a thinking mind is stopped by stupid attempts at being different without understanding. Strangely enough, a lot of women don't realize that in their attempt to being liberated women and forward thinkers makes them exactly like the women that I despise and say are deplorable or have low self-esteem.

Pop Quiz

Here's a challenge for you. Peruse some of the online dating sites and then spend some time talking to strippers before making a decision. Here's the game.

Stripper or Online Dating

"My real name is Ashley. I'm a single mom, my two kids from my ex husband are my life. Family is really important to me even though my step-father wasn't a good person while growing up. I'm bi-sexual. I have a tattoo of a butterfly and a flower with the chinese symbol for crazy that people are always asking me about. I'm a vegan too."

Your challenge, is this the first contact with a stripper or with someone you meet on OKCupid.com? Ruminate on the question while you watch some greatness from the Polyphonic Spree.

Let's highlight the main points.

-Her name is really...
-She's a single mom
-Family is important
-Daddy issues
-Bi-Sexuality
-Tattoo (probably a tramp-stamp) of chinese characters (not symbols stupid)
-Vegan

The envelope please.
-
-
-
And the answer is...
-
-
-
-
OKCupid profile.

Here's how you can tell. Firstly, her kids are from her ex husband, not two different fathers. Then her daddy issues aren't from her real father, they are from her step-father (This one is negotiable, it was the ringer of the profile). The big clue though, is that she is a vegan.

Cliches, Lies and Alibis

There is a whole series of trends that are rather frustrating to me because they are things that are really quite defining and important life choices that are being exploited these days for the purpose of fashion. I know, I say "these days" as though that is something new. I don't feel I have to quantify and qualify my statements here, so stop quivveling and let me get on with it.

Most strippers claim to be bi-sexual or act bi-sexual. This is mainly for effect and to get better tips, but even in their private lives they act the same way often. I have absolutely nothing against sexual orientation. I have no problem whatsoever with people who are genuine about it though. There has been a huge movement to not recognize acceptance and mistake it for popular trend.

It seems that every other girl's profile on OKCupid is listed as "single" and "bi-sexual". I completely accept that it's possible that they are bi, but I highly doubt it. I was discussing this with a friend of mine the other day (to inform you why this is important, she is a lesbian) and she agreed that it was offensive that these pretty little things that have the brain power of coffee pot with a crack are claiming to be bi-sexual.

Let's talk about this for a second. You are not bisexual because:
You like relationships with men, but think the female form is beautiful
You had a lesbian experience in college because everyone is doing it
You make out with your friends at the bar so guys will buy you shots
A lesbian kissed you once and you kind of liked it

It is a very specific thing to make a choice about your sexual-orientation and when you bandy about titles you offend people to whom it actually applies.

Let's talk about claiming you are Buddhist, Pagan, Wiccan, whatever "controversial" religion you want people to hear about so they recognize that you are unique just like everyone else. This is rarer in strip clubs, but rampant in the "I was a cheerleader in high school but am now a dissenter" that are constant on OKCupid.

Just because you don't like mainstream religion of Christianity doesn't make you Wiccan or Buddhist. I won't go into stupidity of actually saying that you're pagan right now, that's a rant for another time. In fact, this whole part of it is for a much bigger post where I will rant and extol why no one is really the religion they claim they are. However, let's just leave it at, just because you like the idea of a religion, doesn't mean you are that religion.

I Don't Get it

I can't wrap my mind around who are being attracted to these cries for attention. If you stop and look at things you notice ingenuousness and people who say or do things that are being said or done for effect even though sometimes they don't realize it themselves. The more of an act you put on the less real you are, obviously, but some people think they aren't putting on an act. I equate a lot of these people to archaic fads. Some people defined themselves by disco. Being a hippy is similar, while people still obsess over it and go to Phish concerts and refuse to wash their hair in an attempt to make dreadlocks, they are really quite fake and have the most vital half-life.

Eventually there comes a time when you have to face reality. Do you know what happened to the original hippies? They grew up, got jobs and are now your parents, so they foster your stupid claims in an attempt to reclaim what they think they don't have anymore, not realizing that it'll only hurt more when you are told you can't go to the big staff meeting wearing your "Wiccan's do it with a goddess" t-shirt while you burn sandalwood incense in an attempt to soothe the prospective investers. Oh, and if you find out that the investor is actually bi-sexual, don't regail them with stories of when your sorority sister sucked on your nipple because the guys from the TKE house brought tequila.

Now my rant is done because I realize I've completely gone off topic and probably have offended a lot of the people I've chosen to surround myself with. If any of this looks familiar to you, minus my ranker of course, don't be mad at me, just sit back and ask valid questions that this raises. Oh and don't make an OKCupid profile because you'll come off like a stripper.

Dare to be Stupid OR, more wasted time between homework assignments

2009-01-23T12:11:00.000-08:00

1. Put your music on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS!
4. Tag people who might enjoy this
Just Do it!

IF SOMEONE SAYS "IS THIS OKAY?" YOU SAY
“Bonus Mystery Track”
Black Crowes
That seems like a logical thing for me to say. I think I will.

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
“Sunset Grill”
Don Henley
I really don’t know what to say about that. Maybe you do?

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
“Winter Reggae”
The Red Elvises
“Natasha singing reggae” yeah! Unka chaka unka chaka… that is every damn reggae song.

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
“Cold Water”
Tom Waits
Kinda funny because I finally have water back in my house.

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
“Sign”
Nobuo Uematsu
I’m waiting for my destiny? That’s my life’s purpose, to wait for a sign? That sucks. I might as well be reading highlights magazine instead of going to school then.

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
“Love Me Like That”
Michelle Branch
Hmmmm… I’m sure you can make your own jokes about that one.

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
“Big Blue Sea”
Bob Schneider
Yeah, I kinda gotta get my s**t together.

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
“Love Me Do”
Beatles
Well, I mean look at my motto.

WHAT IS 2+2?
“(This song’s just) Six Words Long”
Weird Al
I’m pretty sure that math is wrong, but I am discalculic.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
“Candy”
Presidents of the United States of America
Which one now?

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
“Cinnamon Girl”
Matthew Sweet & Susanna Hoffs
Wow, these are just kinda getting’ eerie.

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
“Po’ Lazarus”
James Carter and the Prisoners
Ummmm… I’m pretty sure I was never on a chain gang, but I guess I do keep redefining myself, and my philosophy of being resurrected every time I change… yeah it’s a stretch.

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
“Death is the Road to Awe”
Clint Mansell, Fountain OST
Searching for the secret to immortality?

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
“Such Unlikely Lovers”
Elvis Costello & Burt Bacharach
You just can’t make this stuff up.

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
“Superstition”
Stevie Wonder
Ummm… okay, got nothin’ for this one.

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
“I’m Looking Through You”
The Wallflowers cover
So a song about falling out of love will play at my wedding?

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
“Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan – Taboo”
Peter Gabriel
Properly somber and slightly unsettling. If you can get it to listen to you’ll understand why it would be perfect at a funeral. However I will have it immediately followed by something upbeat and humorous, like my goal to have “See you later alligator” played as the pall bearers carry my casket out.

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
“Backwards Guitar”
Catherine Wheel
Yeah, I don’t play guitars anymore.

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
“Walking on the Moon”
The Police
What is that song about anyway?

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
“Make Believe”
Matthew Sweet
That’s depressing.

WHAT'S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?
“Rusty’s Cage”
Johnny Cash
I suppose that would be pretty bad.

HOW WILL YOU DIE?
“One Piece at a Time”
Johnny Cash
That’s even worse.

WHAT IS THE ONE THING YOU REGRET?
“Manifesto”
The Cat Empire
I regret living the way I want?

WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?
“West Texas Moon”
Roger Clyne & The Peacemakers
Sure, whatever you say iTunes

WHAT MAKES YOU CRY?
“Everybody’s Changing”
Keane
I guess.

WILL YOU EVER GET MARRIED?
“Boxing”
Ben Folds
I’ll be an old man looking back on my past glories? So that’s a no?

WHAT SCARES YOU THE MOST?
“Tales of Brave Ulysses”
Cream
Yes, I suppose a difficult odyssey scares me.

DOES ANYONE LIKE YOU?
“Love Pipe”
The Red Elvises
I guess so.

IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
“Us”
Regina Spektor
Well, my iTunes is just a ray of sunshite today.

WHAT HURTS RIGHT NOW?
“The Angel”
Bruce Springsteen
This is getting on my nerves now. Glad it’s almost done.

WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
“Dare to be Stupid”
Weird Al
Gladly

Inauguration Day OR, Where was I when Obama took office?

2009-01-20T19:56:00.000-08:00

SO, today has been quite a day for me. I've decided to postpone writing about online dating sites and gentlemen's clubs. There's a handful of reasons I'm putting that off. For one, I'm still doing research on the topic, but I'll be out of money soon, so research will end soon.

Like I said, today was quite the day for me. It was a great day in fact. It continues to be a great day too. I woke up, tripped the circuit breaker after turning on my coffee pot, misunderstood the homework assignment and looked stupid in class today, when I flushed the toilet every pipe in the house began rattling violently, school's maintenance told me that no one will be able to look at our plumbing until tomorrow late in the morning and I had to stagger the shower I took at my dad's house so I don't need to shower before work in the morning hoping that water will be back by the end of the day but no promises because no one really knows what's wrong.

But none of that matters, even while it was happening, even before I realized why none of it mattered. There was a clarity in the air which made it okay that no one was very helpful when I thought my toilet was going to explode. It's a type of clarity that I haven't felt in my entire life. Today was the day we've proven that

I know it sounds corny. I know it was completely expected of me and I know it's cliched to reflect on this, but it is that strong. This is the first time I'll have been politically aware when someone I did or would have voted for was the U.S. president.

I was aware of life in time to see Ronald Reagan leave office.
I was old enough to learn about war and vomiting on foreign delegates from George Bush.
I knew enough to make jokes about blowjobs with Bill Clinton.
I understood politics enough to know I was living through eight years of one of the worst presidents in history under G.W. Bush.
I felt relief when the curtain lifted on January 20, 2009 when Obama was inaugurated.

I know it's still too early to make any sort of judgement on what kind of president he will be or what the next four to eight years will look like, but for everything that was wrong with our last president from the start, Obama makes up for it. Obama is everything a president needs to be that G.W. was not.

He commands respect with his presence
He looks presidential
He is well spoken
He isn't overtly one sided or discriminatory

That is a list of what we are certain of at this point (barring opinion of what looks presidential, but come on). Of course that is all subject to change. Without talking about his message, or even going into politics, this is a matter of Obama in his capacity as a representative of the American people. A president has to be someone that we are willing to follow and would want representing us to the rest of the world as well as to each other.

There are so many hesitations at the beginning of a new presidency, especially after the hard lessons learned from the Patriot Act, Mission Accomplished and the Axis of Evil. There are so many reflections on what could happen as well as criticisms already possible of Obama as well as continuing to criticize the previous administration. There are a lot of reflections on today's ceremonies, but instead of thinking critically, I just want to continue basking in the hope that Obama represents. With that hope I can finally say something I haven't said and meant in my life ever.

God Bless America

Rant on Education OR, I may offend you, and that proves my point.

2009-01-17T16:44:00.001-08:00

SO, back at Caribou after a long hiatus. Not really a momentous occasion, but it's something different. So for a change, I'm going to start keeping a little bit of uniformity to my writings. Stream of consciousness is good and all, but it makes it a little difficult to keep myself interested in something when I really want to get on with the thing I want to write about next.

Education of Education

I'm not exactly sure what it is about the education field. It bothers me that it should attract some of the most able-minded people in the world, but instead I've met more addle-minded people than I ever have met in one place before. What happened to teachers who have an edge? Or what about teachers who are actually there to teach and not collect a paycheck.

I know I've gone over it a couple times, but I'm astounded by the amount of people who list their reason for being in the education program because they had nothing better to do. I'm not speaking existentially or capability-wise. These are people who, for example, have spouses living in the area and they figured they "should do something." Or just decided it was something that sounded like a good idea because they like having their summers and weekends off. These are people who have their own kids and say that "If I can handle my kids, I can make a living handling other people's kids." These are all things I've heard in icebreakers on our first day of class.

It's not just the apathetic in the field that get to me. It's the ones who are very motivated too. These are people who have replaced their blood with artificial sweetener. Not in that way that they are just so nice that you can't find fault with them. Those are people who have replaced their blood with sugar. It's people that decided a good way to spend their lives is by teaching and on their spare time collecting stuffed animals that have something to do with being a teacher or little angel dolls. You've had these teachers. Their the ones who want to play icebreaker games all day long on the first day of class and expect you to be excited about it when they hand you a paper bag and say "now fill this with things that are important to you and bring it to class next time so we can get to know who you are."

Who am I?

You want to get to know who I am? I'm someone who values real interaction. I'm someone who reads and learns because he wants to get along with his life and become a philosopher king. I'm someone who appreciates when he's spoken to as an adult. I'm someone who has no respect for fake smiles and little hens who squeal with joy when we're going to play another insipid game because you don't know what you want to teach us or can't learn who we are without attaching it to some piddly little paperweight I got on the street at some place I went on vacation last year. I'm someone who isn't offended by contradictory or radical ideas. In short, I'm someone who thinks my time would be better spent learning something than telling you who I am through some exercise that probably offends the middle schoolers you teach because unlike you apparently, I've progressed socially beyond the level of student I want to teach.

Does that sound a little too harsh? Perhaps it's a bit cynical and insulting, but it's like my dad always said about things you see in academia. People who go into psychology have "issues" they need to work out. People who go into communications tend to be social misfits or have a speech impediment. People who go into teaching have the social and intellectual level of the students they teach. I'm not speaking in absolutes of course. Many people who go into communications don't have speech impediments, they just got through three years of college and added up what classes they took the most of.

I'm hyper-critical of people who are impassionate. Or people who are passionate without thought. It's great if I disagree with you or your methods, but if you're just pushing for the sake of pushing back, you're not doing anything of value. You're just wasting my time with contrarian rhetoric. Perhaps you should listen instead of cutting me off to tell me how wrong I am when asked for a personal opinion.

So I don't read and notate the way you do. So I think what you gave me to read is a shell of useless information hiding the point that I'm supposed to get from it. If you hand me an article and I decide to skip the portions that are support and back-patting, I will tell you and if you get insulted by that, perhaps you need to consider a different occupation. It takes someone with thick skin to teach because I'm bringing better arguments than the kids you're currently teaching --- and mine are a lot more cordial.

Such a Cute Widdle Wabid Tiger

The field of education needs more people who are passionate and have an edge. Maybe wide eyes and high voices work for K-5 kids, but leave that behind when you're talking to adults. If you're going to teach anyone older 10 years old, then you will be eaten alive with a saccharine personality. The first requirement of a teacher is being able to make a connection. You're not doing anyone any favors by treating the students and your peers like they just got done watching Sesame Street to learn something. Sidebar: The characters on Sesame Street treat your students with more respect than you do.

If "oh my" is in your vocabulary and comes out every time you hear a dirty joke, then you're not ready to deal with students and I'm not going to have a lot to say that you'll want to hear. Chances are you can't handle change, or ideas that aren't sterilized and sanitized. Do you know what happens when we over-sterilize? We lose our immune systems. Our world is a large place with a lot of things that have been dubbed obscene or inappropriate. Children will see a lot of it by the time they leave your classroom and more of it the older they get. These are things that we should have developed the presence of mind to accept and not hide from because then we get people teaching misconceptions and prejudices.

We need people who are realistic teaching our students. Not people who in the work place as well as social venues are all cute and nauseating. Not only because no one respects them, but because it's socially repressing. These are the people who binge drink on the weekend or have BDSM chambers in their basements. Don't believe me, go hit on a kindergarten teacher wearing a pink cardigan with big eyed, chirping birdies embroidered onto it. I guarantee that you won't want to go to church with her the next morning because you'll feel guilty.

Do I sound like I'm being negative? Perhaps I am, but in the negativity is positivity. The negativity shows that I care and I want to change something that so many don't seem to notice is broken.

What's the Point Tim?

I guess I've taken a long time to reiterate that education is attracting the wrong types of people. The minds we need teaching are the ones who can push the limits. Surely many teachers were inspired by Dead Poets Society. That's great! I watched Knocked Up the other day and admired Katherine Heigl so much that I think I'd make a great pregnant woman. Besides, if the teacher in that movie inspired you, you obviously weren't paying that close of attention and thinking critically about it. He inspires his students to fight the system, gets a kid killed and then gives up as soon as pressure was applied.

The ideals are great but watching cute little things that make you feel comfortable and at the same time rebellious doesn't really serve anyone. It makes me think of the people with posters of cute little kittens hanging off of limbs saying "Hang in there." Or I suppose these days it'd say "I R hnging on ur lim not quitting." Frankly I would prefer walking into a classroom with with a poster that has a picture of a guy getting mauled by a lion that says "Deal with it." Not necessarily tough love. It just implies that daily affirmations and positive thinking are positively useless because it's coddling instead of teaching. We need to teach students how to handle the world rather than just hanging in there.

Some quotes to think about:

"I have never let my schooling interfere with my education."

-- Mark Twain
"Education is what remains after one has forgotten everything he learned in school."

- Albert Einstein
"Education is a method whereby one acquires a higher grade of prejudices."

- Laurence J. Peter

Why did these admittedly brilliant thinkers have such a negativity towards school? Because they were all told that their ideas were too radical, or they weren't able to be taught. There's still a lot of that mentality that is in hiding still in the education system. If I make it through the machine, I'll try to work through and get a little bit of that there reform. Want a good idea of the sort of educator I actually respect? Check out Taylor Mali. He has passion, realism, idealism and an edge. There's much more, but for the meantime...

I'll let you go

I know this wandered and rambled and was incredibly confrontational, but there's a lot I've been thinking about, and venting was the best option. Eventually I'll write about my educational theories in a more positive light. Today however, I'm annoyed by the people teaching me and learning alongside me. Next time I'll rant about online dating sites and strip clubs without remorse.

If it wasn't for disappointment OR, When I start with one thought then decide to hold out to watch Battlestar

2009-01-09T15:00:00.000-08:00

SO, the life of a substitute teacher is a particularly masochistic one. There are many mornings of hastily made coffee, which is sometimes substituted with gas station coffee. It’s a life filled with early morning phone calls, hurried showers, a stick of gum to replace brushing your teeth, poor or no breakfast, mismatched socks, un-tucked shirts, “get psyched” mix blaring in the car (mine of course being less of a mix and more the Best of Tom Jones ‘cause that’s just how I rolls), teens pushing the limits, teachers pushing the limits and no guarantee of a paycheck. That aside, I really am living my middle school dream like I said before. I get to play video games and watch movies however long and whenever I want, my classes are night classes and I don’t have to go to work if I don’t want to. What’s not to love?

Comic Book disappointment of the New Year

In the past week of catching up I’ve read some pretty bad comic books. The adaptation of My Name is Bruce, the entire X-Men Legacy series, the end of Secret Invasion, the beginning of Dark Reign, but none as disappointing as X-Factor #38.

Capping off a rather unfulfilling storyline in which X-Factor is hired to find the mutant Darwin just to have him kidnapped again by a businessman who wants to take his adaptability/evolutionary abilities and give them to mercenaries this issue seemed to drag on because Peter David just kind of phoned in the dialogue and zipped up a story that I’d imagine he just wanted to end. I know I wanted it to. Quite frankly the only thing that really happened in the story of any import was the three page interlude where Siryn went into labor and Val got shot. Okay, I lied it’s six pages, but you take my point for what it is. The most interesting part of the comic is a woman trying to get to the hospital.

What has really been bothering me about X-Factor recently though, is the fact that Marvel is just throwing on whatever artists they signed a contract with and don’t know where to put them. X-Factor is not the kind of book that you can experiment with contract artists. It’s stylized and deserves quality art for the usual work that Peter David does. Gone are the days of Ryan Sook, or even Khoi Pham. Now we have to sit through the art of Larry Stroman just to get to some hack artist simply named Nelson. Really, just Nelson? That’s not even a cool enough name to be just one name.

Stroman has been doing the art on and off for the last ten issues and it has been driving me crazy. It’s rather insulting to have an abstract artist portraying Peter David’s scripts. I’m sure there’s a handful of people who like that style, but when you can’t discern between what is a person’s face and what is a dog’s face in the same frame, it’s time to find someone else. Stroman even fooled the colorist on several occasions because there was no way to tell what was really going on in the comic.

Hopefully the next issue will be better, but I’m a little worried that I’ll just have to do the unthinkable and stop reading this title, which would make me very sad. Having to abandon a Peter David comic book is unfortunate because he really is one of the best writers in the industry, until he runs out of steam on a title. Like I just did on this section. So let’s talk about…

Movie Disappointment of the New Year

I finally got to watch Burn After Reading. What can I say; it’s a Cohen Brothers film, so I was very eager to see it. Great cast, as always. Quirky plot, as always. But it lacked the heart that other Cohen bros films have. The violence was gratuitous and the characters were underdeveloped.

It seems to me that the Cohens are either getting bored or they are attempting to take a grittier approach to movies. I haven't seen No Country for Old Men yet, but I'm a little worried that any sense of whimsy left in their movies will be lost to the wind eventually. This film just seems to be the last attempt to save it with Brad Pitt being a dim-wit with one of the most shocking scenes in the film. If you've seen it, you know what I mean.

Enough negativity, it's just that the X-Factor issue was so damned disappointing I almost went on a tangent that could have lasted much longer. It's better that I don't

Abruptly Changing Topics

Most of the above was written at least a week ago, and I've changed my mind about what I wanted to continue on my usual path of consciousness. There was an entire story I was going to tell about Christmas that ended with an old man using a racial epithet to describe his coffee and a tale about New Years Eve where I dance with a bunch of the School for the deaf graduates and I actually listened to the voice of reason and went home at 2 am instead of forcing it. I was going to talk about how I'm living life in a Tralfamadorian lifestyle these days. There was going to be an entire rant about missing the lifestyle that living in Korea afforded me. There was going to be a lot that I just don't want to write about now. For now, I just want to get this finished and put this up so I have something out there and I feel more useful than not.

Here's the deal. In the past week I started classes, worked --- a lot and I've moved. Albeit, it wasn't a huge move. I just took all of my stuff from one room in the house to another. It's pretty nice though, I've opened up my space, it's nice to have a room instead of a walkway and the walls aren't plywood with a little plaster spread over it. Not entirely soundproof but a definite improvement. My decorations are all up and I can watch TV from my bed again. The sad part is that the bathroom I'm using now has a shower with the water pressure rivaled by a leaky faucet and no one is laying claim to the soap leaving streaks of soap scum down the side of the tub. What the hell, I've got a better living situation now.

So look out for next time when, if I still feel like it, I'll rant about the typical type you'll see in the field of education and hopefully I'll have some first impressions of the return of Battlestar Galactica. Yeah, maybe that'll happen.

Because I haven't written my next set of stories, here's a music survey.

2009-01-09T09:28:00.000-08:00

The Rules:
1. Put your ZUNE/iPod/MP3 Player/etc. on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS!

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
“Us and Them” Pink Floyd. I guess I’m adversarial

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
“Rock Me Amadeus” Falco. That’s right. Gotta love classical, rock and how to get down with a little new wave.

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
“Buckin’ Horse Rider” Corb Lund Band. Really, I’m going to join the rodeo? That’s my life purpose?

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
“Switchblade” Roger Clyne & The Peacemakers. That’s right, I’ll cut you down right after you cut me in.

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
“It Hasn’t Happened Yet” William Shatner. I guess you really don’t know me. Do you?

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
“No One Knows I’m Gone” Tom Waits. There you have it. Paranoia goes with my new shoes.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
“Liberian Girl” Michael Jackson. They’re the new half-Asian. But to the best of my knowledge I don’t know any.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
“The Future” Leonard Cohen. Always looking towards the future.

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
“I Can’t Wait to Get off Work” Tom Waits. So I’m always waiting to get off work to see my baby?

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
“One Four Five” The Cat Empire. I’m gonna make life better through music.

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
“Sex in Paradise” The Red Elvises. None of that romance crap. Just sex in good places.

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
“The Ballad of Johnny Lawrence” No More Kings. They’ll never let me live down the time I didn’t sweep the leg.

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
“Cars” Gary Numan. God I hope not.

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
“Evolution” Pearl Jam. Damn straight, I was the first mammal to wear pants.

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
“Tommy Can You Hear Me?” The Who. So I like yelling at deaf, dumb and blind kids? Or do I ignore everything?

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
“Believe Me Natalie” The Killers. I’m still not sure what that song is about.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
“Metal Detector” They Might Be Giants. They’re with me all of the time?

WHAT'S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?
“Impossible Germany” Wilco. Isn’t that a song about a relationship.

HOW WILL YOU DIE?
“14th Street” Rufus Wainwright. Die of a broken heart huh? Well, if George Lucas taught us anything it is that that is possible.

WHAT IS THE ONE THING YOU REGRET?
“On The Tweek Again” Primus. About running away without any discernible words?

WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?
“Goodbye Violet Race” Space Hog. I laugh at dying whores? It doesn’t sound very funny.

WHAT MAKES YOU CRY?
“The Outdoor Type” The Lemonheads. Lying to get a girl? I shouldn’t have to lie, so that makes me cry a little.

WILL YOU EVER GET MARRIED?
“Beat of the Traps” Jon Spencer Blues Explosion. It’ll happen, but I won’t like it.

WHAT SCARES YOU THE MOST?
“Somebody Hates Me” Reel Big Fish. Everyone should like me.

DOES ANYONE LIKE YOU?
“Mercedes Benz” Bob Schneider. Sure, whatever that means.

One before the New Year OR, Let's talk about disappointment, roommates and bad weather

2008-12-31T11:15:00.000-08:00

SO, here I am sitting at the kitchen table of this odious place I call home... well, that's not fair, it's not that bad of a place. It's a wide expanse, the heat and AC work - for the most part, the internet is fast when I'm the only person using it and there are plenty of great conversation pieces, like the bat cave entrance to the driveway and the secret doorway to my wing of the house that smells a little like dog-water (not the stuff in the bowl). In any event, I've cleaned the common area to a certain amount of satisfaction. I had to deal with the mess left for winter break by:

The Roommates

So what can be said about having roommates?

J.D. Salinger once said that "It's really hard to be roommates with people if your suitcases are much better than theirs." I'm not really sure how that's applicable here, but getting a quote from a widely recognized name on the topic you're writing about seemed like the sort of thing I should do to be taken seriously as a writer.

Really though, what can be said about me having roommates again is that "Tim should not have roommates." There are many reasons for the general rule. I'm a fairly private person, my personal space is MY personal space and my personal possessions are just that MY PERSONAL possessions. However, I'm a very open and giving person too, so that creates conflict.

I started this time around putting my TV, videogames and DVDs out in the living room saying "Hey guys, feel free to use my stuff out here, just be respectful of it."

Now this is where things got a little messy. One, the guys haven't been very respectful of my stuff. Two, I decided I would rather have my stuff in my bedroom since I couldn't very well watch TV and eat yogurt in my underwear in the living room like I did in my last apartment.

More to the point, Chad just moved out so that means there are only four of us in the house the rest of the year. This will clear things up very well. Now we only have one barbarically disgusting person in the house. Jeff will be quite the problem to compete with, but at least he came about it honestly. Chad was very stealthy in his messiness, mainly because he hid in his room more than I do. However, most of the things I blamed on Jeff (this is mainly because I've watched him peeing off of our back porch as well as field dress a deer there and leave the waste in our backyard) I found out were actually Chad.

When ransacking the apartment after he left I found my spatula and several items of kitchenware in Chad's designated locations in the kitchen. Also, I just finished cleaning up the mess mainly left by him. Aside from the things that I needed to address right away, like the bowl of cereal milk left on the kitchen table and the numerous bottles of half drunk beer, I've left most of the messes sit for a couple weeks. However, being New Year's Eve, I decided today would be a poetic time to clean.

There's always gotta be a viking.

New Year's Quarantine

For any of you that need a reminder of why New Years eve is the devil's birthday here is my report on

New Years Past

Now this list is incomplete because a little while later I wrote about my ridiculous New Years at Paju English Village that ended with a Ukrainian girl ripping her e-mail up in my face which resulted in Leif winning the pool for who I would go home with that night. That would be my X Box 360. The following year consisted of me getting blown off by all of my friends who I was back in contact with since getting back to the states so I rung in the new year with a complimentary glass of bubbly given to me by a girl whose name ended with an I at the closest gentlemen's club. Or was she named for some animal, I don't remember.

Any event, every year in the past I've said that I'm determined to make this NYE better than the previous by either making it big and guaranteed fun or by just locking myself away. I'm keeping my quarantine for most of today, but I will be going out tonight. Mind you, despite having a girlfriend who will be spending her night in Chicago, I am not doing anything special with anyone special because that's just a recipe for disaster. The thing I've never tried, is to just treat it like any other night. So tonight's plan is to go out with Sean and a crew from high school who are home for the holiday. Not a New Years party, not a wild blowout, but just a night getting some drinks with some old friends. If I go to karaoke later, I go to karaoke later, no big deal.

Perhaps one day the New Year's Eve demons will forget about me and let me enjoy myself again, but that is not this year and until then I'm not putting myself into a vulnerable position.

"Your future students depend on this"

I've finished my first semester at George Williams College. Let me just start by saying that the only reason I chose to go to GWC was because it was close, quick and convenient. Rather than taking Bio 101 and 50+ credits full time to get my license at Whitewater or Parkside, it's nice to get my license after only 27 credits of night courses. That being said, I had to deal with some pain in the arse stuff for the semester.

George Williams College is really a very hands off environment. That, I suppose, is to be expected from a tiny little college that is owned by a bigger Illinois university. However, I had to face off with a difficult professor my first time out.

Note: Even if you have a PhD, if you are in the teaching business or anything that doesn't require you to have the degree, you should not demand people refer to you as Doctor. This goes out to any of you going for your Dr. title. Except for maybe Lenny, just because I like the idea of calling him Dr. Lenny even though he'll demand to be Dr. Lindh. The next person who corrects me and says that they are to be referred to as Dr. _________, I will demand they refer to me as Bachelor Beringer until they have to call me Master Beringer.

Here is an ad-junct professor who has just sent me my final grade for his course, of course it was an A, but his feedback wasn't even well done diplomatically. When this is your opening

Technically, you earned the points so you earned the grade.

Then you should stop right there and reconsider. Especially if you're an elementary school principal who is ad-juncting at a little private college that has only 18 students living on campus that can't afford to flunk people out. He went on to attack the final presentation I gave, which he told me I didn't deserve the grade I got. This makes me ask the question, why did I get that grade then? He apparently was a pain to others as well. Talking to another student, she had gotten 9/10 on all of her papers with the simple comment at the top.

No one is perfect.

Really, you're teaching graduate level courses and you're trying to teach us all about humility? Also, don't bring into question what kind of a teacher I'll make. That's just insulting. Isn't it your job to motivate me, and not try to bully me like you do the little old ladies that work for you.

I've decided, after sparring with him about a month over why my papers weren't getting good grades, that it's best to just accept the fact that he's an elementary school administrator who ran a class that was geared towards future elementary school teachers so it's really not worth my time to keep him impressed or prove him wrong. Bitter much?

Then let's talk about Mr. Kelly. I started the semester at odds with him for some reason, not sure why, but I was. As the semester progressed I got to loving his class. Unfortunately, due to attendance issues (see: I don't feel like going) I only got a B in the class. However, he did tell me that I will make a great teacher and anytime I needed a recommendation or class observation I should get ahold of him... Eat it DR. Elementary.

Thundercats HO!!!

So the nerd in me is saying two things, one of which I didn't think he'd say.

This is amazingly done and I really want to see it made now. I never thought I'd want to see a live action Thundercats movie, but this has piqued my interest and curiosity in what they can do.

Guys on Ice

I don't really like going to live theatre. I know that's hypocritical being that I like performing in live theatre, but generally, I find it to be boring and the seats to be far too uncomfortable most of the time. Sometimes though, something comes along that I get a chance to see that will be too much fun not to sit through.

Boy do I wish that's what I was talking about. No I'm talking about getting to see Guys on Ice. A musical about ice fishing in Northern Wisconsin. Oh how glorious it was. However, the real story was in getting there.

I had gone to Jessica's party the night before and was in a rush to get back up to Burlington which should have been an hour and a half trip. Unfortunately, the weather hadn't been very cooperative, as has been the trend recently. There was blowing snow, ice and just generally nasty cold conditions. However, I am a good driver... because I'm from Wisconsin... and made it without incident despite plowing through several unavoidable drifts on Hwy 14.

*Quick aside: Chad is still haunting me after cleaning. I didn't check the oven and apparently he had charred a frozen pizza and just left it sitting in the oven for me to find.

Well, back to the drive. I ended up losing a half an hour because about a half an hour short of my goal there had been an accident on 14. Someone had spun out and gone off the side of the road. Now usually this would mean that the road goes to one lane and the state troopers wave traffic through, but I was in Illinois. Apparently protocol changes when you live in a state where governors habitually get arrested. All of 14 was barricaded off just short of the Wisconsin border. After waiting for the Illinois troopers to get on with it I decided to turn around, go back a full fifteen miles to pick up another Hwy that would take me straight into Lake Geneva.

I neglected to realize that the wind was coming directly from the West and that road, in Illinois at least, was straight North and South without any sort of features, like trees, to block snow drifts. And people say that Wisconsin is barren and boring to drive through.

A half an hour late for the bus in Burlington I pulled into town. I didn't realize the amount of people that Chuck had organized to go see this musical. Stepping onto a bus with fifty some odd people dressed in their best Northern Wisconsin costumes Chuck goes "Alright everyone he's here."

"Boooooooo!"

Followed by "Alright everyone he's here!"

"YAAAAAAAY!"

The musical was hilarious. At one point I started figuring that they were playing up Wisconsin attitudes a bit much. It seemed like it was getting to the point where it was just not believable. Then I remembered the last time I was at karaoke and Ketch showing me the picture of the "eight pound" trout that he couldn't believe he caught after a week of the ice being frozen that he had on his cell phone... five times.

End of the night, I was on my way home completely forgetting that I had a long driveway in the middle of woods that I had left alone for two days of snow and gusty winds.

Big Dog to the Rescue!

I plowed through a thick layer of snow at the front of my driveway. The snow was in a uniform layer on the drive so I figured I'd be safe to just plow right through it. What I neglected to realize was that although it was a uniform layer, it was about a half a foot high.

There's something very confusing about your car moving and then suddenly not. I spun my wheels for a moment spitting snow every direction. Then I decided I'd try the other half of the driveway once I rocked and pushed myself out of the rut I had dug into. The batcave entrance is covered by trees, so I reasoned that it'd be clearer. It wasn't.

Finally I decided to dig out enough to pull my car just past the tree line so it wasn't visible from the road and went in. It was nine and I was tired, but the more I thought on it, the more I wanted to get my car closer to the house. Getting all bundled up I trekked out to the car, turned on the headlights for a very Stephen Spielberg feel and got to shoveling.

Ah fantasies of starring in film.

http://www.mymoviemoment.com/?mId=29211774

But boy do my eyes look dead in that.

Back to the story.

I don't use my bluetooth headset much, but for long drives I tend to take it out so my hands are free for driving and the hot drink that usually keeps me company when I'm not flipping through my iPod. That's right, Wisconsin drivers can do all that and we don't even cut people off.

About a half an hour into shovelling my phone started ringing. I answered, but couldn't hear a damn thing, then I heard a strange little voice from my inside pocket. Taking my bluetooth headset out I realized it had turned on. It was my dad checking if I was trying to get ahold of him. I assured him I wasn't because I had been outside digging through the trenches on the shorter part of my drive. Then I remembered that if you hit the little button on the side of the headset twice it redials. That would explain the concern in my father's voice. After all, he did just receive five phone calls from his son where all he heard was metal on concrete and grunting.

I turned off the headset and put in the car so as to avoid more incidences. As I leaned out from my car I heard the jingle of a dog collar. Looking up through the darkness I noticed our backyard neighbor known only as Big Dog.

Not much is known about Big Dog. He runs the OWLS program on campus and is a fifty year old "Captain Awesome." He mountain bikes, white water rafts, rock climbs and I'm pretty sure he does base jumping on the weekend.

"Here, you take a break." He said grabbing the shovel from me. While he shovelled he kept conversing. "I didn't think anybody was here over break. Otherwise I would've told the guys on campus to plow your drive."

Big Dog just took that shovel and like magic the drive was cleared. Big Dog took off walking his dog back home when I tried to pull my car into the drive. Forgetting the basic rule of cars, I had left my headlights on thinking "Oh, the headlights are on for a reason, so the battery won't run down." Yeah. That's not how it works.

I called Big Dog back and asked if he'd be able to give me a jump. Thinking I'd just push my car forward into the drive Big Dog would pull in after me and give my a jump that way. Half way down the driveway in comes Big Dog in his pickup truck... trying to get through the unplowed part of the driveway.

Two more hours later, we got his truck unstuck and I got my car to the front of the house. Exhausted, I looked forward to the impending holidays. But that's for another time.

My Name is Tim OR, Bruce, pictures and the return of the Disjointed News Circle

2008-12-15T11:40:00.001-08:00

SO, today I'm working with a few screws loose. I've finished all of my school work after having watched over thirty hours of movies in the interest of keeping my attentions focused on doing good work. That's right, I only work well when I have movies on in the background, and the list of movies it took me to write the twenty-six pages due last week was long.

1. The Mummy & Mummy Returns
2. The Ocean's series (3 movies)
3. The Harry Potter Series (5 Movies)
4. The Matrix Series (3 Movies)
5. The Pirates of the Caribbean Series (3 movies)
6. The Dark Knight

That's right, seventeen movies. Of course, not all of it was productive time, I mean after all I needed to rest my mind for fear of crushing my soul.

Fortunately it paid off. I got my first round of papers back and solid A's all around. I've just one paper yet to see and then I'll be completely done with this semester. I'm liking the whole layout of my classes. This semester was only Tuesday and Thursday nights, three hours a night. Next semester is going to be even better. For eight weeks it will be classes on Monday and Tuesday nights for three hours a night, and then after the eight weeks it will only be Tuesday nights. I mean how cool is that? I get to continue my Middle School Dream.

Middle School Dream Realized
But at what cost?

It's well known that I have a lot of time on my hands what with living what I've started referring to as my middle school dream. I just didn't figure I'd have so little hair by this point, but here's the reasoning.

-Don't have to go to work if I don't want to
-Get to play video games and watch movies as much as and whenever I please
-School only two nights a week (Yes, I'm a nerd and I like learning, just not too much)

So yeah, I have a lot of free time and an active imagination, but I am no where near this bored.

That is just the best one. There's an entire series of machinemas called Voldo Dance.

I've played the Soul Calibur games before and I've never even looked at that character and thought to myself, "Damn! I bet I can choreograph an entire dance set to Michael Jackson." I have better things to waste my time on. Well, tomato/tomatoe I guess.

Disjointed News Circle

With news of the latest Halo 3 Shooting I'm tempted to write another thirteen page rant on why video games are not to be blamed for our society's ailments. But I really don't want to.

With the addition of Olivia Wilde to Tron 2.0, maybe a sequel to that horror isn't such a bad idea.

Speaking of horror, the most recently announced attempt at video game to movie adaptation is:

I'm excited for this because this is the game that started the survival/horror genre that spawned video games like Silent Hill. Of course it is a game about escaping from a guy who kills with a giant pair of scissors, but what the hell. It's an icon.

Another movie to be on the lookout for is Darren Aronofsky's next attempt to rip your heart out through your eyeballs and proceed to make your tear ducts replace all the blood that is being drained from every single hole in your heart.

The Wrestler is supposed to be the return of Mickey Rourke, which is kind of funny because we've tried that before and Sin City didn't exactly cut it for him, neither did Domino, but hey, Aronofsky is just the guy for the job. I mean after The Fountain the guy deserves something.

My Name is Bruce

That's right, I finally got to see it. Two years and five release dates later and I finally got to see My Name is Bruce. Here's the best part, as if it needed to get better. Bruce "Jesus Christ" Campbell was in Madison for it.

I took some video of it, but this is so much better.

Fast forward to 4:40 and you'll catch me bantering with Bruce.

I kind of sound like Charlie Brown's parents. But I got to banter with the man! I wish I were someone else so I could wish I were me right now.

What you're missing me saying is that I had been chased by a pack of wild dogs in my old neighborhood in Korea over leftovers. When Bruce starts ranting about Racine and Two Rivers:

"Where do you live? Racine... Two Rivers?"

"You just looked at a map before you came out here didn't you?"

So there you go. I can die happy... almost. I still need to shake his hand.

Here's the video I had taken from the event.

The Twilight Before Christmas

I haven't seen Twilight yet and the prognosis for that happening is pretty grim, but I'd watch this.

Final Words

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. You remember my photobucket account. Well for those of you who were waiting for these, here's a few million words about:

My Name is Bruce

Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers in Milwaukee

There you go, have fun and be sure to look around for other fun pictures. There's plenty of blackmail material in there on myself and many others. Enough for years to come. Remember that job you always wanted that required you to be a nice, young, contributing member of society? Forget about it, because I have pictures of that time when you thought it would be brilliant to put a crown on your head, sit on the toilet, hoist a plunger in the air and have a picture taken... I wonder what happened to that picture of me.

Halloween and Beyond OR, Socially, judicially and temporally awkward

2008-11-23T18:22:00.000-08:00

(Post Date: December 10, 2008)

SO, here I am strangely sitting at home writing through this story over a month later. However, let's take a look at my motivation for writing right now.

-I want to get through the most recent set of stories so I can get to more... because there are more.

-I'm celebrating finishing thirty hours of writing. That's right, thirty hours!

I realize that this line of reasoning doesn't make a lot of sense. Well, they make sense for me and that's what matters. I figure I wrote for thirty hours what's another hour or two?

So where was I? Oh yes...

Fright Fest

Waking up the next day was a bit of a trial. I did it though and I rolled through Lake Geneva bright and early at 11:45 in the morning. That drive was dangerously close to impeding my breakfast habits. That habit would be whatever food presents itself at noon. More on that later.

I got to Amber's a little before everyone else did. That is, everyone else who wasn't staying at Amber's. So we were just waiting for the Rathunde clan of Lake Geneva. That means I got there and I was greeted by the wonderful, awake faces of Amber, Margot, Pat and... and... Jessica wasn't there.

Of course I couldn't let on that I was looking for this girl that I met the night before, who only recognized me in red pigtails or my Blue Sun stocking cap as I ended Halloween in. Not to mention I mainly recognized her as a Christmas tree in an inappropriately short skirt that she had an excuse for. Nonetheless I still wondered where she was. Margot was trying to talk to me, but I couldn't follow. Amber was offering me food... I think, don't remember; I think food came into the equation, but it wasn't time for my breakfast routine to kick in. I mean, I couldn't really think about food.

I was too busy trying to keep a cool head and let on that I was looking over the room trying to figure out if there was some corner I had missed that she could be meekly sitting in wondering if I was ignoring her, but no that wouldn't seem like the girl that I only met twelve hours earlier because I'm such an expert on the topic, did she just go home, maybe she wasn't actually planning on going to Fright Fest, what if I offended her and she's evading me, I don't think I did anything wrong, but what if I was looking at her too much, maybe dancing with her I got a little too close, did I say something, there has to be... oh she was in the shower.

Yeah, sure, I knew that. Not like I freaked out or anything.

It was time for breakfast. Turns out, once the rest showed up, breakfast would be McDonald's. At least we were on our way to Great America for roller coasters, college kids dressed as trolls and overpriced theme park food.

I got into Margot's car, because Amber's car was a Mini Cooper with three people in it already and the Rathunde's car was full of teenagers that have yet to counteract the fact that their bodies are going through the change that causes the underarm areas to change color and scent. In the front seats were Margot and Patrick. In the back of this spacious vehicle I was with Jessica. What a coincidence!

The ride down alternated between sitting, thinking too much about what I was going to say, and then talking at length about nothing at all.

It's awkward enough when you want to get to know someone in the back of a car, but add on top of it that the front seat has two people who are rooting for you and letting you know it, then let's not forget the large soda from McDonald's along with the large coffee from before. Oh yeah, uncomfortable... a little understatement. As thankful as I was to be placed in the back of the car, by coincidence of course, with Jessica, I was greatly relieved to be out of it and into the park.

Deeper Down the... oh forget it.

To be honest, there really aren't any stories from that day that I could think of how to tell entertainingly. There were a lot of the things that would be hilarious... if you were there for it.

-The 3-D movie in 2-D that we went back to see after the initial ten minutes sucking followed by technical difficulties.
-Trying and failing to get onto Raging Bull.
-The ketchup cap from the night before that found its way back into Jessica's shoe.
-Kelly's fear of college kids in costumes
-The obscenity that is The Wiggles. If you don't know, look them up.

We did manage to get on a handful of rides, but most of the day was spent walking around. When we did get on rides I kept attempting to line up so I'd be riding with Jessica... like I had to try. Patrick and Margot were lining us up as well, and Jessica was trying too. So essentially I was trying to con my way into sitting with someone that everyone else was trying to get me to sit with.

Eventually we watched a musical revue. Of course it used the regular monster and Halloween songs: Thriller, Monster Mash, Time Warp, etc...

It was pretty painful for me to watch. The music was corny and the actors were really hamming it up which prompted me to lean over to her and say, "Boy, am I glad I didn't get that theatre degree."

"Like me?"

I thought about defending myself, explaining that I meant I'm glad I didn't have to do that sort of theatre to support myself. I think I did eventually did, but thought it best to back off for the moment. Figured that would be the end of it for me. I offended her and that was that. Fortunately, it wasn't.

American Eagle=Rickety Deathtrap

We decided to make American Eagle one of our last rides. Once again Jessica and I got paired up. The entire day Jessica had been doing the whole screaming on rides thing and I just let out a few woo whoo and yeahs on the rides. I've been on American Eagle plenty of times so I was ready for the usual feelings that go into riding it.

Apparently the ride has undergone some changes, like loosened clamps on the rails, and creaking loose wood. Jessica wasn't alone in screaming. Every time that the train felt like it was leaving the tracks I thought it was the real thing. I'm still not sure if it was the real thing or if they had adapted the ride. I'm guessing that the American Eagle is almost gone.

Somewhere during the ride Jessica and I started holding hands... actually while we were on the ride it was more clamping hands. I guess we figured if we were going to die on that ride, we might as well grab life by the horns.

Goodnights and Desperate Measures

Towards the end of the night, shortly after going back for the awful Haunted Mansion movie, it came to my attention that everyone was going home. When I say going home I mean that those from Wisconsin were going back to Wisconsin and Illinois back to Illinois.

In a disguised panic I started offering that we should still go out for drinks. After all, there was more karaoke to be had. Then I started offering my place and a ride back for anyone from Illinois who wanted to stay. Right, because anyone was fooled for a moment.

After suggesting this, rather calmly, calmly like a drowning seagull, Jessica was the only one who took the offer. What a surprise. There was a discussion, some putting in order of car arrangements, confusion about car keys, and we were on our way.

Not much more to be told. There was much deliberation as to what movie we were going to watch, because we both decided that we didn't want to go out to the bar or anywhere else, so we watched Sweeney Todd. I've had it sitting on my computer for quite a while and never got around to it. I really liked it. Sitting with that uncomfortable shifting back and forth, unknowing of what to do that is typical of a high school freshman who was dropped off at the movie theatre for his first date. There's a sense of knowing what was expected, but at the same time there is that feeling of uncertainty. What if the signs were read wrong, or they were just not there at all? Maybe there were more signs that had been missed and if I don't heed them what will happen? I decided I'd wait.

When the movie was over we started talking about it. We lost track of time, found ourselves closer on the couch. Once conversation had not dried up we found ourselves just looking at each other.

Turn the obskene

Moving Right Along

As an answer to the question that you must be, or might be, or are not at all asking, aside from last weekend, we've managed to see each other at least once a week and usually for a stretch of days since Halloween. I could go into all manner of nauseating details that I'm sure the majority of people don't really care to hear. So I will close this chapter of my story with Vitas.

Right? Amazing! First Russia delivers me the Red Elvises, now Vitas.

I Fought the Law...

Remember that time I went to the Red Elvises' concert and got pulled over in Cottage Grove? Yeah, of course you do. This was the case where I got pulled over by an obscenely kind police officer who couldn't let me out of a ticket because he had attracted an audience for the field sobriety test, but he told me to go to the court date because the judge would probably knock the points off the ticket or throw it out all together. I figured it'd be in my best interest to attend.

My court date rolled around awfully fast, well, that's not actually true, that just makes for a better segue than "time passed as it normally does and I just told the story of everything important that happened between the ticket and court date." Natch...

I was having second thoughts about going up because it was that time of year when we have dangerous rains that freezes to our roads and besides, I had never sat in front of a judge, but I figured, who knows, it might be fun. At least there will be a story there. So I got there a good forty-five minutes early.

But Where's Bull?

Getting to your court date early is an excellent way to make an impression, unless you're showing up for night court. If you come to your court appointed time of 6:00 at 5:15, the gesture goes completely unnoticed. What's more? You sit in the parking lot of the court house for forty-five minutes looking kind of suspicious. At the very least you get a loitering ticket tacked on top whatever minor crime you came in for.

Having skipped dinner in favor of coming early, I decided I had time to go get something to eat.

Driving into town I realized I had all of three options. Two of which I had to forsake because I figured it to be a bad idea to show up to court with a couple of drinks in me, or smelling like I had a few before showing up. The third option was McDonalds/Kwik Trip.

As was evident, pulling past the gas pumps, I was in the social hub of Cottage Grove. It was the roving pack of teenagers in Carhartt jackets and the muddied pickup trucks that gave it away. For some reason I felt odd walking into this fine establishment in my fancy shoes with a button down shirt and tie. I sidled up to the counter, I use this word because I was attempting to camouflage but didn't want to do the submissive shuffling that would mark me as a weaker element, I ordered my double 1/4 pounder, which I always thought would sell better under the name 1/2 pounder, but that's just me, donated my dollar to Ronald McDonald House and sat down at one of the three booths.

Sitting, eating my burger under a light that made the meat look slightly yellow in color grew more and more uncomfortable. Staring at the spam and cheez whiz at the convenience store in front of me I started to listen to the music.

My face deadpan, and Marty Robbins on what seemed like a loop, I ate my burger in silence hoping to not attract any attention to myself because that might result in me being attacked. Small town yokels are a lot like zombies. If they sense you're different, you'll get swarmed and likely infected. That would have made me late for court.

Surviving the ordeal, I drove back to the court house with that feeling of insanity slowly setting in. Not the type that sends you to the bin, but the sort that makes you smile for no reason whatsoever.

Tough Act to Follow

Sitting down in the court room with the rest of the damned waiting to be heard, I looked around at all the sullen faces. The absurdity of sitting in a McDonalds/Kwik Trip listing to Marty Robbins on a loop had still not worn off, so I was the only person with a stupid grin on my face. I do believe I made everyone nervous as I looked around grinning like an idiot, then the music finally hit me and I started rocking my head back and forth thinking:

"A white... sport coat. And a pink... carnation... dum, dum, de dum to the dance."

I had to sit through several other cases before mine would be heard. I figured it would be interesting to hear some of these people try to argue their ways out of speeding tickets.

Despite not looking like this:

The stories were still relatively entertaining, but I was way off about the speeding tickets.

Case #1: Charged with operating a vehicle while intoxicated with a suspended license, twice and resisting arrest, overdue on payment of fine.

Plea: "Oh yeah, I did that."

Additional comments: "I didn't pay my fines because I was saving up to pay those three parking tickets I got last year."

Decision: "I'll give you an extension on your payments, but in the meantime, only operate a vehicle when unavoidable."

Case #2: DUI with a suspended license.

Plea: "Pretty sure that's not how it happened... guilty."

Additional comments: "I need my license to get to and from work at the bar."

Decision: "I will reduce the points just enough so your license won't be revoked."

Case #3: Underage drinking in a cornfield and destroying private property (cornfield) with a pickup truck.

Plea: Confer with dad, "Guilty."

Additional comments: "I'm going to school to become a police officer next year, I realize this was dumb. I'll never make a mistake like that again."

Decision: The fine will be reduced and the crime will be null because he was seventeen when the crime was committed and he wouldn't be tried as an adult despite now being eighteen.

How Do I Plea?

I figured with a cast of characters like that I was shoo in for reduction.

Case #4: Fifteen over in 45mph zone.

Plea: "Oh... Guilty." pause, "What's the difference between guilty and no contest? I never understood it. Does 'No Contest' mean... Never mind. Guilty."

Additional Comments: "The officer was very understanding. I feel like I should have sent him a fruit basket or something. He told me I should attend my court date, so here I am..."

"Great. We'll be sure to tell him that he's doing his job well."

Decision: "You will lose four points off of your license and you have thirty days to pay the fine as it was outlined on your citation."

"But..."

"Was there something else?"

"... no. Do you take credit cards?"

That's how my first time in court went. In hindsight, I probably should have explained that I was speeding because I had never readjusted my speed from the flow of traffic off of the beltline, but so it goes.

The next time someone tells you that you should attend your court date for a speeding ticket though, just pay the fine and deal with it. I missed out on an important class and a wine tasting party just so I could have the same penalty plus a tank of gas to get back to Cottage Grove. If you do decide to go, be sure to bring cash or a check book because the Clerk of Courts doesn't take card.

First off OR, The one where I give up on other places and come here

2008-11-17T19:39:00.000-08:00

SO, I've made the existential leap over to a new forum. After years of frustrated toiling with Myspace to write down my revealed texts I have finally leapt to the world of Blogspot. Also, I'm really bored right now waiting for a returned call.

I would promise great things, insightful reflection and personal delvings, but I also promised that the other Corner of 5th & O would be updated weekly, but Tom just sent me a message telling me that if I don't log on in the next week it'll go away. So here's a moratorium for mine and Jason's.

The original intention was that it was becoming increasingly obvious that my nerdalicious lingo and obsessions had become too much for the general friends and family and eventually was becoming only accessible to others in my prestigious line of sub-culture, so I would keep my Unavoidably Detained by the World writings a seperate place from the Corner.

Well, I've recently realized that since I'm no longer in a foreign nation people aren't so stoked to read about my exploits. That's also partially because I didn't have anything interesting to say. However, now I find myself drifting away from my online social tools. Facebook is no longer as entertaining as it was when it was a gated community and Myspace just doesn't have the appeal that it did when I was reaching the masses and believed internet celebrity meant something worth dealing with the lost hours and hours of writing due to Myspace sucking canal water.

From now on I am writing for me. What does "writing for me" translate to? Writing what I want to, not worrying about reader offenses while still trying to entertain the few who care to read. I figure that number went from about twenty to ten when I left Korea and has recently dwindled to roughly three people.

As I said before, I make no promises about frequency. I make no promises of quality. However, I do promise to complete my stream of thought from Unavoidably Detained here... just not right now. Instead I'll start the new Corner the way I ended the Ashberinger posts.