Robby Z and the Saddest Song*

* - It's summer. We're doing re-runs. Deal. :)

Bob Dylan gets accused of being a lot of things: Genius, charlatan, folk-singer, folk-traitor to name a few. My friend Emmy declared his song "Don't Think Twice, It's Alright" the saddest song ever last night, pointing out not just the laid-bare soul of the protagonist but also that this was Dylan at 20 years old, not encumbered with his trademark cynicism. The song is, by my ratings definition, a 5-star transcendentally excellent song, one of the many things that makes The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan an undisputed classic, but I've never had that particular take on it before - not to say I disagree, just to say that I've always latched on to that closing line about wasting his precious time, so the thing that stuck in my head most was the bitter parting shot. Here are the lyrics, sung over a beautifully fluid fingerpicked melody, just Bob & guitar:

It ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe
It don’t matter, anyhow
An’ it ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe
If you don’t know by now
When your rooster crows at the break of dawn
Look out your window and I’ll be gone
You’re the reason I’m trav’lin’ on
Don’t think twice, it’s all right

It ain’t no use in turnin’ on your light, babe
That light I never knowed
An’ it ain’t no use in turnin’ on your light, babe
I’m on the dark side of the road
Still I wish there was somethin’ you would do or say
To try and make me change my mind and stay
We never did too much talkin’ anyway
So don’t think twice, it’s all right

It ain’t no use in callin’ out my name, gal
Like you never did before
It ain’t no use in callin’ out my name, gal
I can’t hear you any more
I’m a-thinkin’ and a-wond’rin’ all the way down the road
I once loved a woman, a child I’m told
I give her my heart but she wanted my soul
But don’t think twice, it’s all right

I’m walkin’ down that long, lonesome road, babe
Where I’m bound, I can’t tell
But goodbye’s too good a word, gal
So I’ll just say fare thee well
I ain’t sayin’ you treated me unkind
You could have done better but I don’t mind
You just kinda wasted my precious time
But don’t think twice, it’s all right

Not much for me to muse about here - this is, in one sense, a broken man going down spitting. It still reads as very sarcastic and bitter to me, and I think he loses his übercool and makes it clearer and clearer as the song progresses. I won't go line by line, but verse by verse:

First, the end is here for sure. And he's clearly hurt, and a bit nihilistic about the whole thing, but still spins the blame at her on his way out the door.

Second, he's again accusing her of being the cause of this, maybe never opening herself to him, and even possibly half-lamenting the fact that even now he wants her to make a last-ditch effort at him. But he also says it's too late, he's done with her, and then possibly obliquely calls her a slut (or, on the light side, condemns the entire relationship a subhuman animal attraction, any real connection they felt being secondary to, um, that other connection).

Third, again says it's too late for anything, not that you ever tried anyways. And again claims his well-intentioned love but, you could read it, she turned out to be the devil (or maybe she asked for too much from him, but seeing as they didn't do too much talking, it's probably more a clever "Satan!" name-calling quip.

Fourth, says she isn't worth a goodbye, that she didn't really do anything wrong but she just didn't do anything, i.e. she was vapid, and worse, she ended up being a null to him, a waste of time. That's a pretty damning thing to say in my book.

So - and this may be clear - I don't think this is really a crying song of sentiment from the Zimmermeister. It's trademark bitterness and world-wear wit, and worse, it's juxtaposed against this melodic love song rolling waves of a guitar line behind it. I think, on the other hand, that this is a third level sadness, that the protagonist is really trying to save some kind of face in the wake of rejection, and that his version of baring his soul is to reveal his relative hurt with the viciousness with which he stabs on his way out of town. So in that sense, yeah, this is a crushed man, who's too cool to admit he's crushed so he resorts to his only best friend, cynical bitter sarcasm, only its painfully obvious to the listener that despite his attempt to hide the pain behind a wall of lyrical "F you's," he is really revealing just how much he got to her. He's a guy who pretends to be unaffected by the day to day, but then has a bad tell of his effectedness because he goes through such an elaborate effort to say how much it doesn't matter. He's a lady, and he's doth protesting too much, to steal somebody else's lines.

Bob is nothing if not complicated, and I think his role as "court jester" is unbelievably well played - if he's a charlatan, it's charlatanism as art form. So there's no real telling if the joke is supposed to stop at level one, the "Ha ha, you're a bitch" level, or level two, the "Damn I loved you, and the only thing I can do to not let everyone see my pain is to give off the cool air," or even level three and beyond, the idea that the whole thing is framed to confuse, and Bob is actually only impressed by his own wit and songwriting ability, and this whole situation doesn't even exist on any real level other than to serve as evidence of his genius. He's the step beyond the cool guy who pretends not to care but can't help but reveal it; he's the clown who really doesn't care at all and stops at nothing for his art. In the end, probably impossible to peg down, which is likely part of the intended effect anyways.

I'm really glad Emmy brought this up - because I had always just thought of this song as the bitter reflections of a rejected guy trying to get in the last word. But if you twist it a step further, and it's really his emotional inability to do anything other than go for the romantic pain jugular, then of course, it's immensely sad. What I definitely don't buy is that Bob at 20 was not bitter and cynical: the same album had "Talking World War III Blues" and "Masters of War" on it, so he had at least had something of a grasp of stupid hypocrisy. Of course there's no real answer here - there never is - but I'm sure that Bob probably stands meta to his own work, and was fully aware of all twists and interpretations that such emotional and smart writing invites. Or, of course, he could've been joking - alas, poor Bob.

Weeks 4-5-6

The problem with trying to get my school on and blog at the same time is that the former generally prevents the latter. For shame. Here's a quick, bullet style account of the weeks that have passed us by:

• We hosted Beck's Tufts classmates Beth and Shelly for a few days while they attended a conference in Scottsdale. Crazy-timing as we were in the move-out-of-condo phase, but fun to have guests in the casa. Spackle and Dubsy appreciated the extra attention accordingly.
• Speaking of out-of-towners, I grabbed a quick drink with superstar of Rice Cloud Nine Ultimate and all-time awesome guy Mike Konopka - he was in town doing some collaborative work with some of the Biodesign folks at ASU. We presciently bemoaned the Cubs playoff chances and generally caught up on goings on, frisbee-related and otherwise. Mike, nay Ragdoll, is still as awesome of a dude as ever.
• That same night, D&C and the Beck & I caught Vampire Weekend in concert down at the Marquee in Tempe (Xtina, strangely, did not order an 8 dollar long island, nor did she attempt to find Dan in the bathroom). I've gotta hand it to those NYC boys and their Afro-pop stylings - despite essentially playing their album on shuffle and only doing a 45 minute set, they do have quite the little songwriting showcase repertoire in them. Kudos, and their tunes are still running through my head. For example: who gives a @#$% about an Oxford Comma? Beck, Dan, Christina*,* and I do.
• I would be remiss if I did not mention that Danimal played his first of two awesome e-mail subjects that week, this one being "Diamonds on the Soles of Her Doc Martens." Even my loser in-laws will probably catch that reference.
• Did I mention WE MOVED last week? Into a house? A human style, take ownership of the land abode? I can't even begin to do this topic justice just yet. Phineas agrees: A separate post.
• Law, Science and Technology Topics covered in the last three weeks:
  
• Science, Values & Politics in Risk Assessment (Case Study: Nuclear Risk)
  
• Congress's Role in Risk Assessment (CS: Global Warming)
• Social / Economic Risk Assessment (CS: Second Life and Virtual World Law)
• Technology Assessment (CS: Nanotechnology)
• Digital Copyright Law
• Patent Law (Case Study: Gene Ownership)
  
• Various Books Read in the last three weeks
  
• Segerstrale's Defenders of the Truth
• Francis's Why Men Won't Ask For Directions
• Carmen's Politics in the Laboratory: The Constitution of the Human Genome
• Bowker and Star's Sorting Things Out: Classification and Its Consequences
• Kohler's All Creatures: Naturalists, Collectors, and Biodiversity, 1850-1950
• A veritable slew of other articles
• In addition to the typical WEfnuking, I played in a scrimmage of local Phoenix club level players against the current PHX Club team, the aptly named Sprawl. I HAD A FRIGGIN' BLAST! So much fun. Unfortunately, we won - not exactly great for Sprawl morale if they get beat by a thrown-together team - but man oh man was it fun to play high level disc on a Sunday morning.
• I'm working on a book review with a former student of Jason's named Maggie - we have had a couple of very productive meetings and things are rolling along nicely.
• I wrote an abstract for my law paper. See below*.
  
• And we moved. Many rolls of tape and bubble wrap were involved. Lots o' boxes. Lots o' sweaty scrounging of condos in Scottsdale. But now we are here, and thus far it is good. Among other thing: we are much closer to D&C, facilitating casual dinners / movies. Most excellent.
  

That's about it off the top of my head. Of course, other salient points are that the Cubs are in the process of blowing the playoffs, I have my first Scottsdale softball game tonight, and I actually did a presentation on that horrendous All Creatures book mentioned above which went pretty fantastically well**. So... yeah. Okay, back to work - I'll hit y'all on the flip side.

* - Neo-Darwinian evolutionary theory, despite general acceptance within the traditional institutional scientific community, remains a highly controversial topic in the United States of America. In the latter half of the 20th century and into the 21^st century, opponents of evolution have put forth quasi-scientific theological theories such as Creation Science and Intelligent Design as alternatives. They have attempted to insert these alternative theories into standard public education curricula or, failing that, have employed other means to discredit evolutionary theory. Consequently, much of the legal debate regarding evolution has focused on the First Amendment Constitutionality of teaching religiously-motivated theories in a public school setting and whether those theories are in fact religious or are true scientific alternatives. In this essay, I contend that there is a fundamental incongruence between the argument taking place in the courts and the argument within culture. While the First Amendment Establishment Clause is largely intended to disallow state-sanctioned religion, that is not the contested issue between the cultural pro- and anti-evolution ideologies. The culturally-motivated issues between the two camps invoke a wealth of values and narratives that are not accounted for by that narrow conception of the problem. Further, I argue that this disconnection between the legal and cultural debates encourages overly technical and indirect approaches to the conflict. Such "underhanded" tactics ultimately debase the discourse and distract from the underlying issues which could be addressed more directly for societal benefit.

** - To protect the names of the not-so-innocent, I'm just going to assert that this presentation went "fantastically well." I will leave to the reader's imagination the extent to which this two person presentation was actually written and presented by one person. What the reader may not imagine is the identity of that one person writer/presenter, who was me I.

P.I.M.P.

So Beck and I were talking about the upcoming weddings, and we noticed that basically everyone we knew at Rice now has a little tot running twixt their skirt hems. Seriously - Matt/Ebbitt, Jay/Felicia, Ryan/Carrie, Cheryl/Jeff, my friend Steve/Cheryl recently (congrats!) all have little kids now. And then we talked about the dangers of this, how sometimes a gathering of 30 year olds turns into a let's sit in a circle and watch babies, and it's not exactly the most thrilling of evenings in the history of the world. This is not a rag on Rice friends or anything, this is just a pattern we've noticed when in social situations with cute little kids; it's near impossible not to drop conversation and just watch them explore their astygmatized universe. But if you are sans kids and as a consequence sans whatever evolutionary hormones make you go braindead to all things other than child-rearing, it's not exactly thrilling. Beck's general concern was that hanging out with people in a couple of weekends will be limited to this type of circular child-watching ritual.

(Note that this is not the worst type of social circle - that would be a vet party circle, which I unbelievably cannot find accounted for on ye olde Ballad. Suffice it: vet parties where everyone is sitting in a circle and discussing, what else, vet school, are the lamest of the lame. At least babies make a variety of sounds).

But then Beck noted that on the other hand, she doesn't mind sitting and staring at malcolm for hours on end. Which led to my explanation:

"You see, Malcolm's the problem. We're bored by other people's kids because we've been exposed to a superior baby product."

So congrats, Mal, and to Sarahstophe Enterprises Inc.: it seems that in this age of consumerism, you and your child have set the market standard.

Warning: Interlink! And More of the Visit.

Chris graciously linked to The Ballad's post re: Aaron's UIL nightmare, and grabbed some sympathetic commentary from some other Texas high school drama vets. So there's a link back; click it and get a better feel for what a uber-bummer that was. And you can also read some support for the A-man.

In other news: the long, sprawling tale of the parental visit, continued! The first thing we did on the Wednesday that Beck's parents showed up was trek out to her office and visit with Katy and the legendary Dr. K. This did not equate with the embarrassment levels achieved when my mom visited Beck's professors before she went to vet school, but nonetheless made for a fun "parent Conference" vibe. And finally, visual evidence that the Beck is gainfully employed down here in Sunny Azz:

You'll notice that Scott, like Hitchcock, often includes himself in his works. Here's a candid shot of some chatting during downtime in the vet's office:

After the visit, the iPJ, iPMM, and iPFist and I went for a little stroll in the foothills north of the clinic. Fun little hike, especially after a park ranger told us that it would be "a good hike for you guys." What *exactly* did that mean? Did our lack of water and tourista attire give us away? Anyhoo, here's the usual slew of pics from that afternoon's jaunt:

There's a little "dry" creekbed that we had to do some adventure-hopping over. Felt a bit like real-life Pitfall. Sans those creepy alligators (in your face, Frank!). SO a good hike, and a good start to the visit. I had to head back to town to work for the rest of that day, but Beck et al headed to the Frank Lloyd Wright house. Good times.

Really the only thing left on my checklist is "Cubs games," and at this point I would be hard-pressed to recall all of the details. Spring training is fun, even if the people in front of you are occasionally complete morons. As Beck had repeatedly said, it's certainly better to be lounging in the sun and taking in a game than sitting in an air-conditioned dome and having your eyes bombarded with inter-inning entertainment. I'm very glad my dad got to see a couple of games - he met Dan, Christina and me at the game on the first Saturday my parents were in town, and we watched the Cubs from the right-field lawn. We got to the game a bit earlier the following Friday and managed to get lawn seats right behind the fence in right-center - here's a snap of our view:

Several fly balls made it out our way, and while none of them came close to being HRs - despite the crazy wind that day, it's still it's quite a shot out to RC at Hohokam - we had the privilege of watching the Angels' backup center fielder badly miss the ball TWICE. We were sure to remind him that there was probably a good reason the club had signed Torii Hunter. Ha! Great times out in the sun, with blankets and hot dogs and sodas and the whole deal. We even brought the binoculars to get extra close looks at various spittings and grabbings. Hooray.

Beck and I made it to a couple of games after that, including one the Sunday after my parents left that was one of the shortest baseball games I've seen. The day was cloudy and threatening rain, so I think the managers / umpires wanted to get it done as quickly as possible - so between that motivation and some good pitching, we were out in under two hours. Wow. Beck and I had nice if cold seats that day, and here was our vantage for that quick afternoon:

All in all a nice spring, and I'm looking forward to shelling out 6 dollars to sit on the lawn for future springs here. Of course, all of this would've been much nicer had Fukudome's HR meant anything the other day. One hundred years, stuck on my eyes, one hundred years, what a surprise. Sigh...

So that more or less brings the tale of the '08 parental trip to a close. I'm sure I missed several details. Obviously I'm not a golfer. Tune in later for more typical, more boring, and more erratic athematic posting from the one and only Nyet Jones. And now, off to read some F. Scott...

S-A-TUR-DAY!!!!

Another beautiful, sunny February day in Grafton., I would post a picture, but since in our infinite technological wisdom we have not yet invented feel-o-vision, you would be robbed of the sensation of having wind tear icy flesh from your bones. I wouldn't want to give you an incomplete experience. On a related note, THANKS A LOT Sparkle and Wrigley.

Oh, and I forgot to mention this yesterday, but Frank got funding for Illinois - HUZZAH! Congrats, cuz.

I spent the morning huddled up in the study and writing this review of Moneyball. Enjoy!

I am now waiting for the Princess iF to wake up so we can go to the gym before embarking on our journey downtown to rake in cash hand over fist in a Searl Family Poker game. So while we're sitting here in the studious gloaming...

It's not the like the week ended on President's Day, but oh that it would have. Beck's been in the ER all week from 10-11 or 12 every night, so we've been living a night and day existence. Fun! And I've been slowly recovering from a cold, which has absolutely no relation to the whole not sleeping and drinking game we played this past weekend. None.

So class has been okay, though disheartening. And there have been other wacky events taking place at school, like all of my advisees floundering, students getting expelled, DC'd, leaving for depression-related reasons - all in all, not an uplifting scene. But we've dredged a little knowledge in SASI on the way through - cool activities and class and a test this week, you can check the SASI link at the right for more details.

The highlight of the week was being rescued by Ali on Thrusday - she called up b/c she knew Beck would be absent all night. So I headed over there and we hung out and reminisced on the perils of childhood - good convo. Good times! And then Ben got home and we talked about his new entrepreneurial life. Exciting times in the GrinGoatverse; if we end up leaving this frozen coil next year, I'm going to miss them a lot. As if it weren't enough to keep me company on a wintry beckless night, Ben-Ali found out about my job offer - did I mention I got observed in class on Wednesday and flat out offered a full time job for next year? Something's going right - and took me out to dinner at Cancun's or whatever that Mexican place is around the corner. That's three times in 2 weeks! I think if I am not careful, I am going to soundly test my dad's racially / culturally (potentially) insensitive theory that "Tacos make you fat." (though he is a pediatrician in SA and probably has a sizable sample for such observations). And yes, they still yell loudly "AMIGOS!" at the place in a way that is so ironic it sounds sincere. Regardless, MUCHAS GRACIAS A MI AMIGOS Ben & Ali PORQUE ELLOS SON AMIGOS VERDADEROS. That was very sweet of y'all.

Otherwise, not a lot. I've been watching a Robert Altman film called The Player in pieces this past week and I just started a very cool book called US Guys by Charlie LeDuff that I heard about on NPR's On Point. (That link has the radio show; I highly recommend it). Actually, the main reason I checked the book out from the library is because the guy just seemed so damn cool on the radio - people were calling in and asking for advice and his just sounded like a guru of the real. The book thus far is tres bien; he essentially is visiting American men in a variety of contexts and inserting himself Hunter S. Thompson style in their stories and lives. I will definitely give it the full treatment when I finish.

That's it; I think I will put up a second post here with some cool links I've seen this week.

We apologize. For any inconvenience, the delay may have caused you.

Woah, my eyes are blurry and dry on a Super Sunday morning (which has suspiciously found itself converted to PM). I have used up a lot of my WMP (writing magic points) and gems in writing a review:

Saturday

And this monstrosity of a musing regarding film's status as the 20th century's greatest art. Enjoy, and feel free to comment the crap out of them and my ridiculous opinions.

(I reserve the right to not post your comments. Yeah, spell it along with me, F-A-S-C-I-S-T. Welcome to the Nyetverse, I've got fun and games).

The past three days have brought their share of hilarity - the class is still in full swing, and unsurprisingly, as we sit here at t-minus 4 hours until their weekly blog assignment is due, a whopping two of the eighteen have done it (and another six of those eighteen have yet to have read the blog or this week's article). I smell some zeros for participation grades wafting up from apathy hell...

Friday was actually a great day in class, though because of auditions and college interviews only seven students were present. I also spent a part of Friday defending one of my advisees from expulsion; another notch on my belt of awesomeness and human assistance. But, por supuesto, all of this paled to Friday night, the celebratory dinner for The Grin's, AD's and my women folks' passing of the Boards.

We headed to El Basha, a Middle Eastern restaurant in Shrewsbury / Worcester. It occurred to someone (Sarah? aka "M&M") in our ranks that there are three restaurants with the name El Basha in the vicinity, so after we clarified the location of our dining jubilee, The Grin posted an internet poll in an attempt to clarify the plural of "El Basha." You'll notice that the obvious and correct choice, Los Bashas, is not given as an option. To my complaint, The Grin replied: "But I don't speak Italian." Ali then took off her belt upon entering the restaurant, reportedly accidentally, but this has further cemented her status as the group's most unpredictable and potentially restaurant-ejection-inducing member.

The restaurant was not up my alley, but it was up alleys, of the rest of the crüe I mean, so that was all good. Middle Eastern restaurants tend to restrict me and my delicate (read: picky-as-hell) palate to dishes like lamb kabobs and rice and/or the kiddie menu, so in an effort to head off the onslaught of fun-making that happens when I order things like, say, jello, or pizza bagels, or kids-in-a-blanket, I went with the plain kabab option. Which means, given the proclivity of my fellow crüe-members to eat like sophisticated peoples, I typically end up paying $25 for grilled-chicken and rice. Boo-urns, but I take the good and take the bad. Also, I would say that you're paying for the ambience, but in this case our ambience included drunk and loud as all get out, no really, get out, people at the bar. This included a petite, goblin-like woman with a voice that just happened to match the resonant frequency of the inhibitory portion of my frontal lobes. I unsurprisingly became violent and started discussing both my habit of assessing my chances of winning an all-out brawl any time i step into a restaurant, and then a discussion of Newtonian physics and the proper handle-to-blade ratio one would need for a reasonably (percentage-wise) successful throwing knife. Given the improper h-b ratio of the kabab-cutting knife I had in my arsenal, we opted against throwing my knife over my shoulder and impaling the goblin-woman, which may have perhaps ended her disruption of the restaurant's ambience as well as my violent tendencies, but actually also had a chance of scientifically testing my assessment of our group's ability to win an all out brawl. Ben's physics assessment probably saved our evening. Also, there was an old lady in the corner who was clearly dining with a gigolo and/or her son. And/or.

Ben also noticed that Christophe was stuck in a trap between all three vet-femmes (I've noted before the intestinal soul-death a vet-obsessed dinner conversation can induce), and took drastic measures (i.e., asked the pgoat to switch places) to form a more appropriate Boy-Girl conversational division at the table. This was awesome, because now we didn't have to listen to the gossipy crap the gals were talking about, and AD regaled us stories of 800 million gallons of water and bloody fish-heads. Sweet! The Grin and I then engaged in a contest to determine how many ways we could describe "800 million gallons of water;" his best entry was "500,000,000 toilet flushes" and mine was "800,000,000 gallons of milk with the milk poured out and water filled in them instead." PGoat then complained of her butter-tasting drink and its contestedly metallic aftertaste; Beck drank something vastly better, and M&M drank nothing in deference to her 80 pound bun.

Though challenged by Ben, I am highly underqualified to write a restaurant review (see roast chicken and rice meal, above). But the meals were opulent-looking, everyone seemed to seriously enjoy the appetizers and the entrees and the service was pretty speedy (though they did charge us an auto-gratuity for our party of 6 or more). So personally it was in the C range (just because of the price, the meal was actually good but for what I got, not worth the Hamiltons, baby). But for everyone else, it seemed like a B+ / A- affair, so that was very cool, and I was happy to fork down in celebration of our Pippens' accomplishment.

From there we braved a strange white and wet substance falling in masses from the sky... I think it's called sn...uhow? Yep, winter finally showed itself; we got about 3 inches on Friday which pretty much brings the winter's total to 3.7 inches. This has been a weird, apocalyptic type-winter; I fear for those who don't know AD. SO this was the first adventure of the Little Honda That Could on snowy roads, and it performed marvelously; no skids, and no troubles. We even found a parking spot in front of Cafe Dolce, our dessert destination. While Christophe tried to park his car in an incomprehensibly tight spot under the direction of Sarah and Ben, The Beck, Ali and I went in to check the scene. It was predictably full of couply couples, men trying to impress ladies with their ability to spend $10 on a slice of pie and a ridiculously fancy coffee. Awesome. Eventually, AD finished delivering the "Bumpers are For Bumping" lecture and the sextet assembled, our table next to the bathroom to render it less obvious that our sh*t doesn't stink.

And we had dessert, and it was seriously, seriously good. I opted for the nondecadent coffee, a regular old brewed blend, but it was called creme brulee and it was divine. Pretty much everybody ordered the chocolate pecan pie, except for Sarah who ordered (and was subsequently defeated by) some chocolate concoction, and beck, whose almond cake was largely saved for her Saturday morning breakfast. The revelry continued, and the dessert-fest capped off a great evening. Somehow, Christophe made it out of his space, and Ben, Ali, beck and I tiredly rolled home through the now official snowstorm. A great night.

On Saturday I got up early and stared outside my balcony curtains to witness a flaming airplane descending over the Thames into Heathrow. Or not. I got up early and monkeyed around the house, actually spending a lot of time writing *my musing* which I again reiterate that you should read. At 10, I headed out for two tutoring sessions discussing photosynthesis. Awesome, and possibly my least favorite thing to talk about, considering that plants are stupid. I am not a vegetarian because I like animals, etc. I decided to stop by the grocery store on my way home, and called my Beck accordingly; she answered neither phone. The usual non-despair-inducing possibilities raced through my mind: she was out on a walk, or maybe at the very grocery store sans phone reception to which I headed. She was doing neither of those things. After I bought a lot of diet soda and lean pockets for tonight's rock n' roll affair, I came home at 1:15 to find the Beck STILL IN BED. Bum! Get a job, Lebowski! She rumbled from her slumber to join me in a trip to the gym; we were better looking and more fit than everyone else there (because we rule). We came home and I wrote some more; Beck headed to Natick Mall for a thoroughly unsuccessful attempt at purchasing wedding accoutrements.

Beck headed home, smilingly repaying me for my patience at the Middle Eastern restaurant the night before, and offered to get pizza for tonight. The PGOAT then called, having been abandoned by her hubby and another friend, informing me that I was her third social choice. Huzzah! Just call me Plan C. Through a mass of confusion, Ali got a hold of Beck and escalated, I'm sorry, augmented the order to include her. Ali came over, we chilled and listened to Hair and ate pizza. Good times! Then we watched the Big Lebowksi, which I will review accordingly:

The Big Lebowski: 95

For all my low-art ramblings I made against film in my musing (seriously, read it already!), this film is just awesome. It's in a category that a precious few movies in mind are in, something I would call a "Scene-Saturated Flick." Every scene of this movie is funny; every single one. Beck said she would go the bathroom at the first non-awesome scene, and she never went! It's amazing, there's never a low moment, and the humor hits the entire range of witty, slapstick, subtle, visual, musical, absurd, ironic - it's just a postmodern sort of homerun on all fronts. In other words, it is what it is - there's no wonder this has become such a fixture in my Tufts-friend lexicon: it's in its own realm of brilliance. That's all I got; no real analysis, just a toe-sucking account of how much I enjoy the infinitely re-watchable film.

(Ed: It should be noted that there are several movies that I love for various reasons that don't fall into my normal movie-rating continuum, and TBL is one of them. All scene-saturated flicks are going to score in the 95 ballpark regardless of their other artistic, more film-snobbish merits. i hope you will forgive me - but when others like The Princess Bride and Wayne's World show up in my all-time faves list, this is why. You have been warned).

So eventually Ali headed back to her grinning option A, and Beck and I watched a little more TV and then retired for the evening. The snippet of TV that I watched was MTV's "Two-a-Days, and I think that Texas HS football players have, if it's possible, gotten even bigger. Will we reach a day where today's nickname of the 6'5" person, "Tiny," will cease to be ironic. Everyday, my assessment of my own athleticism, or whatever peak it ever achieved, dwindles more.

Enjoy the SB today - no calls here, but I will continue to ridicule all that I find stupid without suggesting reasonable alternatives. Oh, and here's your enticing "Tomorrow on The Ballad:" outro...

Mike NTPB is on assignment in San Antonio, TX, attending our 10th year high school reunion. He will surely report back to me, and I will give an account that will surely only make sense and/or be funny to the select view who have CHS '96 as part of their memory-horizon. As a questionable wise man once said, "We're excited 'bout it!"

It's a Cold Snow's a Gonna Fall

Welcome to the winter of our a-part-ment: we woke up this morning to a clogged oil tank (Don't ask me, I'm from the S'th), a non-functioning heater, and a frigid out-from-under the comforters ambiance; Beck bravely tried to fix the problem herself only to have created a cloud of blue smoke. She's a witch; freeze her! (Note - that is the second time I've used "she's a witch" today. The other was in today's awesome SASI class, where I compared a "guilty until proven innocent" justice system to witch trials. I actually told the class to burn one of my students. There goes my day job). Beck wisely then conjured the "Superior Oil Guy" spell and had him come bang the oil drum loudly. Seriously, I felt like I was on the set of A Christmas Story. Sans porn-star to be. For all people reading at the Nutty 12th grade level, "sans" means "without." And for those not in the know, the little boy in A Christmas Story, he of red rider b.b. gun wanting fame, later had a career in the porn industry. "You'll shoot her eye out," indeed. Anyways, said Superior Oil rescue man fixed the problem, and now we are sitting in a balmy (relatively) 60 degree apartment with a snowstorm (or three inches, whatever) on the horizon and beck in the ER. Another lonely night in the Nyetverse. So it goes.

Sherrybaby (2006): 74

Beck and I watched Sherrybaby the other night; I had been waiting a long time to see it and enjoyed Maggie's performance (yes we're on a first name basis) (because I know the PGOAT and the PGOAT knows the Gyllenhaals, booyeah) (and they know, um, Crackle) (that's the last Hedbergism, I promise). Beck accused her, as I think I mentioned earlier, of glorified pornstarism. (This is the all porn edition of the Tin Man, btw. Of course I didn't need to say that, because you knew it when you saw it. Yah!). And while it is true that there were copious amounts of naked Maggie in this film (and the last one we saw, Happy Endings, and the one before that, Secretary), I would beg to say that they were appropriate. This coming from someone who is confessedly infatuated with the Mags. So I am clearly not to be trusted.

The movie is of the type I would call an "acting vehicle" for lack of better terminology; everything is about the enchanting stylings and image of the lead actress, and the scene is locked on her and her point of view throughout. She is terribly gruff and rough-edged; my experience of the film bounced between feeling her soul being ripped from its roots by her situation and thinking that a large part of the problem was stemming from her own reckless stupidity. The film walked that line superbly, and did an admirable job of showing the hurricane effect Sherry's reckless life had on her family. The awkward pauses and fumblings of her torn brother are carried off with a nice subtle edge, as is her friendship / affair with a purposely scary looking Indian character who ends up, despite his own past, being the most responsible and loving person in the film. The overt and outlandish performance stands out brilliantly, but it is the subtle issues playing in the background that make the film poignant. I actually think Maggie's acting and situation steps across the line from endearing into painful for the audience to sit through; she just becomes clueless to a painfully unbelievable extent at a few quick scenes in the film. Overall she is great, and the movie carries a powerful, jarring scene that brought up images of the equally effective scenes from A History of Violence and Cache. You must see that one; it's a self-contained huge moment, and the film did a great job of revealing a great deal with a simple scene. Overall, it's a very good film, somewhat limited by its virtuoso aspect imho, but well worth the trip into this heartbreaking portrait.

END REVIEW

So that's it on this end; I spent the day tutoring and am now on my lonesome. I will leave by throwing my friend Mike NTPB under the proverbial bus; I read one of his syllabi for a course on American Film that starts off thusly:

"First, a confession: I’m a film junkie. I feel strongly that film is the greatest art form of the 20^th century. It combines painting’s ability to communicate meaning and emotion through pictures with literature’s power to express ideas through story and character. Quite simply, film is more powerful than literature and painting in its ability to stimulate us, to make us feel and react, which, after all, is what some would say is the point of art."

I've been thinking about this quote a lot today and wanted to see what the people think before I comment on it. This may be more of a musing type of thing; the ever evolving Ballad knows limited limits.

That's it for the time being; I'll be alone in snowy Grafton if you need me... in the next 10 hours.

A Big Congrats and a Vent-o-rama

So, in follow-up to the grand accomplishment of das Beck, we have the same news from our friend Ali aka the PGOAT - she, too, has passed her boards. Wahoo! Congrats Ali!!!

And now, some ventification. I taught a class today - you may check the progress of Ye Olde Science Ande Sociale Issuese if you wish - that got derailed an uncountable number of times by my class's lack of vocabulary skizills. I just e-mailed this to his NTPB-ness, but I am going to repeat the rant here - check out the following terms which either caused me to stop the lecture and completely define the term or caused someone to raise a hand and ask what it meant:

null
fallacy
sans
anecdote ("that's the thing that stops you from dying, right?")
authoritative
empirical
subjective
objective
Copernican
geocentric
heliocentric
geography (more than half the class thought this was the same as history)
lithography (really? visual artists don't know lithography?)
photography (just kidding, but this is what I had to use to make them understand what the root "graph" means. Ugh)
vantage point (maybe "perspective" would have clued the artists in)
Occam's Razor

Now, admittedly (heliocentric, for example) are basically "have you heard of this before" style words. But "sans?" "Anecdote?" Ay caramba. These would be the children of your future, not mine.

Alright, rant over. I accomplished a lot today, including 3.33 miles on a treadmill, some weights, some tutoring, and extensive lesson in vocabulary oh my god. I also slugged out all my class comments which is a big fat endeavor - I finished it in about 2 and a hlaf hours which is beyond record-setting.

My brain is fast fading though, so I will now hit the proverbial hay. No Beck tonight as she is 3 to 2-ing it with his royal highness, Mr. Heed-Pants-New himself. In the ER, no less. I was left to my omelet making devices. Sweet.

Alright folks, another glorious tick in chalk on the prison wall. Join me, um, later, for something more substantial. Like a review of Sherrybaby, the long-anticipated Maggie Gyllenhal movie. Beck's summary: "She's like a glorified pornstar." Golden Globes, I suppose.

This Just In!!!!

The Beck passed her Veterinary Boards!!!!

Wahoo!!!

The letter is now fastened to the refrigerator with magnet, joining another letter Beck received from the Dean of the school congratulating her for her awesome GPA this fall semester.

The Beck Rocks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Recoillections of the Past Two Days

The 'Nut is now officially between semesters, which means I get a bonus weekend in the middle of my week. Thanks to some clever tutoring schedule rearranging (and the fact that it seems the fair Rebecca has deemed it necessary to share, share, share her coughing fit disease with me), I have nothing official on the docket today, which means you get great work like this picture and hopefully, this very blog entry.

To start, some photographic evidence of the birthday bash this weekend (not a lot, I promise). Here is one of the PGOAT attempting to strangle Sparkle:


Sparkle had her revenge, though, utilizing her tail to snap a picture of this candid Ali shot:

Next, we have the unquestionably excellent stylings of the Non-Vet men. As you will recall, this is moments before their cheating Pippens stole the Trivial Pursuit title for the evening (only to have it stripped like the Ben Johnsons they are):


I beg that you look carefully at that man in the middle. You will quickly learn why the new nickname of Ali's Ben is "The Grin."


So there you have it. Sunday turned out to be a much more somber affair - the last part of it, anyways. Beck spent her last day working in the ER, so I ambled around the apartment starting to feel the effects of breathing Beck's second-hand germs. I watched Chicago disembowel New Orleans in the first game on Sunday - bad news for my buds from NO (Matt and Speckle, I'm sorry), but good news for Da Bears. Plus it gives us a chance to see Brian Urlacher pulverize Peyton in the Super Bowl...

Wait, what's that you say? Yeah, hence the somber affair comment - the Pats blew a 21-3 lead to the Colts and lost 38-34 Sunday night. Just in case you're living in a cave. Sadness abounds, but not much to say - a few key plays (that too many men in the huddle play was killer) (and the PI call on Troy Brown, what the hell) (and, while we're at it, that roughing the passer on the last Colts drive was STOO-pid - I mean, I'm all for protecting the moneymakers, but a "blow to the head" usually consists of a little more than having hands within 3 feet of Peyton's large-foreheaded, product-selling noggin) were the difference in a defenseless game. But, all in all, the Colts big-time earned it. I'm just bummed that the Colts are finally making it to the Super Bowl with what is probably their worst team of the past few years - just happened to coincide with the pats worst team, too. And, lest we forget, the Chargers were one boneheaded interception away from having this game played in San Diego, instead. So, we'll count the blessings for another great, over-achieving Pats run, and hope the Bears can make a brutal show of it in Miami.

Before I forget - there is one stellar thing to point out about the Bears game. Early on, the Bears have it fourth and about 1/2 a yard at the 4 (yes, I will go ahead and say "at the Saints' 4," even though you should know that there's no way it can be fourth and half a yard at your own 4. Sheez). The Bears, flummoxed by an utterly unanticipatable situation (he said sarcastically), call timeout to discuss their options. A quick little stats check would tell you that you've got at least a 75% chance of converting 4th and 1/2 a yard, leading to a later attempt at a probable touchdown. Let's say at worst that the overall scenario of going for it is a 50/50 shot at a TD, or 3.5 points. I think that's reasonably conservative, actually. Let's also not forget that should you fail, the other team gets the ball at their own 4, not exactly the worst spot for your D to be in. All of this is versus the relatively guaranteed (let's say 95%) field goal for 3 points - or an expectation of 2.85 points. Eventually, some coach will sprout a brain and realize that you shouldn't pass up TD attempts. Lovie Smith (Bears coach) apparently did exactly that, sending in his O. The announcers immediately start declaring that this is the "wrong call."

It gets better. Last week, Lovie Smith did this exact same thing - went for it on fourth and short, passing up an attempt at an easy field goal. The announcer says that "that may have been okay last week, but this is the NFC championship, and you need the points." Um... you mean this was okay last week when you were facing elimination from the playoffs, but not okay this week when you're facing elimination? Huh? The announcer's comment was idiotic, of course, but he amps it up a bit - the Bears run for it, get two yards and the first down. The announcer of course says "I guess it was the right call." Awesome; I didn't realize that you could evaluate percentage-based calls solely on their results. I would like to ask the announcer - what's wrong with just saying that he made an "aggressive call," or really, if you think about it, the statistically preferable call? Why the right / wrong dichotomy? Oh, I forgot, we're stupid.

The tale of absurdity does not end there. The Bears now have it first and goal at about the two. First down, incomplete pass. Second down, run for a yard and a half. They now have it at the 1/2 yard line, 3rd and goal. Another incomplete pass. It's now fourth and goal, 1/2 a yard to go for the touchdown. Wait for it, wait... the Bears send in the kicking team!!!

"Now this is the right call," the announcer reliably chimes in. What? It was the right then the wrong call two minutes ago?!?!?! And now it's right again? ARRRRRRGGGHHH! And Lovie Smith, what exactly has changed? If anything, you're in a a better position now, closer to the goal line! Maybe, MAYBE you could argue that being closer to the goal line makes the playable field smaller and you only have a 60% chance of making 1/2 a yard. But now that half a yard is a direct touchdown! That's .6 times 7 = 4.2. Veruss 3 for the FG. What changed in the last two minutes? This is the exact same call you made 4 plays ago!!! ARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH! The only thing I can guess is some kind of gambler's fallacy, like "well, we just used up our luck." Moronic. Either that or he suddenly realized that Rex Grossman is his QB.

And the announcers point none of this out. I know I'm a stathead and all, but this stuff seems ridiculously basic - the coach was either just completely inconsistent or he just gave up on his offense. And no one says this. Again, what's wrong with identifying certain calls as aggressive or conservative. No one even brought up whether they thought this was going to be a high or low scoring game, so 3 guaranteed may be worth more than usual (in the case of a low scorer), or 3 may be worthless, or 7 may be a dagger in a low-scoring game. none of this even comes up. I am generally disgusted by the level of analysis that goes into NFL game commentating - when are we going to get past the stop the run, stop the pass, control the line of scrimmage blah blah blah that everyone knows is how every game is played?????

All right, sports rant over, new topic, new post.

The Lay-Waste of the Morning After

So yeah, it's 6:15 on the Sunday morning after a raucous (Rawk us?) birthday celebration. Why am I up? Well, it was this or continuing to lie on my back wide awake listening to the syncopated rhythms of coughing. Poor Beck is still sick.

Yesterday was fun as could be, given the ill-state; Beck more or less slept all day and I goofed around. She got up, still in a drug-induced stupor, so we could watch a couple of great episodes of Angel (The Cautionary Tale of Numero Cinco and Lineage), and then at about 5:30 mysteriously would not let me go to the store... hmmmm....

Cleaned up a bit after the previous night's fandango and got ready for the dynamic sextet to take form; we're seriously like Voltron, awesome in our own regard but a super robot when together. Yep, it was Ben Ali Beck Nyet Christophe (and later Sarah) who assembled in ye olde living room for an evening of Beer, Pizza, mixed beverages (Ali was especially blown away by the mysterious "Vodka Rocket") and wait for it, wait for it, Trivial Pursuit. We also let ring throughout the house my esteemed "Radio 5079" mix, a collection of singles you would hear on the radio, all from 1950-1979. I am not clever. But via this we learned that Ali and I are awesome in the music-verse (ha!) and everyone else is not. Especially one Benjamin, who did not know who sings "I Can't Help Falling in Love With You." Here's a hint: "When the Jester sang for the _____ and queen / In a coat he borrowed from James Dean." Dude, seriously.

We also learned that the PGOAT once performed in Hair though she did not get naked. And she knows how to fingerpick "Dust in the Wind" by Kansas and one of her favorite songs is "The Chain" by Fleetwood Mac. She and the Beck (though we already knew about the Beck's ability, but still) sang a beautiful happy birthday to me, complete with harmony (the musical texture, not the vampire). No one other than me knew who played the impossibly awesome song "Godzilla." Apparently only I "have a fever." The vet talk was kept to a minimum at the commands of Ben "The Grin" Sprecher, who afterwards failed to lead the conversation in a meaningful way. In other words, an incredible time of fun and enlightenment. This was accentuated by a bottle of real champagne:

Cassandra: I don't believe I've ever had French champagne before...
Benjamin Kane: Oh, actually all champagne is French, it's named after the region. Otherwise it's sparkling white wine. Americans of course don't recognize the convention, so it becomes that thing of calling all of their sparkling white "champagne", even though by definition they're not.

Which Ben popped with perfect timing upon conclusion of the aforementioned glorious happy birthday. Beck had gotten an ice cream cake (hence her questionable store-going antics), so we mowed that down (in addition to the three large pizzas and chips and salsa and oh no diet be gone). At some point around here Christophe busted out his game "Moot" which is basically the nerdiest of the nerdy, a game about English word meaning and usage. And just to up the nerd ante a bit, you play the game with a twelve sided die. We had... Ace Frehley, we had Peter Criss. Anyways, after learning amazing things, like that the name "Ursula" means little bear and the year 1000 is indeed part of the Middle Ages, we put down the game for the main event, Trivial Pursuit. In order to blatantly offend the viewer audience and get better ratings (a la the racial tribes with Survivor), we split up along gender line (though I should point out that the women had an unfair fourth member this way, and we don't even know which team their fourth belonged on). Meaning, of course, that the rules of this contest were sketchy from the get go, and apparently, in addition to never starting a land war in Asia and never trusting a Sicilian when death is on the line, we should also not trust veterinarians to be in trivia contests.

The women got first roll, and looked to run the table with nary a response from the XYs - until their second question, when they did not realize that the only country that shares a border with Britain is Ireland. They answered "Scotland," which betrays either an obvious hole in their concept of Great Britain (England, Scotland, Wales) or an obsession with Outlandish kilt wearing feelers of readiness. I'm not sure. Regardless, the die was thrown to the men, who ran ahead with it. A slew of questions and answers blurred together; off the top of my head: "Caspian Sea, Thomas Edision, Brian Wilson, Puff the Magic Dragon, the FBI, cue, Jefferson, My Lai (not Mai Tai), Beavers." There wre others, too. General Summary: the men flew ahead, up at one point six pie pieces to two, but fell victim to the ever tricky "land exactly on the middle rule" and toiled hours while the women-folk caught up. Eventually the women, clearly playing their devil-tricks on the die, landed in the middle and answered the "My Lai" question correctly(though they notably earlier had thought that Richard Nixon had fought at this same battle). The Beck, feeling the pinch of her conscience and the guilt of betraying her Jordan on his birthday, eventually admitted that she had cheated with dice rolling at one point in the game in order to secure a pie piece. A sad cry rang through the land; darkness; darkness; all were alone. And the men were declared winners by DQ (though not out loud, lest they all face the collective veterinary witch-craft of many a meal spent discussing the subtleties of rectal examination).

So that, not really in brief, is a sum-up of last night's events, the remains of which (pizza boxes, glasses, champagne bottles, general mayhem) now litter the living room, awaiting my gentle up-picking. I can't wait. But, given RBS (restless Beck syndrome), I am up and awake, so hopefully I will conquer the trashy day with aplomb.

Football on later tonight; I may actually go watch the bash over at Cristophe's and enjoy the clash in HD. Peyton's mustache never looked so clear (and his sellout soul ne'er emptier).

For the dedicated reader, who has a fever, I give you the prescription:

7 x 2 x 2 (And the feeling's fading)

Mmmmm... woke up this morning to the ever-pleasant (but ethically questionable) smell of Bacon (yes, Bacon is capitalized 'round these parts) wafting down from upstairs... mmmm. But being mindful of the quest for mother-of-the-bridehood (I am down to 207 this week, for those scoring at home) (and for those by yourselves), I thought about the caloric content of the bacon and opted for a healthy, allegedly cholesterol-reducing bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios (TM). The above picture of bacon, btw, is from an art gallery of things that = 200 calories. Check it out: enlightening, frightening and aesthetically pleasing all at once.

Tuesday night (sorry for the bloglessness) we had dinner with Ali, Ben, "Christ"ophe and Sarah at the Mexican place, Canyon Cafe (after a failed attempt at eating Korean). Another A+ meal; I can't even remember the slew of hilarious jokes we rolled off and the vet talk was actually held to a minimum, much to the delight of the XYs in the crowd. Aside from a Diet Coke misunderstanding of a tall order and S/C's general inability to drive around the area where they grew up, everything went swimmingly. Good times as always with the party people.

I should throw out the media talk of the week that I find most hilarious, that the show 24 is a right-wing conspiracy to instill paranoia in the American public in order to insure that the drastic measures taken by our friends in office are felt necessary for our safety. Yes, that's right, 24 is a puppet of the presidential office - this would be the show that last year portrayed the president as a traitor to the U.S. Good call, folks. The reason that this is coming up now, in season 6, a time when you think the "24's portrayal of Islam is negative" type headlines would be old news, is that the (SPOILER ALERT) 4 episode season premiere showed an unprecedented amount of realistic bombings and attacks occurring all over the U.S., culminating in a nuclear weapon exploding outside of Los Angeles. The effect was jarring; I've seen all 5+ seasons, and I think this was the most terror-inducing dose of "this is what it would look like if this started happening all over in the U.S." that the show has ever pulled off. But even while it was freshly shocking, I think it was more of a logical extreme the show had to go to to stay fresh and less of a "let's make America paranoid" conspiracy than people are throwing out.

I think the easier thing to point out as a corrosive-to-society flaw in the show are its murkier-than-hell ethics. Jack Bauer is entitled as a CTU agent to commit any crime he sees fit in the vague guise of protecting America or ascertaining information that may or may not lead to that protection. Sure the show is ridiculous - you can play a drinking game involving the lines "trust me," "we're running out of time," or "this is our only lead" and quickly learn how basically formulaic and superficially twisty the show is. (Not to say that it's not exciting). But what is the show really saying by giving Jack utilitarian authority to decide what is and what is not for the greater good? And notice this utilitarian equation is really just a "for the greater good of America" equation, not "for the greater good." The show's hero is directly supporting a line of behavior and thought that utilizes suspending moral laws in the present in order to accomplish something in the future. Hmmm, a group uniformly aligned with the idea of committing atrocities to achieve a greater future, what does that sound like... Terrorists, Alex? In the name of "all that is good," Jack routinely commits atrocities with the same kinds of ends-justifying-means logic used by those who even on the show are portrayed as evil. This is what's dangerous about the show; that its hero and the admiration he instills in the viewer reflect an implicit acceptance of "anything goes" morality when it comes to our safety. Jack is in short a homicidal maniac - he has killed, maimed, and tortured countless people; some in defense, some in pure cold-blooded revenge, but most with this idea of overall utility. Jack "does what it takes," true, and any real human capable of such acts would have to have a serious amount of confidence that what he was doing was right and good. But the entire package consists of a one-man wrecking crew with seemingly untouchable moral authority to do what he pleases, deciding the risks and benefits entirely for himself. That's the undercurrent message that's dangerous, that the ethics of our country in areas like Guantanamo Bay and the other dubious decisions (communications monitoring, etc.) reflects a nationwide submittal and furthermore, praise of ethics which use only "perceived national security" as their guideline. The question, as always: whose perception?

So, terrorist killing fantasies aside, this week has been very long. A lot of my tutees are studying for midterms, both here in SG and at the 'Nut, so I've been up to my ears. I've also been writing tests and scrambling to get the last grades in, which has swallowed a large dose of time as well. The Beck, of course, is still on her ER shift PLUS she got sick this week, so it's been a bummer in the fun times zone. I went to bed at 9 on Wednesday and 9:45 on Thursday; the party has just been that hoppin'.

Today was the end of term exams - and in a flash of brilliance, one of my trouble makers, let's call him "Lazy Genius Who Frequently Sleeps Through Class and Doesn't Pay Attention," came up to me during the test and tried to get me to tell him something that I had explained in class at least 7 times. After I refused politely several times, he said something along the lines of "could you just tell me something that knowing the right answer entails?" And I had had it, so I said "Knowing the right answer entails having paid attention in class." Mean, I know. But it elicited an embarrassing chorus of "ohhhhhs" from the class; one of my hipster Koreans even said "Oh snap." This of course is a seventeen on the one to ten funny scale (and a solid ten years out of date, taboot). In the end I felt bad, but didn't cave, and I actually think that form of refusal may have gotten the point across better than anything else I could've said. Don't know, so i feel slightly bad - insulting teenagers not exactly a write-home moment - but maybe I woke the dude up a bit. Who knows.

So tonight, Jill, Kate et al are coming over from Springfield to say hey and go out to dinner. Should be awesome. And tomorrow there's a shindig of sorts in the works. We shall see.

In the meantime, enjoy the hilarious audio stylings of two hockey guys about to get into a fight. This is seriously priceless:

Monday Monday... Off!

Happy MLKJr. Day, everybody. I just spent the better part of the morning / early afternoon finishing David Eggers's book What is the What - you can check that link to read my review. Great, great book, highly recommend it to anyone - it's an oral account of the 2nd Sudanese Civil War told by one of the Lost Boys refugees who was displaced from his village in the 1980s. Fantastic novel.



In other news, it's been a good weekend - so far! Love that. Beck and I hit up Outback Steakhouse Friday night, using a gift certificate I got from a work conference to celebrate our two weeks of exercising / eating well. Cheese Fries, Shrimp Salad, Barbecued Ribs and Apple Cobbler later, we had successfully undone two weeks of exercising and eating well. Go team us. Came home and crashed after watching a touch of the Daily Show.



Saturday morning, Beck had to work at the ICU and I had to tutor a couple of kids in bio, so I while away the icy morning nicely. Came back to hang out and spend my first of two days watching a colossal amount of sports, which I have not done in a while. Here are somehighlights from the two days:



College Bball, BC v. Virginia



I was just impressed by the complete lack of space on the court in this game. Both teams were playing zone (I only watched part of the first half), and they were both keeping one another out of the paint entirely. Virginia was using a half court zone trap which BC abused with skip passes for 3s, a lot of which, er, did not go in. I just felt the whole time like I was watching a much different game from one that I ever played in high school (or the glory days of SA CYO dominance). We *never* threw skip passes, let alone resigned ourselves to jacking it up from outside. This seems to be the MO today, at least in this game, and I wonder how much of it is because the players are so big and so fast that you just have to be that much quicker to penetrate or get anything done inside. Anyways, it was a weird sensation to see a basketball game effectively turn into an artillery war, and I'm always baffled by the route trash-talking in such anti-physical games must take. Or any feat of skill where brute, caveman-like I-could've-killed-you-just-now dominance is not asserted. I mean, it's easy to see why if you hit a running back in football and completely decleat him, it is your earned right to bellow and do the hokey pokey or whathave you; surely all of this is primally directed towards attracting females for mating purposes. But when you hit a three pointer? What, does better knowledge of applied three dimensional equations somehow make you a more attractive mate? Weird.



Hockey, Bruins v. Rangers



For those who don't know / care / remember, I love hockey. I have not watched any hockey at all this year, so i was psyched to see a "Game of the Week" on NBC. Several things to note here, the first of which is a quick detail on why I like hockey. Obvious reasons: fast, powerful, physical, amazing skills and reflexes, your average appreciation of aesthetic excellence. But the main reason I love hockey is that it is so futile - so much effort and energy goes into gaining the tiniest advantages, most of which amount to absolutely nothing. And then random chinks in the ice lend themselves to lucky plays, making the whole thing blatantly absurd. Skill does play a part, true, but often a ton comes down to repeated head-wall-bashing until something just falls into place. I just appreciate the ethic of "work hard becuase maybe something might happen" over the ethic of "if you work hard, you will be rewarded." It's more honest, and lends itself to a better acceptance of things if you work hard and they don't go your way.



Another thing to note is that this game was a perfect example of that - two Rangers goals came off of ridiculous rebounds right to people who had wrestled a thousand times in the game to find themselves in the right spot at just that moment, having wasted their efforts every time before. The lone Boston goal came off a hard shot that ricocheted off of both of a players skates and in - a veritable act of fortune good or bod, depending ont he color of your jersey. And finally, a chink in the ice led to a late breakaway on which a player got tripped, giving him a penalty shot, on which he executed a beauty of a fake / deke / wraparound on the goalie. So this game had a bit of everything: plenty of the futile side, plenty of the happenstance, and also an instance of skill on skill. Cool stuff.



I guess when I said "several things" I should have said "three." The other thing is that the 2nd period completely, 100% belonged to the Rangers. I don't think the Bruins took a shot, and they really only had cursory time with the puck anyways. Craziness. I don't remember a period that one-sided before, and all that happened for the Rangers was they got a lucky rebound goal, and nothing else to show for it. Whacko.



College Bball, UNC v. Virgina Tech



I didn't really even watch this one - just a couple of minutes, and I remember thinking how much like athletic gods the UNC players looked. Particularly freshman Brandan Wright, who just looks like an elegant basketball machine - 6'9", slender with crazy long arms, and he hit a few shots just by jumping straight over people and scooping the ball in one-handed. Just must be incredible to be that deliriously good. Of course, the same guy can't shoot free throws, and I switched to the football game, tuned back to this one at the end to find that the team that I thought looked like bball gods had been upset. I obviously know nothing.



AFC Playoffs, Indianapolis v. Baltimore



For a TD-less game, this was amazingly exciting. Both teams played a "beat as much as you want underneath" style defense, and both defenses held. Another war of attrition type thing, where you let the other team move the ball more or less at will hoping that penalties, dropped passes, fumbles, etc. will keep them from ever doing damage. I noticed that everybody and their dog was praising Adam Vineteri as the big game changer... he of the doinking it off the crossbar and through fame. No one seems to notice, though, that down 6-3, Steve McNair got intercepted at the goal line! Indy turned this around for a long drive and a field goal, making it 9-3. This was a 6 point swing in a game decided by 9 points, and no one mentioned it. Bagh! McNair throws that out the back, and it's 6-6. Romonian disasters excluded.



This game by game analysis has grown wearisome fast. Suffice it to say: the NO game was cool, the Bears game was LUCKY, and the Pats game was ugly, but it's still fantastic to watch the way Brady can click at the end (if the occasional fumble recovery by Caldwell helps the cause along). Really cool sports weekend, anyways, and I enjoyed it.



The Beck, of course, has been on the 3-2 shift on Sunday and Monday, which stinks. I stayed up last night watching 24 (meh) and then backed up my mp3 music to DVDs, something I've been meaning to do forever. So I am now set for a computer crash, as long as it's somethign that doesn't melt the stack of sics beside my comp in the process. I am sure that is wildly fascinating.



And if you've read this far, I'll drop a few treats for ya:



Deb's response to Timberlake's genius



Cute Commercial - do you get it?



And finally, something that I have talked about a million times to chemistry students:



DON'T DROP SODIUM IN THE LAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!



That'll do it. Until next time.. comment!

Lou Reed Would Say

"Oh, it's such a perfect day..."

Well, not really. The Beck is stuck at the ICU all day, and any Beckless day cannot with any sincerity be called "perfect." But today at the 'Nut, we're having a full-day Assembly with extensive Martin Luther King, Jr. programs which I am not acquired to attend - so score a day off for Nyet. Huzzah!

And I've rendered it at least somewhat productive - got ten hours or so of much needed sleep, wrote a review of ASFTINDA, ran another four miles, bringing the total to 13 for the week, and have read a good chunk of What is the What, the new book by Dave Eggers that Beck and I gifted one another. Oh, and I've taken the dogs out into the cold something like 6 times, earning them a bunch of dirty looks from me. Punks. But we're having a good day, all told.

Not much else off the top of my head; just an exciting weekend of football playoffs upcoming. Nice. But that's about it; enjoy the weekend and get ready for a lot of comments in the general "and then we watched another episode of Angel" from this end; iPMM & J were nice enough to send us season five in the mail. Yee. Ha.

Video (and) Review (and) Picture

Hola from the land that Beck forgot. Just kidding - the Beck is stuck at the ER, so I'm here all by myself, don't wanna be. So here's a new movie review I wrote, a link to a homemade and utterly creepy but very cool video of an acoustic Radiohead song, and the answer to the "which picture is on my desktop?" quiz . Enjoy!

Review of Crumb (1995)

Radiohead Video

She used to love him, but... she had to... it's all over now?

And 2007 is off to a roaring blaze. Beck and I spent New Year's Morning staring outside at the cold rain and decided it was a good day for a coffee / cozy fire combo, the cozy fire portion decidedly lacking from our abode. So we made the short trek up to Blackstone Coffee and hunkered down in decidedly-undoghaired leather seats next to a fake fire with some coffees made with fake milk. We listened to some nice tunes (Velvet Underground and the Dead, among others), lunchtime regulars' flirtations with the by-rule (and equal opportunitably questionably) consistently cute coffeehouse girls (seriously, that place is like the cuties version of a Russ Meyer film) (Ha ha) and cuddled up with our books, Beck with an Annie Proulx novel and me with...

Outlander by Diana Gabaldon: NR, largely so Nyet survives.
Besides, one could argue that pornography is by definition not art (it being "creative activity of no literary or artistic value"), so a non-rating seems in order. Just kidding. But really, I may not be able to define "bodice-ripper," but I know it when I read it. Ha. Okay, really, Outlander is an exciting book; Gabaldon is an excellent storyteller who does manage to weave a tale that throws the reader into the forests of the Highlands with her characters. I actually felt that the best aspects of the story centered around the political intrigue surrounding Jamie and his various relatives. Without ruining too much, there's a complicated dynamic between Jamie and his uncles, and everyone has multiple motives to oust one another. That sets a cool "trust no one" tone for the book, and the narrative weaves nicely around these bits, leaving things to be revealed for several hundred pages. So I liked that aspect. Some (some) of the fight scenes were nice and breathtaking, something that I personally find very hard to pull off, so kudos to the author for that. And, for all it's over-the-top goofiness,I'd be lying if I didn't say that jamie and Claire's relationship is largely well crafted.

But... and there's always a but, especially in the novel... there were a lot of missteps throughout. The bodice-ripping is, predictably, corny as hell, "I felt his readiness" being perhaps an all-time classic bad euphemism (apparently "it's my readiness in a box" didn't fit the beat). But it was really what felt like gratuitous rape scenes and an obsession with homosexual rape-torture that was pretty off-putting. Jamie and Claire's interactions alternate between vomit-inducing-ly sappy, hideous (the whole "I must beat ye and teach ye a lesson" section was painful), and really, bizarrely stone-faced. I suppose I found it uneven.

These are a lot of complaints - I was overall entertained and interested enough to want to find out what happens next to young Jamie and Claire, but I asked Beck in lieu of reading another one. Maybe that sums it up best.

And for the record, all this time I've been accusing Beck of reading bodice-rippers, I was right. She now can claim no rational defense.

Back into the blog - so I sat at Blackstone, hiding my copy of Outlander behind a copy of War Peace, hoping no one would see through my veneer (while coincidentally reading about someone's veneer being seen through. Repeatedly.) (The seeing through happened repeatedly, not the reading). Two coffees worth of time spent, Beck and I traveled to the S where, as fate would have it, we ran into Ben and a skinny stranger who looked like a cross between Jay Clyne and Brian Baker. I am probably the only person in the known universe for whom that has meaning. Anyways, it turned out that when the Ali is away (in LA for a vacation), the Ben will... invite a Physics PhD friend over to visit. I for the record, have no physics PhD friends (that I know of), so that makes the score of the Ubernerd Games...

Ben: 6.022 * 10^23; Nyet: 6.626 * 10^-34

So it turns out Ben and friend Dave are having gnocchi for dinner, making it from scratch, and would we like to eat with them. Heck yes. It being New Year's Day, I invite them over to watch football; they decline as they are watching the extended version of The Two Towers, further cementing Ben's victory. So long story short, we make it over and have a great meal of broccoli, salad, butternut squash soup, gnocchi and homemade tomato sauce. Awesome. The actual gnocchi-making process was hilarious, involving a furious debate about the consistency of the dough and should we / should we not add more flour, leading to the inevitable comment that you cannot deflour gnocchi, or at least not while a group is watching, nyuk, nyuk. Beck kept this vein up with a well-timed "debriefing" pun later, and I threw down with a "medicine is for chumps, I mean chimps" while explaining my med school history for the umpteenth time. All in all a great time: Dave went to camp with Ben and Ali, college with Ben and Ali, and somehow it doesn't slip out that Dave used to date Ali until about 3/4ths of the way through the night. Woah! Easily the best husband / former boyfriend relationship I have ever seen. Kudos to ben, or maybe I should avoid him for the next few weeks lest that embittered rage surface.

(The best part is that Ali called here last night to wish happy new year's, said she had heard that we had dinner with the twosome, and then asked how I liked her ex. When I said he seemed like a cool guy, she replies "Yeah, I used to do him.")

(That's Ali!)

So Tuesday was Beck's first day in the ER and my own first day in a special corner of hell where we spent HOURS talking about myspace and facebook and IMing and the new computer system. Blargh! I trekked home to an empty house after that amazement, ran 6 miles (woohoo!) and settled down to prepping for classes and several episodes of Angel. One episode in season 4 left. I hate Connor. Lonely night; beck got home late and I passed out more or less immediately after she sat down to eat dinner at 11:15.

Today was the first day back with the kiddos. All good. Back in the swing (though they admittedly remember nothing). Nice to start with a 3 day week, 4 day week, 4 day week, 3 day week combo. Cool.

I'm going to go watch the ND / LSU Sugar Bowl now. No one mentions that this is southern Louisiana home of pickpockets and loose women v. the Catholic Church, and or the supporters of God's mysterious ways v. Katrina victims. These are the angles I would really like ESPN to comment more upon.

And as a reward for reading the slew... here are highlights from the captain insane-o Boise State Oklahoma game the other night:

Two Thousand Zero Seven (Party Over?)

Welcome to the New Year, Foo's!

I made it back into Grafton last night, as previously reported, where Beck and I had our gift exchange. She guessed my big gift, dance lessons, and as far as my other gift is concerned... well, it was Dave Eggers's new book What is the What, and she got the exact same thing for me. So we are either entirely in tune with one another or both very, very selfish people as we got something we clearly wanted to give ourselves. Or something. I'm not sure. But that was a wash, too, and so my last gift, Beck's beloved movie The Goonies, was a total afterthought but the only actual surprise she received. Yay me.

Beck's gifts, on the other hand, ruled. She got me this great book, What is the What, and she got me a Multipass to the Daily Show and The Colbert Report. So now all that time i would have spent bettering myself and or reading about Scottish readiness will be spent watching mock news. Somehow I anticipate still being two steps ahead of my students. I am pumped.

We went out to Bauhinia with Beck's classmate Theresa. (Side note - I just asked Beck how to spell "Bauhinia;" Beck's new nickname is "smarmy-ass comment maker."). Fun times, and good food taboot, and several vet-related stories as well as a Historical account of the collapse of Gingerbreadia. We left the restaurant well before 9 o'clock and then came home to not stay up until midnight. If we were horses, you would shoot us... wait for it, wait for it... because we are lame. Fortunately, we woke up to a 38-degree-and-raining 2007, so we are pumped about all the foreboding things that insinuates about the upcoming "big year" (not just for the "of the pig" reasons, but also because, apparently, Beck is graduating, I'm getting married, we're in all likelihood moving, all of which is news to me. 2007, who knew?) (5 months of freedom!) (Freedom.). But it's generally nasty and cold so far, so beck and I left the frigid confines of Providence Rd. and headed out for some Blackstone Coffee and reading by the fire, which was very nice, very nice indeed. Then on the way home we stopped at the S&S where we ran into none other than his holiness Ben, aka He Who Now Must Pay For Our Wedding Thanks To Ali, who is actually spending his New Year's Day Ali-less and with his friend John, a Physics PhD from Cornell who shares our humble distaste for the vast majority of vet conversations (which, as you may be able to guess, largely revolve around terms like "rectal" or "anal sacs" or are about professors and / or classmates, none of whom you have ever met or will ever meet or even generally know what they look like, which has an unsurprising tendency to render such conversations boring and force you to be creative in your self-entertainment, often resulting in effective mind-un-numbing activities like reading the labels of cheese). So they are making homemade something-that-I-couldn't-hope-to-remember-or-spell tonight, so we are now having dinner with Ben + guest, and hopefully this time the homemade thing will not look like brains as it did when beck last attempted this concoction.

Woo! Anyways, 2007. Love it or leave it. Back to you soon with more accounts and/or commentary.

Winter Broken

Friday came and went and with it the Walnut Hill 2006 school year: we are officially on winter break. Or something that resembles winter on the calendar; seriously, outside it's really only the barren trees that are giving any indication that it's not June. Which, for the record, I am completely fine with. I hate winter for all the traditional "I'm from the S'th and therefore hate cold weather" reasons as well as the insane pain in my repaired knees that the cold and wet atmosphere brings. Argh, hate it! Or, as Timmy might say, Screw You, Winter!

So Friday was a great school day; Stat Project presentations from 8-9:30, some of which were pretty good, and then something I dubbed Extreme General Awesomeness Day (EGAD!) in Algebra II. The Stat topics varied a lot; in no particular order, it was Harry Potter v. LOTR, Allergies, Smoking, Smoking v. Fast Food, Creationism v. Evolution, Liberals v. Democrats, Immigration Reform, Superstitions, and Summer Jobs. Good stuff, and a good way to wind down into the winter. Here's a picture of my buddies from Stat land...

Back (L to R): Soojee, Danielle, Sarah, Vicky, Ellie, Paula

Front (L to R): Jenny, Christine, Noel

We started Alg II with a factoring tournament, won by I-Chun, and then had a Cowboy-Grizzly-Ninja tournament won by Teddy. I-Chun again won the "Guess Nyet's Age in Days" competition, and it not surprisingly turns out that everyone thinks that I am younger than I am. Then we had a trivia contest that Tory won, and we ended things off with a math dance off that Grace won with her fantastic interpretive dance of "The Quadratic Formula." Solid Job by Grace! A grand time was had by all...

Back (L to R): Jimmy, David, Teddy
Middle (L to R): Elody, Jill, Rachel, Miki, Gemma, Joy
Front (L to R): I Chun, Grace, Tory

So those were the good times, followed by getting home Friday afternoon and going running in the not-so-cold. Beck got home hella late on Friday evening for no good reason at all, but we quickly jumped in the car and headed back (for me) to Natick, where we attended a sweet party at Dave and Emmy's. It was to some degree the usual Ve(n)t and Bitch session, but Dave (Emmy's) and Jason (Cindy's) were there, two excellent individuals, so a good couch-bound time was had by us, talking music and lit and listening to tunes (though not, oddly enough, reading books). We also watched UMass lose to Appalachian State in the Div I-AA Championship Game, a terrible mixed blessing as it meant there was a non Ve(n)ting entertainment option, but might I submit that watching football with a couple of the partiers, let's call them "The Professor and The Sphere," is unbearable. Their feeling aside for right now, because I have my own venting to do: watching the game with The Sphere is like watching a game with Tim McCarver and John Madden at the same time, only both of them have undergone EST so that they can't remember anything about the sport. In other words, not only do you have a moron in the room trying to explain everything to the LCD (e.g., "what the guy wants to do there is tackle the guy with the ball") but he doesn't actually know anything about the sport, so he 1, really has no authority to explain it to anybody, and 2, he kept saying wrong things, like "I didn't think you could review the spot of a ball." So we had someone stating the obvious, only he wasn't getting it right. Argh. And then "The Professor" was waxing about how he really watches it for the "epic nature of the battle," he doesn't really care about the score only "the ballet." And it's not like I have something against academic accounts of sport; check out this DFW article on tennis and tell me it's not awesome (including the quote "and the truth is that TV tennis is to live tennis pretty much as video porn is to the felt reality of human love."). But it was like a robo-academ, no actual information given, just someone going on and on about the clash, and again, making obvious observations that weren't entirely correct. Maybe it's just that I watched the Pats game two weeks ago with the E-men and now I've been wrecked because I know what real, knowledgeable sports people are like - they STFU and watch the game, trying to make insightful comments and not "hey, that's a forward pass, which if not legally completed constitutes an "incomplete pass" and is not a live ball; the offensive team gains no yards but retains possession provided that it is not fourth down" or "O Yon Spiralling ball / its path through the air / a gift toward mine eyes." Gotdammitanyway.

Ah, I feel better now. Saturday was a'ight; I tutored and went running, watched some basketball and goofed and caught up on my OC. The OC, it should be noted, has taken a massive turn for the better after what can only be called two years of quite dismal crap.And Taylor Townsend is holding her own in Marissa's absence. You know, were I someone who cared about such things. We followed up the cheesecake with some beefcake, specifically some vampire-with-a-soul style beefcake, and watched a couple of episodes of Angel Season 4. Good times in the casa last night.

And so now it's Sunday morning. The dia del futbol americano awaits, but for now I am going to take some time posting and filling int he gaps of the last three months on postlessness. A trip to Houston, a weekend with the E-po, and other craziness has transpired. I'm glad to have the writing bug back for a bit. So let's take advantage, strike while iron is hot, etc.

More to come...