I should preface this by saying that I was really excited about this movie for two reasons:
1. I had just finished In Cold Blood
2. I like Philip Seymour Hoffman
And while the movie wasn't the worst thing I had ever seen, my god was it boring. I am not sure what I expected when the movie about an eccentric author placing himself in the depths of rural Kansas. But between Hoffman's accent and the complete lack of anything ever happening I just couldn't last. I slept for the last ten minutes. It was one of those sleeps where I didn't even feel myself getting tired, more worn down than anything, and then Sabrina was waking me up. I don't know how she made it.
I do have a tendency to be able to fall asleep rather easily so I guess I can't totally blame the film. This is the same guy who fell asleep right before the dance scene in Napolean Dynamite and I was loving that movie. Some things just put me out.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Thursday, February 22, 2007
I met Barack Obama in my dream and man was he a dick
I had a dream the other night. Usually I don’t remember dreams that vividly. Dreams don’t play a big part in my sleeping time. I have no idea how to interpret them and frankly I have no need to figure it out. That was what made this dream so remarkable. When I woke up I actually remembered it.
In this sleep world I was still a student in some kind of school. For a project, certain students were paired with celebrities of sorts. I don’t remember anyone else there except for Penelope Cruz. Well I got paired with Barack Obama.
Being quasi-political (I know some names of candidates because I look at the pictures in Time each week) the Obama pairing intrigued me. I wondered what he would ask me. Well to say he “mailed in” the interview would be an understatement. That loser didn’t even try to get to know me or my feelings on issues. Such a hypocrite. I don’t know what I expected from a politician but he could have shown a little class. He was on his cell phone most of the time. In the end I think I just told him that I watched Lost and Heroes. That was it.
Anyway, I woke up before the interview was over which was good because it was getting awkward. Obama is going to have to do a great deal in the coming months if he wants my vote.
In this sleep world I was still a student in some kind of school. For a project, certain students were paired with celebrities of sorts. I don’t remember anyone else there except for Penelope Cruz. Well I got paired with Barack Obama.
Being quasi-political (I know some names of candidates because I look at the pictures in Time each week) the Obama pairing intrigued me. I wondered what he would ask me. Well to say he “mailed in” the interview would be an understatement. That loser didn’t even try to get to know me or my feelings on issues. Such a hypocrite. I don’t know what I expected from a politician but he could have shown a little class. He was on his cell phone most of the time. In the end I think I just told him that I watched Lost and Heroes. That was it.
Anyway, I woke up before the interview was over which was good because it was getting awkward. Obama is going to have to do a great deal in the coming months if he wants my vote.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Don't stand so close to me
“I don’t want them to enter the black hole that is your life”
-Sabrina, my fiancé, in reference to her socks
According to the woman who is on the precipice of pledging her lifelong devotion to me, my life is a black hole. At first I was hurt. But after a few seconds, and some apologies on her part, I was able to see the validity in her statement. Aspects of my life resemble “a region of space-time where escape to the outside universe is impossible.”
Now in Sabrina’s defense she was referencing socks. I have a problem with socks. My problem is that I lose them with startling consistency. I could buy a package of socks today and lose at least 3 of them by the middle of next week, guaranteed. Who knows where they go? All I know is that my apartment is about 400 square feet (at most) and I have lost more than 2 dozen socks in here in the last year and a half.
I can’t even lose socks correctly though. It’s not like I lose pairs of socks. I like to lose just one of them, rendering the other one somewhat useless. This leads to many days where I wear socks that are “just close enough” to being matches. Last weekend, while at my parents’ house, my mom dropped a large plastic bag in my lap. It was full of socks with no match. There were at least 40 in the bag that had no mate.
Its not just socks though. I lose many things, like my Ipod, camping tent, soccer cleats, guitar picks, and pride when I try to dance. Can’t help it. I just lack the ability to keep order. Things go missing at such a rate that it doesn’t even really faze me at this point. That is probably a bad thing. Like a star that has collapsed on itself, I am sucking things out of my universe. Hopefully Sabrina doesn’t fall in. I need her around.
-Sabrina, my fiancé, in reference to her socks
According to the woman who is on the precipice of pledging her lifelong devotion to me, my life is a black hole. At first I was hurt. But after a few seconds, and some apologies on her part, I was able to see the validity in her statement. Aspects of my life resemble “a region of space-time where escape to the outside universe is impossible.”
Now in Sabrina’s defense she was referencing socks. I have a problem with socks. My problem is that I lose them with startling consistency. I could buy a package of socks today and lose at least 3 of them by the middle of next week, guaranteed. Who knows where they go? All I know is that my apartment is about 400 square feet (at most) and I have lost more than 2 dozen socks in here in the last year and a half.
I can’t even lose socks correctly though. It’s not like I lose pairs of socks. I like to lose just one of them, rendering the other one somewhat useless. This leads to many days where I wear socks that are “just close enough” to being matches. Last weekend, while at my parents’ house, my mom dropped a large plastic bag in my lap. It was full of socks with no match. There were at least 40 in the bag that had no mate.
Its not just socks though. I lose many things, like my Ipod, camping tent, soccer cleats, guitar picks, and pride when I try to dance. Can’t help it. I just lack the ability to keep order. Things go missing at such a rate that it doesn’t even really faze me at this point. That is probably a bad thing. Like a star that has collapsed on itself, I am sucking things out of my universe. Hopefully Sabrina doesn’t fall in. I need her around.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
No Child is Left Behind on a Snow Day
If you want an overblown weather report about impending snow just take a stroll down to your local elementary school. It doesn’t matter where you live. If there is even a hint of snow in the forecast I guarantee that is the main topic in any hallway in any school in America. Teachers are a sad bunch. They will constantly refresh weather reports on the internet, confer with colleagues on their thoughts about a possible school closing, and perform various rituals they feel will increase the chance of a whiteout.
Two day ago was one of those days at P’dale. The weather report called for a 30% chance of 1-2 inches of snow. Now I took that prediction as a 70% chance of nothing. That didn’t stop the hysteria though. The day was filled with speculation, wishing, praying, and a vast majority of teachers staring longingly at the sky. In situations like this I take a firm stance. I have been called a “downer” or “pessimist” for my reluctance to ever admit that we might have a snow day.
I wasn’t always such a curmudgeon. But then I got burned. During my second year of teaching there was a night where the weatherman predicted an imminent storm. It was not a matter of whether snow would fall, but rather how much digging we would be doing in the morning. As I watched humongous, digital clouds engulf the map of Jersey I decided to have a couple of libations and dismissed even the thought of going to bed. This was a slam dunk. I even made plans for the next day. I would sleep in, read a bit and then when it cleared up a bit, go shopping for some things I needed. In the meantime a couple more beers would put a nice touch on the night.
It’s easy to see where this is going. I finally went to bed at around 2AM, content, comfortable and looking forward to a day of slumber. For some reason I woke up at about 4 in the morning. Just for shits and giggles I decided to look outside. Um what? There wasn’t even a flake on the ground. I glanced at the streetlight (obviously the best place to look to see how hard it was coming down) and saw nothing but soft fluorescent. No precipitation.
First I panicked. The call for a snow day usually comes at 5AM which only gave the weather an hour to turn around. Then I let out a string of expletives directed at Sam Champion. At this point I knew I was in trouble. I hurried back into bed and squeezed my eyes praying for sleep. Fat chance. All I could think about was the great day I supposed to have and it was ruined. There would be no snow, but that didn’t stop me from lying in bed for the next hour and half waiting for a call that never came.
Now I already explained what a day before a storm is like in school. Surprisingly it pales only in comparison to a day where there was SUPPOSED to be a storm. If you want to see people cursing their lot in life, just head down to the local school on one of these days. Its apathy and anger at their very best. Teachers feel as if they have been cheated. It’s ugly. No teaching occurs, just apathy. So yesterday when I got the call for a snow day I was happy. Not because I knew I would be spending the day in bed, but because the kids wouldn’t have to endure a day of bitterness and cruelty.
Two day ago was one of those days at P’dale. The weather report called for a 30% chance of 1-2 inches of snow. Now I took that prediction as a 70% chance of nothing. That didn’t stop the hysteria though. The day was filled with speculation, wishing, praying, and a vast majority of teachers staring longingly at the sky. In situations like this I take a firm stance. I have been called a “downer” or “pessimist” for my reluctance to ever admit that we might have a snow day.
I wasn’t always such a curmudgeon. But then I got burned. During my second year of teaching there was a night where the weatherman predicted an imminent storm. It was not a matter of whether snow would fall, but rather how much digging we would be doing in the morning. As I watched humongous, digital clouds engulf the map of Jersey I decided to have a couple of libations and dismissed even the thought of going to bed. This was a slam dunk. I even made plans for the next day. I would sleep in, read a bit and then when it cleared up a bit, go shopping for some things I needed. In the meantime a couple more beers would put a nice touch on the night.
It’s easy to see where this is going. I finally went to bed at around 2AM, content, comfortable and looking forward to a day of slumber. For some reason I woke up at about 4 in the morning. Just for shits and giggles I decided to look outside. Um what? There wasn’t even a flake on the ground. I glanced at the streetlight (obviously the best place to look to see how hard it was coming down) and saw nothing but soft fluorescent. No precipitation.
First I panicked. The call for a snow day usually comes at 5AM which only gave the weather an hour to turn around. Then I let out a string of expletives directed at Sam Champion. At this point I knew I was in trouble. I hurried back into bed and squeezed my eyes praying for sleep. Fat chance. All I could think about was the great day I supposed to have and it was ruined. There would be no snow, but that didn’t stop me from lying in bed for the next hour and half waiting for a call that never came.
Now I already explained what a day before a storm is like in school. Surprisingly it pales only in comparison to a day where there was SUPPOSED to be a storm. If you want to see people cursing their lot in life, just head down to the local school on one of these days. Its apathy and anger at their very best. Teachers feel as if they have been cheated. It’s ugly. No teaching occurs, just apathy. So yesterday when I got the call for a snow day I was happy. Not because I knew I would be spending the day in bed, but because the kids wouldn’t have to endure a day of bitterness and cruelty.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
I am better at sports than fifth graders
Sorry for the delay for all four of you. I already had this entry written last week and was just slow on posting it. I will just paste the original here and then add today’s occurrence at the bottom to hammer home the point with startling clarity.
Most of you know I teach 5th grade. At one point in my life I considered myself an above-average athlete. Played three sports in high school, soccer in college, pickup games year round, etc. Gravity, age and general laziness have taken their toll. If I was getting recruited right now my scouting report might read:
Too many pounds, not enough muscle, slow and can’t jump but at least his reflexes aren’t what they used to be.
All of that is okay though because I have found a new outlet to display my athletic prowess. I do this in the form of challenging my students to various athletic endeavors. It’s a good way to stay fresh. Every year a student or two claim they can beat me in various challenges like a race, long distance kicking, kickball, etc. This has never happened. Honestly no one has come close. The last time I raced a student I ran backward for the last quarter of it like Maniac Magee (a fifth grade reading reference). I only write this because for those unathletic souls out there who feel the need for s confidence boost or some self esteem, look no further than you local elementary school. As long as you don’t look too creepy and your intentions are sound, there is a whole world of kids up to the challenge.
Fast forward:
Today I took part in a game of knockout. If you don’t know what it is look here . Anyway, today was against a mixed group of fifth and fourth graders. After I systematically, and with sniper-like efficiency, eliminated a large number of students I was left with only one player left. He was a FOURTH GRADER. I guess I am just not a closer. I am no Mariano Rivera or Kobe Bryant. Not clutch. After I talked a bit of trash to this student, who barely comes up to my waste, I preceded to get knocked out in the first three shots. It was a bitter reminder that my athletic skills are deteriorating at an alarming pace. There is a group of third graders who I am sure are chomping at the bit.
Most of you know I teach 5th grade. At one point in my life I considered myself an above-average athlete. Played three sports in high school, soccer in college, pickup games year round, etc. Gravity, age and general laziness have taken their toll. If I was getting recruited right now my scouting report might read:
Too many pounds, not enough muscle, slow and can’t jump but at least his reflexes aren’t what they used to be.
All of that is okay though because I have found a new outlet to display my athletic prowess. I do this in the form of challenging my students to various athletic endeavors. It’s a good way to stay fresh. Every year a student or two claim they can beat me in various challenges like a race, long distance kicking, kickball, etc. This has never happened. Honestly no one has come close. The last time I raced a student I ran backward for the last quarter of it like Maniac Magee (a fifth grade reading reference). I only write this because for those unathletic souls out there who feel the need for s confidence boost or some self esteem, look no further than you local elementary school. As long as you don’t look too creepy and your intentions are sound, there is a whole world of kids up to the challenge.
Fast forward:
Today I took part in a game of knockout. If you don’t know what it is look here . Anyway, today was against a mixed group of fifth and fourth graders. After I systematically, and with sniper-like efficiency, eliminated a large number of students I was left with only one player left. He was a FOURTH GRADER. I guess I am just not a closer. I am no Mariano Rivera or Kobe Bryant. Not clutch. After I talked a bit of trash to this student, who barely comes up to my waste, I preceded to get knocked out in the first three shots. It was a bitter reminder that my athletic skills are deteriorating at an alarming pace. There is a group of third graders who I am sure are chomping at the bit.
Thursday, February 1, 2007
Hey Gym Locker Room Guy: Just because you can be naked doesn’t mean you should be
I probably don’t need to elaborate more on this topic than what the title already states, but let’s see if I can push a couple hundred words out about it. I am in the gym today finishing up my normal routine of:
Enter gym
Find interesting magazine
Get changed
20 minutes on elliptical machine (Fat Burn setting, level 5)
Get drink
Stare at weight lifting equipment
Get another drink
Put on sweatshirt, get out car keys, call it a day
Well today, somewhere between steps 7 and 8, my routine was broken up when I endured what can only be described as the most disturbing millisecond of my life.
Now before I elaborate on this I need to explain some of my own, personal aversions to nudity. More specifically, my staunch unwillingness to be naked. I like clothes. Better yet, I love clothes. I like having them on. I like them covering my various flaws and I love having the comfort of more than one layer. Clothes are like my security blanket. I have nightmares about being naked. These aren’t ones where I have to give a speech and all of a sudden I am in my birthday suit. No in these dreams I have chosen my own personal hell as I have misplaced my clothes and now I am forced to go through my regular life without them. They are some of the most chilling sleep experiences I have. I avoid nudity at almost all costs and I expect others to adhere to this –ism.
Unfortunately, the gentleman at the locker next to me at the gym did not embody (pun?) the same beliefs as I. No, he was your classic, “I’m at the gym, conventional norms do not exist in this space” kind of guy. Clothes be damned. To make a long story short, I was hunched over my bag getting out my sweatshirt when I felt a presence next to me. Out of sheer instinct, like a jungle animal that smells danger, I turned toward the left. That’s when I saw it. Since time is a quantifiable measurement (at least by our Earthly standards) I am sure some scientist somewhere could calculate how long I looked, but I would like to see the clock that computes that quickly. Nanoseconds would feel like centuries. Rest assured I looked away but not before the image burned itself into the recesses of my brain. No cheap jokes about him buying me dinner first.
Enter gym
Find interesting magazine
Get changed
20 minutes on elliptical machine (Fat Burn setting, level 5)
Get drink
Stare at weight lifting equipment
Get another drink
Put on sweatshirt, get out car keys, call it a day
Well today, somewhere between steps 7 and 8, my routine was broken up when I endured what can only be described as the most disturbing millisecond of my life.
Now before I elaborate on this I need to explain some of my own, personal aversions to nudity. More specifically, my staunch unwillingness to be naked. I like clothes. Better yet, I love clothes. I like having them on. I like them covering my various flaws and I love having the comfort of more than one layer. Clothes are like my security blanket. I have nightmares about being naked. These aren’t ones where I have to give a speech and all of a sudden I am in my birthday suit. No in these dreams I have chosen my own personal hell as I have misplaced my clothes and now I am forced to go through my regular life without them. They are some of the most chilling sleep experiences I have. I avoid nudity at almost all costs and I expect others to adhere to this –ism.
Unfortunately, the gentleman at the locker next to me at the gym did not embody (pun?) the same beliefs as I. No, he was your classic, “I’m at the gym, conventional norms do not exist in this space” kind of guy. Clothes be damned. To make a long story short, I was hunched over my bag getting out my sweatshirt when I felt a presence next to me. Out of sheer instinct, like a jungle animal that smells danger, I turned toward the left. That’s when I saw it. Since time is a quantifiable measurement (at least by our Earthly standards) I am sure some scientist somewhere could calculate how long I looked, but I would like to see the clock that computes that quickly. Nanoseconds would feel like centuries. Rest assured I looked away but not before the image burned itself into the recesses of my brain. No cheap jokes about him buying me dinner first.
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