A-B-C-Baby You and Me

You are so right. That is Jermaine. It’s so very not relevant. So back-up singer to a more important issue. So just along for the ride like. So not the main event. You know, it’s Jermaine. I’m thrilled you want to waste my time with your Jermaine issues. Why bother with the reason we are ALL here when we can revel in more Jermaine topics? What the fuck is with these people? Focus on the fucking fundamentals not the damn Jermaine.

Homo sabbaticus

SShhhhhhhhh! Having spent the last six years living amongst the departmental pack we finally have the animal isolated. We’ve doused ourselves in professor musk and if we stay quiet we can creep into its cave habitat and get close enough for a shot. Once tranquilized we’ll affix the tracking equipment and monitoring devices, don’t worry, the small 20 lb helmet and 65 lb battery pack won’t impede the animals movement in any way. Quick! SSSHHHHHHH. quick! fire the dart before it attacks! The animal is now stirring. Still groggy from the tranquilizer let’s turn on the equipment and listen in on its thoughts:

Write it. Just do it. It’s not so hard.

Yes it is. I’m tired of this stuff.

You can do this. You’ve been doing it for years now. Just do it.

That was almost convincing, but then you sounded like a Nike ad.

Fair enough. But you have been doing this for awhile now. Hey! Remember those black canvas Vans you used to have? Those were great. You should get some more.

A classic shoe really. Good times. Stop distracting me. You’re supposed to be helping me work. You know writing that thing?

Sorry, yeah. You should write that up. You’ve done all the other work. You just need to sit down and crank the mother out.

Ooh funky! P-Funky. like turn the mother out? Give Up the Funk. That’s another classic.

Can you stop making inane pop cultural references and just listen to what I’m saying? Stay focused. Work. Remember that? You need to write that thing about all that stuff? Sound familiar? Or are you just going to keep babbling about random things? Although, you have a point, I have P-Funk blasting on my side of things now too. Good tune.

Really? Cause I just switched to the JB’s…still funky though.

Anyway, look, we need to stop all this nonsense and just get writing. And FYI you need stop consuming scotcholate, stop watching so much tv, and don’t ever give me that decaf shit again.

Hey! That was a freaky accident. I did not purposefully make decaf coffee and it hurt me too you know!

Pass me a peanut-butter cup.

It just seems boring. I think it could be really good though. I’ve been working on this stuff for a long time. But, ugh, and don’t go imposing all your rigid crap on me. Don’t impose a schedule and daily page limits on me. I hate that. It’s so cumbersome. You’re such a tight ass.

That’s cause it works! You’ll do it. You can’t stand missing a deadline. Or at least you think you can’t stand it because you’ve never actually missed one. Have you? See. You’re a punctual motherfucker. Admit it.

Yeah maybe. Join me for a drink?

You idiot, just give me the drink. I’ll grant you 48 hours and after that if I don’t see some real progress you’re going on lockdown. I mean scheduled working hours with daily page limits.

Fuck. 48 hours? When would it start? Can we agree on 48 hours starting tomorrow morning?

Yeah. I’m too full of scotcholate to start right now anyway.

OK cool. Is it time for Lost yet?

Confession: Household Edition

I have a professor house. You know what I mean by professor house? I am sure you do, most of you are probably living in one too. It’s more of an interior aesthetic than an architectural style. It’s an eclectic style with lots of variations, but you know it when you see it. The furniture choices, the art, and the fridge magnets all contribute but it’s the books that always give it away. It’s the books that weren’t deemed worthy of placement in your office. The graduate school castoffs, the duplicates and the “currently being read” books that reliably identify a professor house. But even when lacking books you can just tell. I can tell when I see one and I can tell that I’m living in one. My concerns with all the stereotypical trappings of professordom stem from the fact that I never expected to be a professor. I don’t mean that I just breezed through grad school and fell into a job, oh whoops! I’m a professor! No. But I just didn’t realize how defining this job can be. When I look at houses for sale I see it. I know if my house was for sale people would think professor house or at least “university people” live here. There are worse stereotypes, I shouldn’t complain…my house could be known as the too many scotch bottles in the recycling bin house…but that might be subsumed by the professor house designation…there’s no escaping it. I go back and forth with my professorness.

I wish I could say I’ve avoided the stereotypes, but I look around, and here I am, in my professor house. It’s so damn comfortable. These things bug me.

Remember The Regal Beagle

That is both a question and a command. That cozy lounge where the Three’s Company folks hung out, remember? It was where Jack, Janet, and a revolving troop of idiotic blond Chrissy’s went to have a drink, Jack’s friend (whoever the hell he was) would often be there and the Ropers maybe too? Sorry, my memory of the Regal Beagle is a little hazy. I was pretty young when Three’s Company was on. I remember only that every episode seemed the same. As a kid, each show went like this: “important thing” must happen, misunderstanding occurs, hijinks threatening the outcome of "important thing” ensues, Janet must be made to prove her worth in some way in an attempt to overcome her “not the pretty” one role, Chrissy won’t fuck Jack (which even as a kid I was sick and tired of the whole gay/not gay Jack joke thread), everything works out and you go to the Regal Beagle for a cocktail. I don’t think I’ve seen the show since I was a little sarcastic wee one― so that impression of the show is all I have to work with. But I liked the Regal Beagle. As a kid it struck me as soooooo grown-up. The kind of place I never went to because it was for grown-ups …where even if I did get to go, I’d have to drink some stupidly named soda-with-a-cherry-drink in the corner.

Now that I’m grown up, where oh where is my damn Regal Beagle? Can’t I go out for a drink without running into some student? I thought the Regal Beagle was supposed to be relaxed and boozy. Not a place where one has to hear “Hey I was in your class!” or drunken graduate student research fantasies* Anyway, I want the Regal Beagle!

*there is a place for those, we expect to hear them every time we invite you to a party- it’s OK we expect it. Carry on.

Lost And Found

Wow! Thanks њѲѣфдά*! I do want some Japanese porn! њѲѣфдά was thoughtful enough to leave me a comment with a link to porn. I feel so lucky. Surely, њѲѣфдά doesn’t leave porn links for just any old blogger. It’s a RELIEF actually. I’ve been blogging for well over a year now. It has amazed me that none of you, my smart educated reader peeps, ever thought to send me Japanese porn links. Really! What’s up with that? Clearly this blog is just a plea for links to Asian porn and term-paper writing websites. Until њѲѣфдά came along I was beginning to wonder if anyone was ever going to notice my true agenda. It’s so obvious! It’s just been one long endless plea for naked Asian chicks. Geez. Do you see it now? Do you blog-readers in your fancy professor pants? Do you blog-readers with your all grammatically correct thoughtful prose? (Yeah, I’m a little jealous). How about you stoned students? Well? My new best blog bud њѲѣфдά got it. Damn straight they did. Now, if I could only find links to a website that will give me a great car loan (regardless of my credit history), enable me turn a picture of myself into a cartoon (a personal dream), add all kinds of blinky bouncy things to my blog (so classy), and finish my coursework online for the Associates Degree in "Assistant to the Physicians’ Assistants’ Office Clerk Cause This Ain’t A Real Medical Degree” degree that I’ve been working on I’d be all set!

* Sorry њѲѣфдά but that's the best approximation of your name I can come up, it translates to Assface no?

Withdrawal

I’ve spent the last 24 hours deep in thought. As the Olympics have come to an end, it was time for me to reflect, to ponder the greatness, and get back to ignoring hockey. What have I learned in the last two weeks? Where have I been? What does it all mean? Why don’t I have any booze left? It’s a lot to think about. It’s like houseguests just left. After two weeks of being in my home the Olympics have finally departed. They’ve left me only with soiled Norwegian pants in the hamper and my thoughts of them. Oh, and visions of sugarplums AND giant inflatable beavers. Is there some type of Olympic methadone I can take?

This Could Earn Me A Pulitzer

So if you’re in a four-man bobsled team, and you’re not the driver or the brakeman, your job is to run, push, and jump into the ice jalopy. That’s it. Run and push, sit. The running and pushing lasts all of two seconds, the sitting slightly longer. Since I once helped push-start a car, I consider myself something of an expert on these matters. I even engaged in a little bobsled training last night while watching the Olympics. You can too. Just stand on the side of your couch and practice hopping over the armrest onto the seat real fast. I did this multiple times while exclaiming “Look! I’m a bobsledder!” In addition to honing your bobsledding skills it provides loads of entertainment for your fellow Olympic-watchers (especially the 20th time you do it). Last night we saw a few bobsled teams flipped over on the dreaded 50-50 Curve (or as the announcers call it: THE 50-50 CURVEAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!).

The flipped over teams went barreling down the track on their heads. Fortunately, no one appeared injured. This speaks to the importance of helmets. Cruising down the ice chute on their heads these teams were able to maintain some pretty impressive speeds and finish the race without noticeable head trauma. Way to go helmet designers right? Well, I believe there is a larger message to be learned from this. No one is talking about it publicly yet, but the whispers in the bobsled community are growing louder. Dramatic innovations in bobsledding helmets are being created in top secret bobsledding labs all around the world. There might even be such a facility in your own community, tucked away and out of sight. Perhaps deep underground, accessible only by password via your local bowling alley or donut shop proprietor, there could even be a top secret bobsledding lab right next door to your own home! What are they up to? Well, here’s the scoop: Helmets are being manufactured with running blades. In the event of a flip over bobsledders will be able to cruise down not just on their heads, but on running blades attached to their helmets. When all four bobsledders align their heads they will essentially create a complete sled blade enabling them to continue their run smoothly in the event of a flip over. Obviously three blades on each helmet are required, a little unwieldy, but certain to provide the biggest innovation in bobsledding since the development of sledsuit butt-webbing.

You haven’t heard about this through NBC because they are in collusion with the bobsledders. As an Olympic investigative reporter I’m tracking this story for you. If you have any tips please report them to me. Do not trust any other news organizations! Perhaps you have seen suspicious bobsled activity in your neighborhood (like odd tracks in the snow that might lead to a secret bobsled lab) or suspicious lycra suit fragments? Report all information regarding secret bobsledding activity directly to me.

Cause It Was Ladies Night!

And the feelings right, la, la, la, la, la! I don’t know anymore lyrics to that song, but feel free to sing quietly to yourself if you do. Every Winter Olympics we are collectively cajoled into giving a shit about Ladies Figure Skating and every year I watch like the obedient ‘Merican citizen that I am. This ritualized behavior results in me, every four years, thinking: a) what the fuck was that? b) are my triple-clutz jokes still funny? and, c) who names their child Richard Button? I am still left pondering these issues, but let’s review the final six skaters. Oh, but due to the occasional, yet overrated, need for sobriety I watched the skating sans chemical enhancement. Which means I was: a) bored, b)unable to remember any of the skaters names and, c) compelled to think of things in the form of lettered lists. So here was the lineup:

Red with tights that didn’t match her skin color girl (USA): Not good. Not good at all. Sorry, I feel a twinge of guilt (see what sobriety does to me?!?) trashing some teenager, but this girl needs to focus her efforts elsewhere because figure skating is not her strength. She was painfully NOT graceful on the ice and I couldn’t help but wonder if she had some crazy Mormon underwear on under her skating outfit. You know how some Mormon women have that pale, larval, grossly wholesome look going on? She had that in spades. Not good. (yeah, I said it)

Green Cleopatra Robot (Japan): With the right choreography this girl could be a contender. What is the right choreography you ask? The robot dance. You know what I mean, who among has never engaged in a little robot dance? That herky-jerky suite of movements that never ceases to be funny while drinking could really be her dance genre. On an additional choreography note, if you are going to dress up like Cleopatra you HAVE to “walk like an Egyptian” during your footwork sequences. Everyone knows that. Automatic 15 point deduction, sorry Robo-skater.

Blue Graceful (Korea): She rocked! I Kim Yu Na, she rocked it. Gold medal.

Pippy Long-Sleeves (Japan): This lady was good too. Very graceful. Silver medal.

Turquoise (Canada): She gets a free pass. Her mom died. Bronze medal.

Red & Black (USA): She has potential but had the unfortunate position of skating after Blue Graceful and Pippy Long-Sleeves got the crowd all fired up and Turquoise got everybody all misty-eyed. It was like being scheduled to give your conference presentation following the biggest crank in your field who gave a paper trashing the previous paper, which was delivered by the biggest most famous person in your field. What the fuck are you supposed to do?

Todeigh At The Olympics

I’m still watching. I figure getting completely burnt out on sports I never watch is all part of the Olympic experience. What happened tonight? Well, some Swedish dude won a gold in x-country. Mary Carillo went sled-dogging. There was skiing, the visibility sucked. Lindsey Vonn crashed, Mancuso had to stop her run, she skied over to a crashed Vonn, it was weird. Then they made Mancuso re-run, she did, landed in 18th place, and then she cried while Vonn took off to get her hand x-rayed. The second run was canceled due to shit weather. Which, if you were watching this in primetime like me, suddenly explained why the night’s lineup seemed so lame- you take away the skiing and you’re left with more speedskating, some bobsleigh (that makes it sound more interesting) and some free style skiing aerials (fuck that sport needs a better name).

Speed skating offered the usual parade of ping-pong ball hats and 80s sunglasses but the Womens Relay was an impressive throwdown by South Korea. They beat China. Well, they beat them until the ref’s disqualified South Korea at which point they lost big time. The call was complete bullshit and the 10 minute monologue entitled “Who Paid This Ref?” that I yelled at the tv did not reverse this verdict. China won gold, Canada the silver, and the ‘Merican team won bronze (even though we were soooooo far behind we got lapped). Korea won damnit. With all the authority vested in me as an Olympic commentator, I award Korea the gold medal (if China refuses to give it up, Plushenko should give Korea his platinum). Moving on, bobsleigh was weigh boring. I saw the “too tall Jones” the “snowboard in space” and the “mom gets credit for the happy meal” commercials for the hundredth time. But the Olympic crowds are get rowdier (I suspect most of the bobsleigh crowd is weighsted) and the announcers are all running on fumes. It’s enough to keep me interested.

Swiffer Sweeper Why Aren’t You Sponsoring The Curling Team?

Some things just go together. Much like The Captain and Tennille, me and scotch, Joanie and Chachi, Swiffer Sweeper and curling are an obvious match. They just go together. It’s plain as day. Their union requires no explanation. What’s needed here, and I mean literally right here, is some brilliant and seamless segue into what doesn’t go together. Readers, you need to insert this brilliance yourself. Go ahead, take a minute and think up some text that could be inserted here that would change the course of this paragraph. Many of you are writers so just work your magic. I’m tapped out. Interspersed with my Olympic viewing marathon I am also watching the various shenanigans going on in my Department. I watch both safely ensconced in my saBATtical cave and today I feel the need to rant about one of my colleagues. So gone on now, take this little shred of Olympic coverage I’ve tossed out and work it into a train of thought about things that should never, ever, ever go together. Ready?

Listen up Professor Deadwood, you and Department Head DO NOT go together! You haven’t done a damn thing since I’ve been here, that’s almost seven fucking years. To be honest, I don’t even care. If you want to be non-productive, fine. But, just fucking embrace your role as deadwood. We’ve all given up on you completing any research, teaching a decent class, or even serving some general “senior colleague” advice-giving role. We all put up with your notorious lack of organizational skills, your inappropriate comments, and the general dislike we all feel toward you. We do this because many, many years ago you did some things. Nothing fantastic mind you, but enough that we can all see a little bit of ourselves in your younger self. Your accomplishments are just enough for us to try and maintain a degree of collegial respect until you retire. So what has gotten into you? All of a sudden you want to be department head? No fucking way. You are stirring up all kinds of drama. Why are you inventing problems, pretending to “know” things, spreading rumors? You and Department Head are a frightening mix. Nobody will support you. Your “strategy” for gaining our support is NOT working. Part of me fears that you have dementia and need some help and part of me wants to kick your elderly ass.