*…EVERYONE THINKS THEIR MONKEY IS CUTE

I spent some of today wondering why the tip of my right thumb felt vaguely like it had been burned. I considered the usual suspects: thumb-tip cancer, MRSA, and possible early warning sign of Alzheimer’s. Then it dawned on me that Z and I had the Wii with us this weekend, and spent way too much of it doing battle on Mario Kart. So much so that on Friday night when I finally went to bed, I closed my eyes and saw the entire Moo Moo Meadows track flashing against my eyelids…

When I took Z to swim class at the Y this weekend, I noticed a makeshift memorial in the hallway near the locker rooms. It was for one of the teen swim instructors–this kid who helped out a couple times w/Z’s class. I asked the lady at the desk what happened, and she kind of brushed off the question. I went to my Super Phone, and found this article. Just heartbreaking, all around…

Finally, there is this: A brief history of the “ctrl + alt + delete” button, and a zzzzzzing at Bill Gates at the very end. It’s worth the minute:

The day my 4-week-old car got rear-ended (Tuesday) effectively ended my quest for 365 posts in 365 days. In fact, I haven’t even looked that the ol’ girl in as many days. So, here’s the deal: I’ve broken my commitment, and I was honestly getting tired of posting each day–especially those days where I had nothing of even remote worth to offer. So… Maybe there’s a happy medium–not soooo much Josh that it hurts, and not so little claptrap…* that it’s hardly worth tuning in…

I suppose the good news is that in less than one week, I got into a car accident and got said accident resolved by way of “their” insurance. Now, I’m a pro at that, not that I ever wanted to be. Step one: Call the cops, no matter how much the other guy pleads for you not to. Step two: Call your insurance agent and file a claim, no matter who is at fault. Step three: Test the waters of their insurance company to see exactly how willing to work with you they are. Step four: Get the estimate, send it to Them, and then wait for the call where they say, “Yeah, you’ll get the check in a couple of days.” Excellent. The system working as it should, I guess…

The number 97 isn’t a bad number to have broken the streak on anyway. I have rather fond memories of 1997. Some day, I’m going to get that speech on DVD, and maybe it’ll be posted on YouTube or something…

Well, there you have it. I thank everyone for your comments, and your concern. I now present to you claptrap…* the sometimes daily when it really seems necessary…

The following is a list of words I do not like:
1. Poot
2. Ointment
3. Moist
4. Nipple
5. Hubby
6. Lube
7. Brah
8. Pimple
9. Pus
10. Actionable
11. Pump
12. Fester

Goodnight.

#97…

I know that I committed to one post each day. Today is #96, and I’m getting so sick of me and my silly sh*t. And this stuff goes right to my Facebook page, too. So I have to see it there as well. My god, I’ve got like absolutely nothing of interest to say anymore. How the hell am I supposed to eke out 365 of these? This is ridiculous. Unfortunately, I have the kind of light disorder that will not allow me to NOT do this each day, now that I’ve started. In fact, if you want to tune in to the ultimate post, catch this if I actually do miss a day. Then, you’ll have reason to visit. Suffice it to say that by now, should I accidentally miss a day, the repercussions would be devastating personally. I’d have to up my medication, and there may be a few days that are touch and go, as it were. It’s not like I’m even doing anything consistent here. Chr*st, I could’ve been posting chapters of my novel or something worthwhile. But what’s the thread, here? What? These little “categories”? Faineant? Yeah, it’s French for “distraction”. How clever. The rest could mean anything. Maybe I need to choose an “angle.” Maybe I should create a mission statement. Yes. I need a mission statement. Something that crystallizes and clarifies what this is all about. A credo that helps to articulate some kind of “organizing principle” or “theme”…

I’ve got it!

EVERYONE THINKS THEIR MONKEY IS CUTE…

Welcome to my blog…

#96

To all the lovers out there…

#95…

This was the wrong week for me to watch this movie. But still. I ordered on PPV, and am happily conflicted that I did. Here’s what The Hurt Locker represents–the tip of an iceberg that will be realized perhaps ten or so years down the road. I’ve seen this waiting to happen in the classes I teach. There’s a trickling of students who are returning from Iraq/Afghanistan, and like the Vietnam war, you are going to start seeing more films/books about their experiences. Last semester, I had a student write one of the most poignant essays I’ve read to date about the minutiae of life at a camp in Iraq, which ended with the only explosion coming in the last line of the essay. It was brilliant. It was everything I’ve never read in Rolling Stone, the New Yorker, or whatever about being a soldier, and it came only a week before I showed the f-ing Kid Rock video about citizen soldiers at the beginning of our unit on rhetoric. So but anyway. The Hurt Locker might, might, might win Best Picture, though Jeremy Renner won’t likely win Best Actor (either may happen on the “sentimentality vote,” I suppose). The reason is that the characters in The Hurt Locker are more or less incidental to the action, which is a shame, but, again, we’re in for much more as shit unfolds. The subject matter alone is fairly strong–and brutally tense, heart-wrenching. I’ll be honest–in the hands of another director, you may have had a “best picture.” But to be even more honest, I don’t think this movie called for that. This is not a Spielbergian realism look at Iraq–he doesn’t have that in him for this war anyway. It was a fairly narrowly focused look at Iraq, and in the canon of what will become the “Iraq/Afghanistan War” movies, it will have its place near the top… Thoughts?

With today’s tragedy on the luge track, which I was subjected to in many slow-mo iterations while on the treadmill at the Y tonight, I submit this observation: We’re odd creatures in that we revel in sports for which Danger and Ultimate Peril is the driving force behind our spectatorship. Why watch luge, if not for the potential for ’spectacular’ crashes? Kind of like NASCAR. But no one is supposed to die. Just slide awkwardly in their little rubber body suits while the sled launches ahead, sans rider. However, this was f-ing creepy in the same way that as a child, I used to shudder every time I saw ‘the agony of defeat‘ on ABC’s Wide World of Sports and instantly appeal to my father, “Did that man die?” Every time. (And, no, he didn’t die–just a concussion, though reports seem to reflect that he was never quite ‘the same’ after.). I guess you really can’t ask lugers to slow down or take it easy, but great creeping jebus, did you see that?

Anyway, I’ll temper my general criticism of the Olympics (one word summary: irrelevant) in the spirit of the Olympics. Every couple of years, I get curmudgeony about these games. So instead of getting curmudgeony about the games, I’ll get curmudgeony over NPR Sports Commentator Frank Deford’s always overly curmudgeony commentary…

Finally, I am hungry. It’s time to eat…

I saw this when I was in Indy last weekend. Truly, truly awful:

So I was going to write about the fact that I’m considering tackling The Broom of the System next (having failed at Infinite Jest on 3 separate occasions). Then I found this dude’s web site(s), and couldn’t stop reading. Anyone know who this might be?? Kudos to this dude, anyway…

#92

The college didn’t cancel classes tonight, so I taught half of the time w/half of the class in attendance–felt that was only fitting. As such, I am tired. It is bed time…

Here, good stuff: