My Little Problem

I think I'm developing a problem... I'm going through advanced dog withdrawal.

Today I was driving and there was a dog in the car in front of me. It was a big one, like a Golden Retriever I think, and it was barking its fool head off. The dude actually missed the light turning green twice because the dog was getting in all kinds of shenanigans. Usually I'd be kind of annoyed if someone was driving erratically and missing green lights, but I was loving it. I was sitting there with a big silly grin on my face watching this dog and wishing I could go play with it.

Background: I am a dog person. We had a dog back at my parents' house who was a wonderful and loving creature. She gradually turned into a nice old-lady dog, and after many years we had to spare her many coinciding health problems by putting her "to sleep." Since then I have been forced to live vicariously through the dogs of others. As much as I love people, there is nothing like the unbridled and unconditional love of a pet dog. There is an unparalleled loyalty a dog has for its "master" (or best friend, really). The moment you walk in the door and you see how excited your dog is just to see you is the happiest anyone will ever be at your entrance.

Listen to me, going on. Several friends of mine laugh at me because if I even glimpse a dog I'm like a child that sees something shiny, "oh! A dog! Let's go that way! Can I pet it?" I can't help it; it's like a visceral, instinctual jolt of excitement. So I'm thinking that maybe this is like the "maternal instinct" that (apparently) makes women want to have babies at some moment in their lives, only for me it is wanting the companionship of a dog. Unfortunately (for me and any potential dog) I am probably too nomadic to be sure I could provide a constant home for a pet. But as soon as I get any semblance of permanence in my world, I am going to get a dog so hard. It makes me want to buy a house right now.

Fun day!

Happy Thanksgiving! Today is my second favorite holiday! Eat, drink, use exclamation points, and be merry as heck!

On the topic of fun, today there was a picture in the Buffalo News (I'm visiting the parents) of several Santas eating lunch together. Though potentially scarring for any small children, I found the picture to be quite hilarious. Apparently they were on a break from a Santa-training day in England organized by The Ministry of Fun. The Ministry of Fun! What an awesome idea! They really should hire Andrew WK, internationally recognized as the nicest and most fun rock star ever (see hit song "We Want Fun"), to be their spokesman.

Hopefully the Ministry of Fun doesn't take after George Orwell's 1984, where the Ministry of Truth re-wrote history and the Ministry of Peace kept the country in a constant state of war. But if it was, what would the Ministry of Fun encourage? Pain? Tragedy? Probably worse: boredom.

Anyway, time to get ready to eat some delicious food and enjoy some merrymaking!

(All) My thoughts on the Martini

I apologize that this didn't get posted on Nov. 23rd when it was written. I tried to backdate the post. I recognize that you probably don't care.

Okay so I know this is the "holiday season" and all, but let's get one thing straight.

A Martini is made of three and only three ingredients: a few ounces of gin, a splash of vermouth and an olive. These are mixed with ice and strained into a martini glass.

Perhaps this sounds obvious, until you inevitably hear someone say "Or it can be made with vodka instead of gin." No it can't. By definition, vodka is not involved in the equation at all. If you have made a drink mixing vodka and vermouth you have made what is very generously known as a "Vodka Martini." More accurately, you've made a vodka martini without an olive. In fact, you have removed everything from the ingredients except the splash of vermouth. This is like saying potato soup is the same as a cooked turkey because you add salt to both.

These days any drink mixed with ice and served in a conical glass is called a martini. Don't let yourself be one of the ignorant ones. Appreciate a martini for what it is, and refer to other drinks using proper nomenclature.

* * * *
Okay while we're on the subject, I have 2 other thoughts about martinis. First, I assume that the vermouth company "Martini & Rossi" had something to do with the development and/or popularization of the martini. That's really brilliant, because when buying vermouth I know I've bought their product just because it had the name of the drink on it. It's one of those canonical words, like a Kleenex (facial tissue), Xerox machine (photocopy machine), Band-Aid (adhesive bandage), et cetera. I've noticed that other alcohol companies are doing this now, notably Captain Morgan rum encouraging people to ask for a "Captain and Coke" instead of the traditional "rum and Coke." I do that anyway, just because I like Captain Morgan far more than other brands.

Secondly about martinis is the "shake/stir" debate. It's funny that people have heard Bond say "shaken, not stirred" so much that now that's the default (see the entrance of brand into canon, above). Supposedly if you shake gin, or even if you pour it directly on the ice in the shaker, it becomes "bruised" and the flavor is damaged. As much as I'm obviously willing to be snobby about my martini's, I don't know if I believe this.

Go monkey, go!

Go to the Perry Bible Fellowship at http://cheston.com/pbf/index.html#

It's not what you think.

Silver Lining

You know the good thing about AOL? They are always looking for increasingly creative ways to get you to not completely ignore their free sample CD's, and sometimes they come up with something interesting. There have been several times when I've taken one of those "free N hours" offers and tossed the CD, just to have the package. I've used them for cases for mixes or to send a CD in the mail. (I altered them enough that the recipient would realize it was from me.) It must be hard to be a famous advertising dude who works for AOL, and he know he's really doing great work, but he still works for a company that charges people lots of money for crappy service. And since AOL doesn't have a quality product to sell, they are forced to rely on eye-catching advertising. Because of that, I just got the case to my next mix CD.

Why I hate television

I just found out that Arrested Development is probably getting cancelled at the end of this season. That is not a good idea. The show has won more Emmys than Fox could ever hope to win otherwise. It's got a loyal following who aren't going to turn away just because "Laguna Beach" is on some other channel. I'm certainly not surprised, though, and it has nothing to do with Nielson ratings. TV networks, particularly Fox, seem bent on removing everything that is good and intelligent from the world. Everyone has their favorite example of a show that was just too funny or too well-written or too clever to live. (One of mine is Clone High, which was unbelievably good satire and funny in and of itself.) I bet the TV networks aren't just trying to dumb down TV, they are also trying to make the people of our country stupider so it's easier to sell to us. I think the only reason Fox picked Family Guy back up is because they thought it would make us stupid. Luckily no one has clued them in that the Family Guy people have to be bright to write such perfectly base humor.

Anyway, I guess I'd rather see a series get snuffed after a few great seasons than go on for 17 years and jump the shark. I love you, The Simpsons, but you should lend a few seasons to Arrested Development. Or better yet, why don't we have the really terrible reality shows and derivative spin-offs trade spots with AD, and make the whole world a better place. (Edit: I just saw the 2005 Halloween episode of The Simpsons, and it was as good as any of the past. This is heartening. Even past its prime, The Simpsons will always be really good.)

In conclusion, this is why I don't watch or support TV. Read a damn book.

3 Hole Punch

What did people do at work all day before the internet? Must have been BOR-ING.

So I found out the answer to the question of Jägermeister in the freezer that I posited, coincidentally, exactly a month ago. It turns out that this office used to be a big ol' party before they were bought-out. They used to be owned by a bank in Cincinnati, so there was basically no chance of the boss' bosses dropping by to check up. They also had fewer clients, so the days were more laid back. Apparently every Friday around lunch time the people here would break out the beer and start relaxing, and about once a month they would all go out with the rest of the office (sometimes on the company tab) and just drink until somebody did something regretful/hilarious. But now the company is owned by lame-o National City Bank here in Cleveland, and the combination of Big Brother watching and more clients has dried up all the office partying. In a way it was weird to hear about such shenanigans from people who are parents, 10 years older than me, or are otherwise definitely not in college. But mostly it sounds like I got this job a year too late.


Oh, and about the "3 hole punch" deal. There's really no reason except that I got to use one today. I found punching holes in paper with the use of a lever to be very satisfying. It's all *shunk.*

You never notice until you have a stack of 200 envelopes to open

Why are letter-openers dull? I feel like I'm cutting a cake with a shoelace over here.

MY TV

Last night I brought my computer into the living room of my apartment so we could listen to some music and such. I was planning on unplugging the TV and using the outlet for my computer. Then I realized that the TV was already unplugged, presumably from the last time I did this. The last time I did this was weeks ago. I haven't noticed that my TV was unplugged for several weeks because I hadn't tried to turn it on anyway. Awesome.

Bike Messenger

The other day I saw a friend of mine looking like a total scrub. While this dude isn't exactly James Bond in terms of attire, he usually manages to put together an ensemble believable enough that I wouldn't differentiate him from other college men. However, on this particular day he was wearing a striking mixture of discordant clothing, the several layers serving to enhance the effect. Particularly notable were his spandex leggings that shown from beneath battered short, his messenger-style bag slung over his shoulder, and his bicycling shoes which he was wearing to walk indoors, undoubtedly much to his own discomfort. My brain leapt ahead without me and made the instant association, "What's this? You look like a bike messenger" I said, playing along with his self-derisive joke. But he replied, "Yep, pretty much."

And that's when it I realized: he looked that way on purpose.

Man, did I feel silly! Of course this dude wants to look like a bike messenger. This is the dude who sleeps for days at a time, swears by the noodling of jam bands with the same passion he has for the subtleties of jazz, and smokes pot like it's going out of style. Wearing counter-culture on his sleeve is not enough for this guy, it's got to be on your sleeve too. Both sleeves! This is a guy, and we probably all know/have known someone like him, for whom getting his engineering degree is a hurdle on the way to becoming a bike messenger.

It was a great little moment for me, like I got to sneak a peek at someone through their own mirror while they prepared themselves, and their day, to be just the way they wanted it, for better or for worse. It reminded me of what an old friend used to say, "The guy's got style. I don't know if it's a good style, but it sure is style."

Famous (sort of) Friend (sort of)

See here.

SO someone I know has achieved a higher level of social recognition! My once-professor Thomas Sayers Ellis has won an award for his recent book of poetry, The Maverick Room. I gather that this award is pretty prestigious, if by no other indication than the winners receive $40,000.

If his previous work hadn't, I guess this award officially makes him a Big Deal in a wider public sphere. He wasn't exactly low profile before; he's well known for co-founding a group called the Dark Room Collective to support African-American poets. The funny thing is, I can't really imagine how he would respond to fame (such as it is). He's got a website with press photos and such, but it doesn't quite seem to fit. Let me try to explain, he's not a man you can put your finger on. Even in class, when one would expect him to be at his most conservative and accessible, he always kind of slipped in 30 seconds late, sifted through the class' brains for two and a half hours, then flickered out. That is not to say he was a bad teacher. I took his "Intro to Poetry" class, which was a first step into the world of reading and writing (and occasionally performing) poetry. I decided to take the class based on a recommendation from a friend and a curiosity in real poetry. After meeting Ellis, I decided that even if he was a total space cadet, the class would be worth it just to spend some time interacting with such an unfamiliar and unusual person. In his class things were out of order, bizarrely challenging, at times unsettling, and most certainly different every day. But as I watched the semester and the students unfold I realized that he had as much skill at teaching as he did at his art, he simply approached the job like poetry instead of an essay. His non-linear style suited a poetry class readily. He was the reason the word "eclectic" exists. You have to realize how hard this is to explain out of context, but for example: he could be talking and say "You could write a poem about anything, X, Y or Z" Simple, right? But X, Y and Z would be unbelievably cool ideas for poems, totally disparate from each other, and nothing any of us would have thought of in a year. Every class was like dipping your cup in the River Ellis, where you never know what you're going to get from the thick stream of ideas that was always running through his head. At the end of class he would duck out, and we would all laugh at the weird things he said, but we'd all know that we had really been a part of something. He didn't just lecture at you, he brought you along for the ride. He'd push each person for as far as he or she could hold on, and sometimes a bit farther. Sometimes his eyes would skip around the room like he was watching something we couldn't see. Sometimes you'd catch his eye, and he'd pull something out of you and set it on your desk, and you'd spend the rest of class trying to figure it out. That was the best part, when he would lean on someone just a little harder than they wanted him too (we all got this at some point) but then the next week that person's poem would be so much better than even they expected. His challenge wasn't "turn in a paper at the end of the semester," his challenge was "KEEP UP."

So that's Thomas Sayers Ellis' class in 500 words. Of all the personalities I've come across, he's on the short list of people I'd like to be more in the public eye. And now that he's one step farther along I can't help wonder, what does a guy like that do with a spare $40 large?

The Chosen Ones

The time has come, I think, to talk about my favorite animal. (Before I continue I should say that my favorite pet is by far the dog, but that's domestic so it doesn't count.) There are so many things about the Elephant Seal that I love. I expect that the only reason more people don't list the elephant seal as their favorite animal is simply lack of exposure. Experiencing an elephant seal is like experiencing John Cage's 4'33", you must be in the proper frame of mind to realize its significance.

First of all, How I came across the elephant seal: My nuclear Buffalonian family was on vacation with the Californian leg of the family, visiting this little coastal town outside of San Luis Obispo (itself a little coastal town). We were primarily engaged in relaxing, catching up with each other, and entertaining my cousin Lily who was about eight years old at the time. Lily was a precocious and curious girl who was not surprisingly interested in animals and nature and kid-science stuff of that sort. Someone got the idea of visiting an elephant seal “rookery” because one (of a handful along the Pacific coast) happened to be nearby. When we got there I instantly fell in love, and only a powerful hunger finally tore me away.

About elephant seals. The main characteristic of elephant seals is that they are gigantic. I believe they can weigh up to three tons. THREE TONS OF SEAL. The males have these hideous growths on their faces which, combined with their size, somewhat give them a likeness to your usual non-seal elephant. Due to their size they have few natural predators. (There was a picture at the rookery of a seal who had survived an attack from a great white shark. I am under the impression that a normal animal does not usually survive an attack from a great white shark.) Sometimes they fight each other, and the weird snout-growth thing gets an even more mangled and bizarre appearance. They can hold their breath for up to two hours, and can dive a mile underwater. Their life cycle, possibly the most luxurious in the whole animal kingdom, is as follows: 9 months of the year they swim and eat, 3 months of the year they lie on the beach and mate. That’s it, only two appointments to keep each year: eat-time and mate-time. Sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me.

The elephant seal experience. (See for yourself LIVE on webcam!) Elephant seals smell bad. Really bad. We went during molting season, which was an extra spectacle because the sand was brown from all the dried, flaked-off skin that had been ground under dozens of seal-rollers into a beach that would gag anyone standing downwind. Elephant seals, though massive, do not make an impressive noise. I was expecting bellows that would trumpet across the seashore. Instead they make a low grumbling/bubbling sound, like a giant flooded engine trying to start or a giant milk jug glugging out milk. Elephant seals are remarkably lazy. The tide was coming in, and most of the seals couldn’t be bothered to shimmy 10 feet up the beach until they were clearly going to be drowned if they stayed put. Eventually I could hear them say “FINE! DAMN you!” as they hunched and rolled their blubber up the shore until they were out of the waves’ way, and promptly passed out from a hard day’s work. With a hand on my heart, I bowed to the most inspiring display of laziness I think the animal kingdom has ever known: the entire life of the elephant seal. If I get a next life, and I get to choose what it will be, I believe this to be my calling.

Elephant seals are proof of evolution if ever there was one. No God would plan on such a creature, but there it is, all three tons of it lolling majestically in a perfect evolutionary niche. I imagine God is pleased, though, because if He wanted to get rid of them they would be a pretty slow-moving target. Actually, more like an immobile target. Even the weakest of lesser deities could exterminate a species that sleeps on an open beach for three months every year. God is probably as amused by elephant seals as I was. (Which, I should conclude with, was more amused than the eight year old. As I said, it takes a discriminating eye to appreciate the subtleties of these mountains of blubber and stink.)

SHARKS

Stay away from sharks, man. Those things will cold mess you up.