I've never "reblogged" something before, as blogger doesn't have a button for it and I feel weird copy/pasting the entire content of a website posting from elsewhere, but I have never wanted to do so more than now. About two years ago I first heard an excellent interview with Dr. Christopher Oldstone-Moore, a historian at Wright State University. He is a pogonologist, or studier of beards (among other things, I presume). The interview is conducted by David Malki ! of Wondermark.com, an excellent website featuring repurposed Victorian illustrations used to make comic strips. Malki ! (the exclamation point is part of his name) is a very vocal beard advocate, so I was not surprised to see/hear him follow his interest into the academic realm.
I think it is safe to say that this interview is fascinating, even if you are not as thoroughly interested in beards as I am. Particularly notable is the discussion of the origins of shaving, and how it came to be the "default" look of men. Then later, the time when beards suddenly burst back on to the fashion scene. Both can be traced to remarkably specific historical events (hint: they are 2179 years apart)!
To quote Dr. Oldstone-Moore: "The one thing I’m absolutely sure of is that these changes are connected to whatever conceptions we are developing of masculinity. Ultimately, it is always tied to the question of what is it to be a man, and 'how should I be a man?' That’s the existential version of that question, as a man. However that question gets answered is going to have a lot to do with what you do with facial hair. And that’s why I’m interested in studying facial hair, because I think it’s a way of looking at the history of how people think about their masculinity."
My parents recently decided that they are, for some reason, uninterested in keeping the boxes of magazines and scrap paper that I left in their house when I moved out a decade ago. I suppose someone else will have to become my archivist. I assume that I should have archivist, because whenever historians are trying to understand people they look back at their personal correspondence. If I become famous, perhaps the world will be enlightened by the marginalia and doodles in my "global studies" notebook. Until then, my parents quit themselves of the boxes. Feeling that it is inappropriate to be my own historian (that would be conceited), I am throwing much of it away. But one piece of paper caught my eye.
Some background: When I was in high school I was in the Student Congress, and one year during Homecoming Week I organized a school-wide trivia contest. The questions were read during the morning announcements (by me). Each homeroom got an answer sheet, which was collected, scored, and returned to them each day (by me). The homeroom with the best score at the end of the week won some sort of prize. Or maybe it was the class with the highest total points from all the classrooms. I don't remember the logistics, but I do remember that people got really into it and I was really proud that this whole idea came together. But the best part was the topic. What kind of trivia would I ask during homecoming week? Surely it was sports trivia, you say, and I say No, I don't care about that. Maybe something about the school. Or recent movies, or history, or fun facts. No, no, no, no. Or what about super nerdy stuff that only a sliver of the high school population would know anything about? And I say, BINGO.
So I now present to you, for the first time in its entirety, "Homecoming Homeroom Trivia: Old School Cartoons." The following is copied directly from my decade-old handwritten notes when I came up with the questions. Mind you, these were in the days before Google. (Remember WebCrawler?) There was just enough internet in the world for me to find the GIF's you see below (which decorated the answer sheet), but not enough for people to cheat while sitting in homeroom. So same goes for you, gentle readers, no Wikipedia allowed. See how you do... Day 1: Thundercats 1. What was Lionel's sword's name? 2. What was the red insignia on the sword called (pictured on the right)?
Day 2: Masters of the Universe 1. Who was He-Man's twin sister and accomplice as a Master of the Universe? 2. What was He-Man's tiger named? 3. [BONUS QUESTION] He-Man's arch nemesis was Skeletor. What was Skeletor's lair called? Day 3: Ninja Turtles 1. Name all 4 turtles and the colors of their bandanas. 2. What substance created the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?
Day 4: Gummi Bears 1. What did the Gummi Bears live in? 2. What magic potion was the source of the Gummi Bear' powers? 3. What monsters were the Gummi Bears always outsmarting?
Day 5: Transformers 1. The brave and fearless Autobots were in a constant battle with what group of evil transformers? 2. What was the name of the leader of the Autobots (pictured here)?
DELETED SCENES The following was originally scheduled for Day 3, but it was deemed too difficult by the other people who were helping me... Day 3 (original): Voltron 1. How many lions were in the Voltron Force? 2. Name one of the Voltron Force's three arch nemeses.
This was also in the days before the 80's were nostalgic and cool, before Transformers became a (live action) movie, before the TMNT got reworked as "edgy" anime-influenced nonsense, and before Cartoon Network began rebroadcasting almost all of these shows. So if you've seen the shows since their original before/after-school or Saturday morning timeslots, that's cheating too. But I'm glad that these shows are coming back. If anything, I wish they'd bring back DinoRidersand Silverhawks. But my age group is only beginning to flex our nostalgia muscles, and everything gets brought back eventually, so here's hoping. Until then, here are the answers...
Thundercats 1. The Sword of Omens 2. Eye of Thundera ("Eye of Thundera, give me sight beyond sight!")
Masters of the Universe 1. She-ra 2. Battle-Cat ("Cringer" was also acceptable, though that was his name before Prince Adam turned into He-Man. Nobody put that though, because nobody cared about stupid Prince Adam or his scaredy-tiger.) 3. Snake Mountain (if you said Castle Greyskull you are WRONG. That was He-man's castle, and Skeletor's perennial goal.)
Ninja Turtles 1. Leonardo (blue), Donatello (purple), Raphael (red), Michelangelo (orange). • (As a colorblind kid, I was always annoyed that the blue and purple looked very similar to me. Especially because Donatello was my favorite and Leonardo was my least favorite.) • BONUS QUESTION: What were each of their weapons? (L=katana blades, D=bo staff, R=sais, M=nunchaku) 2. Retromutagen ooze (half credit for "ooze")
Gummi Bears 1. Inside a tree (not just "in the forest") 2. Gummiberry juice 3. Ogres
Transformers 1. Decepticons 2. Optimus Prime (This was the only picture that I couldn't match to the one I used back in the day. At the time I used one that was almost identical to this, including the logo, but didn't have his big ol' gun. Columbine still was very fresh at the time and public schools were jumpy about anything related to guns. I guess that as it's gotten farther away people don't mind their cartoon characters having guns. That or school violence has become so ubiquitous that people aren't trying to blame cartoons anymore. But that's a different blog post.)
DELETED SCENES 1. Five lions (I would say that Power Rangers was a terrible rip-off, but it was made by the same people so it was more of a re-make. The main hero(s) looked almost the same, except that it was live action, set in a high school not a cool space base, and used robot dinosaurs instead of robot lions.) 2. Zarkon, Prince Lotor, Haggar the witch.
How did you do? And what do the results of this quiz tell us? Specific answers not withstanding, if this took you on a trip down memory lane, you may be a nerd. Talk to your doctor. Or treat by looking up clips on YouTube all night.
As a final note, let's face it, the Voltron theme was downright inspiring. That horn fanfare almost brings a tear to my eye!
- write 1-2 sentences - re-read sentences - erase most of first sentence and re-write - think “I should find a citation for this” - look up a citation by attempting to search through all the published literature in the discipline looking for the single most relevant example - find an interesting article and begin to read it - get inspired by some idea that is completely tangential to the original topic. write it down, don’t want to forget! - get up to get a drink of water, think about new idea - look in fridge - “ugh, how long has this been in there?” - put that back in there - remember something I need to fix/buy/etc. - write that down on a piece of paper somewhere - think, I need to get back to work - return to computer - re-read sentences - think “those are some pretty decent sentences.” - oops, the verb tenses don’t match the rest of the paper - change verb tenses - think, “what was I going to write next? I had an idea.” - check original outline - see a topic on my original outline that I haven’t covered yet. “that’s ripe for some writing, maybe I can put that in here.” - no, I can’t. it doesn’t make sense here - start a new paragraph and write it down anyway. “I’ll use that later.” - notice how much I have left to do - “okay, let’s get down to business” - get up to go to the bathroom - pee, thinking “man I drink a lot of water when I write” - realize that all the water is gone, so refill the cup - notice dog - scratch dog - ask dog how his day is going - tell dog I love him - receive blank look from dog - think of the perfect next sentence - thank the dog - return to computer - forget perfect next sentence - re-read sentences - look at list of tangential ideas from “inspirations” - none of that matters with what I’m writing - look at outline, books, and journal articles until I see something related to what I’m writing - in reading it, realize that some famous author has already written exactly what I’m writing, but better - re-think entire topic/paper/career - “whatever, I’ll just cite this and say that mine is adding something to it” - find a relevant quote and use it as the next sentence - write another sentence - continue writing sentence - continue, thinking “man, this is kind of a long sentence” - remember something I previously read that I should cite in this sentence - find reference I remembered - cite it - put a comma after the citation - add the contradictory point to the other half of the sentence - read sentence of extraordinary length, riddled with commas - “this sentence is too long, I need to split it into two sentences” - realize all my sentences are too long - also they all use the same parallel construction - also also they are all in the passive voice - think “whatever, all stupid science writing is in the stupid passive voice and I like it anyway.” - feel guilty because of Grammar - page back through the paper and find a long sentence to split into two - “now I have created two new sentences!” - repeat
No indication of whether it is stand-on-able, but it looks pretty legit, right down to the paint job.
I've been dreaming about having a hoverboard my whole life. Though the hot pink BTTF2 one is pretty rad, I prefer the design of the ones from ReBoot (see 1:00 through 1:40 of this video to see what I mean). I confess, I spent a lot of time thinking about this hoverboard when I was 12. Double confession: I still think about it, 15 years later. In the day I came up with a whole system of balance, propulsion, and storage of these things. I could still explain it all, but I'll save you the details. But seriously, if you want to talk about it I will gladly hold forth on my intuitive 360° movement system I "developed" (read: "played with in my imagination"). Using it I would look just like this, except (probably) not blue:
We will continue to track this story as it unfolds. Check back in about a decade when the next step in hoverboard technology develops.
I decided to ask my lady to marry me on Christmas. I know that this has been done before, but my story is, I think, very special to me. First of all, I knew she'd never expect it. We've been talking about getting married since shortly after we met (seriously the topic came up on one of our first dates), so the proposal itself was not a surprise. But she's seen my bank account and she knows I can't afford a $1,700 diamond ring, plus I've been telling her for about a year that we (we, mind you) will have to start saving up the money for the ring. Little did she know that I've been setting up a diamond express since last spring. I asked my mother's beloved cousin, a childless bachelor, if he knew of any familial engagement jewelry. My great-grandmother's diamond was passed down to his mother, my great aunt, who eventually re-set it into a pretty "cocktail ring," which was in my cousin's safe deposit box in California. A few months later he visited New York City and passed the ring to my sister. A month after that my parents were visiting her and brought it back to Buffalo. Ironically, I was in New York before my parents, but we were on our way to Peru and I wasn't about to lose it to some pickpocket there, so it waited for my parents to transport it home. (I did get to peek at it during my visit, while my intended was busy elsewhere.)
For a few months the diamond lay dormant in a sealed envelope at the bottom of a drawer. During this time my lady and I bought a house and moved in to it together, all the while talking about how eventually we'll have enough money to afford a diamond. When it came close to the holidays I began to get the itch to make it official. I visited a few jewelers to discuss re-setting the stone in a ring that I knew would please my lady. (I had staked out the kind of setting she likes "just for fun" months in advance.) The gemologists were all impressed by the diamond, and consensus was that it was over 100 years old and cut in Europe. They also warned me that I needed to be careful with the little diamonds that were to be set alongside the central stone. My great-grandmother's diamond was so clear and well-cut that impure or otherwise lesser diamonds would really stick out in comparison. They said that the settings ordered straight out of a catalogue are usually fine, there is no guarantee of the diamonds' quality. The way to ensure that the setting's diamonds were matched to the main stone was to have the jeweler order the metal band from the catalogue, then insert the small diamonds himself. Ironically, this was also far more cost effective than ordering the completed package from the company. The only downside? It would take several weeks, and with the busy holiday season the ring would not be ready for Christmas.
This left me with a dilemma. I could try to have the ring ready for my lady's birthday, a few weeks after Christmas. But there was no guarantee it would be done by then either, and I really didn't want to wait. And if I proposed on Christmas it would have some additional advantages, notably that we were going to see both of our entire families that same day. Additionally, it was Christmas day two years ago that we decided we were officially going to be a couple. We counted it last year as our anniversary, and I wanted to make it doubly special. And most importantly, I didn't want to wait while some jeweler fiddled with rocks, I wanted to be engaged to the most wonderful woman I've ever know. So I decided to go for it, noting that she could approve the setting before I ordered it. It is fitting of my beloved to consider such practical matters amidst all the romance.
On Christmas morning I got up early to take the dogs out and let my lady sleep in as long as she pleased. About half an hour later she got up, just as I was about to make her breakfast and bring it up to her. She didn't want to wait for breakfast, so I scrapped the idea as she brought out my present. Thinking ahead to potential hugs and kisses I suggested we shower and brush our teeth, but she was too excited about presents. I knew she is practically allergic to morning breath, so I improvised with peppermint gum for each of us. She wanted to go first, and handed me a rather large box. I had no idea what to expect as she proudly informed me that she was sure I was getting the "best gift." Inside I found a beautiful antique-style globe of the type I've been admiring since we first met. It takes someone really special to notice the two times a year I mention how I'd love a globe in the house, and remember it when it comes to present time. She pointed out that I looked genuinely surprised and thrilled, and I truly was. Hugs, kisses, complements on her taste, etc.
Then it was my turn. I woke up our dog and made him come downstairs. (She didn't see why this was necessary at the time, but I wanted him to be present for such an important moment in our family!) I retrieved a little gift bag from our spare room that had been sitting idle for about two weeks. She looked inside to find an iTunes gift card, something she had mentioned wanting in passing. She was also happy, but I could tell she felt vindicated as the best gift-giver, to put it politely. I told her to keep looking in the bag. She pulled out all the tissue and found an envelope in the bottom. Inside the envelope were pictures of the settings I picked out in the style she likes. I told her she should pick her favorite because, as I got down on one knee and pulled out the little box, I had a beautiful diamond to go with it. She shouted "Yes! Yes!" before I could get any further, so I pointed out that I hadn't asked anything yet and that I had some words prepared. She smiled and listened as I took her hands in mine, and told her that I love her more than anything in the world, that I want to spend the rest of my life with her, and asked her if she would marry me. She responded similarly to the first time, more hugs and kisses ensued, and I pretty much haven't been able to stop smiling since.
Some might plan their proposals to be filled with literal fireworks or elaborate stunts. But in planning the moments I was reminded of how impressed my lady was of the proposal on The Office, which just happened in the moment when the time was right in a place that was unpresumptuous and meaningful to the couple for their own idiosyncratic reasons. Our engagement happened in our pajamas, on our couch and with our dogs. That exact setup has seen us through many snuggly nights, and she commonly refers to it as her "happy place." Anyone can go to a fancy restaurant, but no one else in the world shares that place besides us. Anyone can celebrate Christmas, but few other people even knew that we considered it our dating-anniversary. Though they were unimpressed with the inedible diamond ring, I was glad our dogs were there to share the moment. And though I didn't have the entire ring in one place, the spirit thoroughly moved us both and we agreed that it happened just when it needed to.
We called many members of the family that very same morning with the news, and we saw almost all of our immediate family later in the day. Apparently my bride-to-be has exactly the same finger size as my great-aunt, so she has been enjoying wearing the old setting while we wait for the new one to be built. There are, of course, myriad stories that have developed even in the few days since then. But suffice it to say for now that I liked it so I went and put a ring on it.
1/9/2010 EDIT:
This morning we picked up the ring in the setting we picked out. I'm thrilled. I'm actually much more excited about it than I expected to be. It is beautiful, and it looks so good to have the perfect, prettiest ring on the hand of the perfect, prettiest girl. And it's not just aesthetics, that woman is my intended. I love this.
Today I read this installment of Dinosaur Comics and it made me think thoughts. I don't know about clapping in movies, I have no strong opinions about that at this time, but panels 4 & 5 really spoke to me. This jumped through the author-internet-reader conduit as a conversation that my lady and I have had innumerable times. I like to stay for the credits, she likes to get on with it. Antecedently, my family always stayed for the credits and hers never did. My parents have a long tradition of looking for the "Best Boy" and the "Key Grip," which is cute and fun. What do those people do? I have no idea, but they're always listed in the credits (never a "Best Girl" though). Not knowing anything about the movie industry nor anyone in the industry, my parents have no real need to look for the BB or KG, but it's just fun. It's like a long, moving word search. I like to look at the music credits. See who performed the songs (both pop songs and the score), who composed the score, which recording company did the work and who's releasing the soundtrack, et cetera. For me thinking about the music is a way of reflecting back on the movie. "That movement was called 'intense dreams?' Oh that must have been during..." or "When did they play 'London Calling?' Wait, it wasn't The Clash's version? Was there a reason to use a cover version?" It's all part of the larger purpose of the creditstime: to come down from the movie experience, to reflect, to prepare myself to walk back into the lighted hallway and reintegrate with the world that has not just seen the movie. I tend to get so wrapped up in the movie experience that this processing time is important. My lady, on the other hand, consumes a movie and moves on. Not to make her sound like Galactus or something, but she just doesn't get as transported by the experience of movies, or most art for that matter. It's not for lack of attention. We have had some interesting and occasionally impassioned discussions about movies. She often catches subtleties that I missed, maybe because they didn't sink in during my end credits processing time.
She has her own way of enjoying the movie experience. She takes in the movie as it happens and, I believe, processes it best while she's doing other things. So in the dark theater she doesn't need the processing time, doesn't play the "find the Best Boy" game, nor has she any other reason to stay. (She does quite like soundtracks, and has even purchased a few, but she prefers to look them up when she gets home.) For her the movie credits are merely a signal that it's time to leave. She is not alone in this, of course, as almost everyone leaves within a minute or two of seeing the credits roll. Perhaps I'm in some weird, shrinking minority.
But apparently, T-Rex and I are members of the same minority. (I'm sure we could find other things in common, too.) My "why stay for the credits" reasoning is played out pretty accurately in this comic. T-rex's is pithier of course, as it's a six-panel comic and few of my thoughts can be so condensed anyway. But I think the heart of the argument is the same. I feel a kinship with the Terrible Lizard King. This makes the non-sequitur ending even funnier, by the way. As with the whole rest of this line of thinking, getting more deeply involved allows me a greater enjoyment of the component parts and the whole. Furthermore, writing this has made me appreciate my overall credit-watching experience, this particular comic experience, and the current writing experience, all the more! This is so freaking meta!
Does it ruin the meta-ness to point that out? Or enhance it? I don't know. Process this on your own, I've got other stuff to do.
This is probably a dumb time to post this, but I'ma do it anyway to show Rebellion.
Have you ever wanted to change the creation/modification date of a file? I know I have, so that if someone checked such things they would know:
"Jack created this file a week ago! He totally did not just start working on this assignment a few hours before it was due to be sent to me!"
"The last time Jack modified this file was before the official deadline, so even though I'm getting it after the deadline I can rest assured that he has not been working on it!"
"Jack totally did not start this assignment after the deadline! Nor did he modify it after the deadline! Everything Is Okay!"
These are the things we all wish we could say, so I give my professors the joy of saying them by selflessly altering file information using this brilliant little program:
In the fall of 2003 I was beginning my junior year of college, working hard, playing hard, and was thoroughly confused about my romance life and my life direction in general. It was a fun but stressful time. I had lauded the first Andrew W.K. record ("I Get Wet") as a tribute/satire/tribute-again to everything over-the-top about rock and, legitimately, the ultimate party starter. Though the joke was basically over, I was anticipating the followup. Turns out "The Wolf" really wasn't anything that spectacular, or even as timely as his first. But there was something special about the video for the first (only?) single "Never Let Down." I found myself going to mtv.com and watching this video at the beginning of every day. Sometimes I'd revisit it in the afternoon. This went on for weeks. It was just out of irony, right? It was building up to some punchline where the music major was writing about Stravinsky while playing 3-chord power pop. ...right? I think it may have started that way, but looking back I think it was more than a joke or a guilty pleasure. I actually appreciated the simple affirmation howled above those even equally simple riffs. At the time, of course, I was far too cool to be admit being lifted by something so adolescent. But even today, it's hard not to believe him when he says "I'm a friend by your side / You're never gonna be alone" the way only he can. As we used to say: WWAWKD? Party. And sometimes in life that's exactly what you need.
I'm pretty sure that's how the "sideburns connected to the mustache" style was invented
DID YOU KNOW:
Shaving within sight of other dudes is basically inviting a constant chorus of "Oh man you should leave it like that! ...oh no even better leave it like THAT!"
I haven't done that in quite a while, but I've been thinking about it recently.
Right now I'm in the process of moving. I have been for a while, but today and tomorrow are the big push. As one does when one moves, I'm cleaning things, throwing things out and discovering lost treasures. I just found a used envelope with two quotes written on the back:
"He was broody and vulnerable. He was intensitive." -Aron (my soon-to-be roomie) on Kurt Cobain
"She's flaky isn't she? But, so is a good pie crust." -My mother, on a particular female friend of mine who shall remain nameless on the internet.
The past few days I have been smelling things a lot. "They" say that smell is strongly linked to memory, and my non-scientifically-backable anecdotal experience is piling up the support. In the past few days I have had these intense memory-triggering experiences:
1) While riding in a car with a female friend, some combination of her shampoo/deodorant/lady scents vividly connected her with feelings of an ex-girlfriend. I was crazy about that ex, and she was a fox and a half, and the girl I was with in the car is a strictly platonic friend. It made me feel things in places. I sort of suppressed the thought until I bumped into that same ex-girlfriend at a concert the very next day. I couldn't think of a gentlemanly way to say "The other day I smelled someone who smelled like you [used to smell] and I found it extremely compelling, like in an immediate sexual response way," so instead I just said "It's nice to see you!" and hoped the point got across.
2) Today while at work it was very muggy and hot outside and very air-conditioned inside, so when people opened the door the various drafts of air were quite noticeable. Again, some indefinable conspiracy of scents ignited a vivid memory of playing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Arcade Game or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Turtles in Time in my friend Evan Pease's basement on his Nintendo (or Super Nintendo, respectively). I was transported back in time to those sleepover nights eating the snacks and playing the game console(s) my parents wouldn't buy for me. But amidst this wave of mutant-turtle memories, I was jolted back into the present need for chai lattes and double chocolate chip frappucino blended cremes. Bummer.
In both instances I was so connected with the memory that it overtook all of my senses for a moment. As far as my brain was perceiving, I was not in that car or that Starbucks in 2007, I was with a girlfriend in 2000 or in a basement with a buddy in 1996. My entire sensory experience was flushed by the olfactory cue. It was a curious sensation, not at all unenjoyable. I've often said that my sense of smell is probably my only sense worth anything (given my need for glasses, mediocre hearing, undistinguished palette, and assumably average sense of touch). It reminds me that supposedly people secrete pheromones similar to those that animals use to communicate, but we ruin them with all our bathing, deodorizing, and perfuming. I'm willing to bet that, if the pheromone idea has any truth to it, it's no surprise that these two scent memories connected to sex in the first instance and a familial feeling of safety in the second. The next time someone tells me I smell good, I'll try and find out just how good that smell makes them feel.
Borrowing the idea of Photoshop Phriday from achewood seems only fitting, as the entire idea of this blog was partially inspired by the blogs of the fictional achewood cast. True to form, mine is lower-tech and has 1/10,000th the readership. But, I submit, the potential for hilarity is at least equal, and quite possibly greater. I've been saving up for a good one.
Last month I was insanely busy. I was teaching a class, which I may expound on later, and the world of coaxing 12-year-old inner-city kids to be creative pretty much devoured a solid month of my life. At the end, I wanted to do something fun, something personally creative, something social that would tell the world "I am a man who is in charge of his own life again."
I present to you John E. Mack, 1972, versus John P. Mack, 2007.
(click to enlarge)
What you are looking at is my father's ID card from his first post-doctoral position at NASA in Houston next to a picture of me taken only a few days ago. The shirt, hair, and mustache are all real. Previous to this incarnation I was sporting a smartly-trimmed goatee (see to the right). People have been asking what prompted the change, and I'm pleased to leave them with "It was about that time."
The reactions have been great, particularly from my father himself who (in the words of my mother) "was quite tickled that I would go to such lengths to mimic him." My dad definitely has a distinct style. He has never paid much attention to his "look," which is what makes it so legit. He is unmistakably a college professor and scientist from toe to tip. The 70's were an era of outrageous clothing and hair (facial and otherwise), and my dad basically cruised through with a handsome, (relatively) conservative, nerdy style that helped him land a wonderful wife, a great job, and (come 1977) a beautiful daughter. Thanks to heredity, here I am 35 years later, similarly nerdy, similarly handsome, and only slightly more educated about the subtleties of looks. People have always said I look like him. I figured now was an opportunity to see how close it could get. Answer: mighty close.
It seems that Mendel may have been on to something. Or, as my friend Aron put it, I "truly [am] the fruit of his loins."
Editor's note: Regardless of this being a digital picture posted on a blog, this was a pretty low-tech operation, notably because I don't have a scanner, digital camera, or Photoshop. The picture of me was taken with a cell phone, the ID image was a picture of a picture also taken with a cell phone, and the whole thing was pieced together in iPhoto and Microsoft Word. A slight elongation of my face is due to the tiny round lens of the cell phone camera, and I tried to blur out the shadows of my glasses on my cheeks, but other than that I assure you there is no digital magic happening here. I wouldn't know how to do digital magic if it was waiting on the couch behind me. But I can't deny genetics.
I have the bad habit of chewing on my cuticles. I don't know quite how it started. When I was a small child I used to suck on my first two fingers. (Several of my peers sucked their thumbs, and I remember thinking that was silly. This was apparently before I understood irony.) When I was in middle school I chewed my fingernails, which I may have picked up by watching my sister. There was once a time when my sister's friend showed me how she chewed her cuticles, and I was really disgusted. But then, some time in high school, I switched from chewing my fingernails to the skin around them.
The difference is that the soft bits protected by fingernails hurt immediately if the nails get too short. Cuticle skin is dead and doesn't hurt, or show any signs of true distress, until it starts to bleed. There have been times when all of my fingers are torn up, the skin ragged down to the first knuckle, with several of them scabbing from recent bleeding. It sounds gross because it is. I'm very self-conscious about it. I'm always surprised that very few people notice.
It is a compulsion. I don't even notice I'm doing it until it's too late. I've identified that a big problem is feeling the ragged bits scrape or catch on anything. I want to cut off the offending hangnail. My incisors being the only cleaving tools available, I end up biting or tearing the skin off. Of course, this makes the skin more ragged (and harder for it to grow back). Always wanting to stop, I try to beat it with pure will. Every year I plan to stop chewing my fingers as a new year's resolution, or for lent, or just as a goal for myself. I stopped chewing my fingernails during one of these bouts of determination (and it stuck to this day), but I have never succeeded in laying off the fingers. The closest I have gotten is during my last year in Cleveland I would obsessively manicure myself while sitting at my desk. There was little left to catch or scrape. My fingers generally stayed out of my mouth, but the end results of over-manicuring weren't much better.
Recently I've been going back to a tried-and-true trick. I've been covering up my thumbs with bandaids. Every morning I put them on, every night I take them off and let my thumbs air out. I carry spares in my wallet. It's been fairly effective, as it has been in the past. The thumbs are my go-to fingers for chewing, so having them covered keeps me off of the other fingers for the most part. Seeing the bandages, people have been asking what's wrong with my thumbs and it's embarassing to tell them, but it seems to be working. I am proud of my progress. It might be the healthiest my fingers have been in a decade. Pretty soon they will be healed to the point where the bandaids will serve no further practical purpose, and I will have to decide whether I will wear bandaids for the rest of my life or if I'm ready to try and go it alone. I am not confidant of my ability to keep it up.
On a break at work today I read the comics in the paper. When I came back someone asked me how my break was and I said, "it was good, I read the paper." If you only have a few minutes, glancing over the front page and reading the comics totally counts as reading the newspaper.
When I got home my dad was already back from work. He said he had a very productive day and had come home early. He was "catching up on the paper [he] didn't read this morning." When he set down the paper a little while later I took a look at it, and sho' nuff it was the very same comics page.
Between my dad and me, people have always compared our faces, voices, senses of humor, facial-hair-growing-abilities and the like, but this was a comparison that really hit it home for me. As my Aunt Kitty (my dad's sister) used to say, "no matter how you fight it, you turn out like your parents!" Of course, there are always differences, often major ones, but there are some inheritances you just can't deny.
Before I knew about Alan Moore, Frank Miller, and Neil Gaiman
Sometimes you have to remember what meant to be 13 years old. You've got to respect that, that version of you, and the things you did and experienced. Those were formative times. Those things became you, and many are still with you right now in some way. Maybe by looking back you can figure out where you're going next.
I just finished watching The Punisher (the 2004 version with Tom Jane, not the 1989 version with Dolph Lundgren). I don't care if isn't very good. I liked it. First of all, I'm willing to admit that I LOVE sci-fi/fantasy/action movies of any kind. I loved Van Helsing, enough said. But that's not the whole story with The Punisher. We have a past, he and I. I have a personal history with this fictional character. When I was about 11-14 years old I used to read a LOT of comic books, and the three titles devoted to The Punisher were my favorites. I didn't just read those stories, I absorbed them. Every part of my life was pervaded by what I read and saw in those comics. For example:
I have a huge poster of the Punisher on the wall of my bedroom. (A color version of this with the logo.) When I moved back in with my folks I changed a lot of things about the room, but not that.
I have three big boxes of comic books from my old days. One of the boxes is entirely filled with Punisher comics.
My first email address was PunisherJM@aol.com. Occasionally family members or super-old friends will still ask me if that's my email address.
The girl I was dating in 8th grade wrote lots of notes to her friends and me. She liked to use little symbols instead of names in case, I suppose, the message was intercepted. I chose the Punisher symbol. I had my girlfriend write me notes where she referred to me as a skull.
I wrote a comic book, that I found over a decade later, that was dedicated to the Punisher. Though it was not about the Punisher at all, it had Punisher quotes on the back cover.
I think I learned more about patriotism, respect for the flag, and knife/gun safety, from the Punisher comics than I did from being in Cub Scouts for three years. That thing sucked.
I've recently been going back and re-reading those old comics, Punisher and all the rest. Some of it blows me away with how genuinely funny, emotional, profound, or in any other way mature it is as fiction, as art. Right next to that is the worst pulp I could imagine, way worse than I remembered (and I remembered laughing at it then). The stories don't make sense, the dialogue is shameful, and even the art is pitiful. Where did they find these guys? I mean, any freshman art student can draw a face, any semi-cogent reader should be able to make two consecutive panels depict a sensible punch to the face. Most of it is in the middle: just fun reading, nothing special, nothing bad.
But those good ones, they're worth all the bad/mediocre ones and more. Those special comics are magic. Even today they can connect everything I appreciate about art as an adult with everything I loved about art as a kid. It's not nostalgia, it's real again.
This one is for the sleepovers when we'd stay up until all hours playing Street Fighter II: Turbo, watching the precursors to modern-day sci-fi/fantasy/action movies, and carrying on. This one is for the kid who watched Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Movie so many times that he really felt confident if he ever had to get in a fight. This one is for the version of me that wondered if I would/should grow up to be a badass vigilante.
It was more than escapist fiction, it was a stone-cold reality to that 12 year old, and without it I certainly wouldn't be the person I am today.
I feel it is important to say here, on the internet, that if you are a robot secretly walking among us that is FINE with me. I will offer your robotic hands high-fives of the same genuine quality that I would give to human hands.
SO I guess I haven't done this in a really long time, though I suppose it's doubtful that anyone noticed. However, I have good reasons for abandoning this, and coming back, and possibly abandoning it again soon.
FOOT UPDATE: It turns out the thing is broken, for real! Hairline fracture of the "foot" bone. Apparently it's connected to the "ankle bone," if I remember the song right. (Un?)Fortunately, by the time I actually saw a doctor it had healed enough that she decided there wasn't any point in doing anything about it. She's all, "If you came in last week I would have put you in a cast, but you waited long enough that it's healing. You're 23 so we have no reason to think it won't keep healing. Luckily it's healing straight, or else we'd have to re-break it." Anyway, long-story-slightly-shorter, after driving home early from a trip to Cleveland, getting a speeding ticket, waiting in the doctor's office for 2 hours, and paying a co-pay, the verdict is: you wasted your time. Thanks yo!
ABSENCE UPDATE: I wasn't just slacking off, I was out of town! First I went to Cleveland for 4th of July weekend, then I went to California! We had a giant family reunion in Yosemite National Park for a week, then we visited Lake Tahoe for a few days, with a trip to Oakland in between. It was rad. I hope to put up a(some) picture(s) of how rad it was. To show you, you know?
UPCOMING ABSENCE UPDATE: I may well not post for another long period of time, because my sister is getting married and I am going to Brooklyn for 1.5 weeks to celebrate right. More on that later?
WHAT STUPID THING ACTUALLY INSPIRED ME TO LOG ON AND UPDATE THIS THING UPDATE: One of the things that I hope is never to be shot. But if I ever do get shot, I hope/plan to have this exact conversation with someone, verbatim-style. If shit goes down, do us a favor, play your part.
A dude from Buffalo who went to school in Cleveland. I majored in music and psychology. Then I worked various jobs for a few years, and now I'm getting my Ph.D. in counseling psychology in Buffalo. I like reading, but I usually like talking more. I do not like most TV.
The blogger's beard visits Glacier Point at Yosemite National Park
