you have a talent for causing things pain

I remember it as if it were last week...

I had a dentist appointment last week, and, even worse, it was my first time at this particular practice. I was happy with our last dentist, but, after hearing the rumors of malpractice, unnecessary work, virgin sacrifice, and general ineptitude, my wife insisted we change dentists. And who am I to disagree?

I got to the waiting room and suffered through the normal 378 page bundle of paperwork...although I'm still not completely sure why they need my power of attorney or the dna swab. From that point on, I just had to brave the 37.9 degree waiting room until the albino nurse with the raspy voice called my name. While waiting, I got into a minor scuffle with one other patron, the homeless man wrapped up intermittently in toilet paper who kept muttering under his breath, but other than that, the time passed as well as could be expected.

When the nurse called my name, I went to the back, stripped down to my socks, and tied on the pink leather apron as they requested. They took me to what they called "waiting room aleph cerebro" and had me gargle with mouthwash...I had my choice between spearmint or hero's bile flavors. Then, after the nurse removed the ice packs from the dentist's chair, I sat down, they stuck an IV of some luminescent green fluid into my arm, and the nurse told me that someone would be with me shortly.

The dental hygenist came in after an hour or so...she's one of those super perky types (as hygenists seem to be), and she seemed to know her stuff, but I could've really done without the random bouts of maniacal laughter. She tried to make small talk, but I've always found it difficult to respond when I have a few dozen tools lodged in my mouth. She then propositioned me, and after I told her that I was married, she instead tried to sell me some tooth-whitening product...she said that her bosses make her suggestively sell a variety of products. The hygenist then started the cleaning.

After she finished her scraping and chiseling, the dentist himself came in. Like most dentists, he looked like a cross between Don Knotts and Josef Mengele. After taking about five minutes to stroke my hair, he poked around my teeth for a while before saying the words that every person over 5'7" dreads: "We need to schedule you for a filling."

Even as I sit here in my office and try to find ways to avoid work, the very thought fills me with a slight panic. I start to go over my list of sins to try and figure out what I did to deserve this, but alas, I continue to draw a blank. How could this happen to me?

I've never had a cavity before. Even as a kid, my teeth were very strong, strong enough that my father would use them to loosen tight bolts whenever he worked on the 1976 Plymouth Scamp. And I never really took care of them, much to the chagrin of my siblings, both of whom had so many cavities that they were fitted with dentures in fourth grade...all this in spite of them brushing eleven times a day to my monthly brushings. Yes, I had always been blessed with wonderful teeth.

No longer. I finally have a cavity. And while I realize that most of my friends have had cavities, and that they seem to deal with the stigma and shame, I had always pictured a better life for myself.

I think of the things which, now that I have a cavity, I can no longer do. I will now never be chief justice of the Nebraska supreme court. I will never have my own Playboy column. I will never be allowed to shake hands with the President. I will never be the star of my own video game. And I will never be an astronaut.

This must be how the rest of you feel.

I have the filling scheduled for this Friday. I don't know what I'm going to do during this, my last week of freedom. I might write a play. I might smoke a cigar. I might try to break my own record for jars of honey eaten at one sitting.

I know I should try to enjoy myself, but it's hard, when everything reminds you of the fact that fillings are imminent. I hear the construction workers drilling outside my office, and I think of the drilling which I'll soon have to undergo. I see my department secretaries in their scrubs and masks, and I think of the hygenists. I see my students, and I think of the dentist, living only to inflict pain on others.

If you see me on the streets and I'm crying, please try to understand that I'm going through a rough time in my life.

connections, or, hey man, I'm with the band...

I was driving into work today, listening to a cd of mp3s on random play. It started out with Black Sabbath, a band that's very important to me. If anyone ever asks me how I learned how to play guitar, I could just hand them a copy of Paraniod...it's as good of an answer as any.

After I stopped to vote and get gas, The Daileys' "Toast the Town" came on (at least I think that's the title). The Daileys were friends of mine who played around Jacksonville. They never released anything, but as the singer was one of my best friends, I got a number of demos and live tracks...and I love them almost as much as Black Sabbath, although in a very different way. You see, with The Daileys, I experienced the band much differently. I got to hang out with them, ride to shows with them, drink with them, help them set up and tear down...and these are experiences I could never have with bands like Black Sabbath.

I've often thought about my move away from being a heavy metal guy. If anyone knew me in high school, they'd know I had the heavy metal hair (including a brief stint with the Bon Jovi perm), listened to metal pretty much exclusively, dressed in the metal uniform of jeans and concert shirt, and I even owned some spiked wristbands.

Since this time, I've broadened my tastes significantly. The first big non-metal band for me was Living Colour, who took metal and expanded the playing ground significantly with hip-hop and funk, among others. Then came my huge Frank Zappa phase, which taught me that boundaries are not at all necessary. The next big one was Son Volt, who taught me that country and rock could and should go hand in hand. The last big one was the now unfortunately defunct Slobberbone, who taught me that rock could be vital again, and it could be something with which I could still connect.

My move away from metal wasn't just a matter of being bored with the music. Metal is at times seemingly impervious to change (see this article on 80s metal acts on tour for a demonstration), but I still need the crash of guitars, so I often put up with the stagnation. The most important factor for me, though, is I quit being able to relate or even stand the "star/performer" aspect. Jeff Tweedy wrote that "every star that hides on the back of the bus is just waiting for his cover to be blown," and I started to suspect the same thing...and I think I increasingly needed a greater connection with the bands.

A good number of the bands I now listen to and go to see are those to whom I can relate. They may have day jobs. They're probably going to be loading in their own equipment. They'll be riding in a van, not a bus. You probably can approach them at the show and talk to them over a beer.

Case in point: a while back, I got an e-mail from The Drams' mailing list asking for volunteers to work merchandise for some shows on their tour with the Drive-By Truckers...and since they were playing Detroit, and since both bands are among my current favorites, I volunteered. They chose me, so on October 20th, me and a good friend made the trip.

I was told to find "Keith," who would help me get the merchandise set up...when I made it over to the table, I found out it was the bass player for the band. He was a little "rock and roll" but still a very nice guy. After their set, he came over, looked at the merchandise sales figures, and hugged me. Jess, their guitar player, came over, introduced himself, and snagged a cd for his parents. Tony (the drummer) and Chad (the keyboard player) both came over, introduced themselves, shook my hand, and thanked me for helping them out...and at the end of the night, I talked to Brent (the singer/guitar player) for a few minutes. I felt a little like a VIP, but it was cool just being able to help. I think The Drams are one of the best bands out there, and I just want them to keep playing and putting out albums...and I'll do whatever I can to help.

I was thinking about this, because I am also a very big Drive-By Truckers fan, and I was also excited to see them play. I've seen DBT play twice before in Detroit, but it was at a smaller club...this time, they were in a theater. And by watching them, it was clear that they've made some kind of hurdle, because all I kept thinking was "they sure aren't a club band anymore." Maybe it was that they had stage props and professional lighting, or maybe they'd just gotten better, but they seemed made for playing big rooms. They projected themselves well, and the set was rollicking, explosive, and, as any good rock show should be, just a little transcendent.

I did not, however, have the opportunity to meet them. They now have a full road crew, up to their own merchandise guy. They have a bus, not a van. They are, in short, professionals...and they never came out from backstage. The thing is, I love that band, and their performance was amazing. And they've worked very hard and deserve every bit of success that's in their grasp.

I don't, however, have the same connection with them that I had with The Drams. I'm a fan of DBT, but I'm rooting for The Drams...and in some small way, I feel like I'm a part of them. I truly want The Drams to be huge, but I know that if they ever do achieve fame, it will take them further away from me.

Maybe this conundrum is just another sign (like I need another...) that I'm getting old. I love my art as much as ever, but since I no longer fit into a mass of fans (back in high school, I hung around a whole lot of metal kids), I look for those connections with the artists themselves. Maybe I'm just more political and would rather give my money to a cool group of guys like Grand Champeen who actually need my money than to Foo Fighters, who could buy and sell me many times over...but maybe helping out the little guys is just another way for me to connect.

Music, like art, is often about connections...and although the show made me fear that I might be losing another band to the big time, I did, after all, get to go see the show with a good friend, and we did share some new experiences, and maybe we became a bit better friends because of it. And I guess I can let my favorite bands become bigger and maybe more distant if I can then share my love for this music with friends, thus helping strengthen that connection...after all, it's the connections that are really important.

science request?

Can anyone tell me why toilet paper seems to staunch blood flow in shaving cuts? Why don't we use it in first aid kits?

I pull my shirt off and pray...

Today is election day in the US. For all of our sakes, get out there and vote.

The number to keep handy is 1-866-OUR-VOTE, which goes to The National Campaign for Fair Elections. Please keep an eye out for any irregularities in the election proceedings. Anything out of the ordinary, call them.

You want news on the election? Check out BBC News's site...they're generally fairly unbiased on such matters.

curses to ye, traffic gods...

So I'm cruising up to work, and I see the roadsigns..."I-75 down to one lane; seek alternate route." So, smug in the knowledge that I know multiple ways to go, I jet over to I-475. Soon, however, that slows down to a bumper-to-bumper crawl, and I have to take still another route to campus. No problem, I go Airport Highway to Reynolds...which I soon find out is also under construction and down to one lane each way. I then realize that even if I would've made it to Secor, that's been under construction for a year or so and subject to random closings.

There was no avoiding it...traffic was inevitable, unavoidable, unstoppable, omnipresent...it's just another curse of living in a different city than the one you work.

Now, for my Southern readers, you have just learned another negative to living in the frozen northland. Not only do we have to put up with snowy roads in the winter, we also have to put up with construction crews who, as soon as the snow thaws, tear into our roadways with an orgasmic frenzy, scraping asphault, installing a plethora of traffic cones, drilling, cutting, pouring asphault. They do this with a manic intensity, driven either by the need to keep ahead of the ravages of winter or by the desire to make us commuters wait as long as possible.

All this is further reason for the hovercraft industry to get off their arses and go into consumer sales...

the funniest line I've heard today

taken from an article on Ice-T's new rap album"

"The old Ice-T was like, 'I will kill everybody,' but the new Ice-T is kinda like, 'by the way, I'm not gonna kill you guys"

Actually, the whole article's pretty hilarious.

a holiday link

In honor of the second best holiday of the year (the best is still Groundhog's Day...how can you not love a day that Freudian?), I present a link to a Wikipedia peice on the best horror icon of all time, Count Floyd.

Okay, everyone, on three, let's have a "woooooooo!"

relative-killing time

Now is officially the start of the period of the semester when I am responsible for people's relatives dying. In the last day or so, I've had five grandparents, two friends, and three cousins die. If I would've known I had such power, I might've conducted my classes differently, been less strict on the relative-killing deadlines.

conversation as an event

Somewhere around the time I was 24, me and my father started to go out together and watch Monday Night Football at a sports bar. At the time, I was just getting back into football after a long exile, and it seemed as good as a place as any to continue this return to a sport which I used to love (and have come to love again).

We moved from bar to bar, year after year. We drank plenty of beer, ate plenty of wings. We watched a lot of football...and yes, it was good.

The football, however, was secondary. What ended up happening more than anything else was that I got to know my father as a person. Before the football nights, he had been just "Dad"...someone I loved, for sure, but not someone I really knew. This was really no one's fault...he was in the military for ages, and he did work a lot, but I was a moody, uncommunicative kid (how much has changed...(?)) who really didn't bond with too many people, and that sure didn't help. I got my mother because I spent a lot of time with her, but my father remained a little bit of a mystery.

Monday Night Football changed all that. We got to just talk. I found out that at work, when I was pizza manager guy, I operated just like he did, disciplined just like he did. I got to hear stories of his youth and compare them with my own. I heard Vietnam stories...clearly not all of them, but probably more than anyone else in my family has heard. I discovered that I liked him as a person, not just a father. We became friends.

When I moved up here to Ohio, one of the hardest things was watching that first Monday Night Football game by myself...

I never found anyone else to watch football with on a normal basis. My first roomate, the year before he moved in, used to come over on occasion, but when he moved in, he was never around, especially, it seemed, on Monday nights. A friend of mine used to live downstairs, but he'd only come up once a month. When we were dating, my wife would watch with me, and we would talk...and this was one of the places where I really got to know her and fall in "true love" with her...but she really doesn't enjoy football as a sport, and now that we live together and have other times to talk, she usually goes elsewhere. So football is, unfortunately, sadly, a solitary activity for me.

I've tried to find other activities to fill the void. One of the things I decided when I came up here and started studying Popular Culture was (sensibly, I think) that I needed to experience more Popular Culture. One of the things I did to this end was start watching the various Star Treks.

But I also started watching wrestling, at first as a "I need to figure out what the hell is going on here" activity...but then I found some fellow grad students who watched, so I would hang out with them. When they moved away, I found another student, one from my department, and I started going to the bars to watch the pay-per-view events with him. Eventually, I started going to his house to watch the weekly broadcasts, and I've been doing this at least since 2002.

Last night, me and a few of the regular wrestling watchers went to a TNA Wrestling event up in Detroit. While the show was, itself, very entertaining, a few things happened that made me really reflect on the nature of viewing, conversation, and friendship.

One of my friends, the one at whom's we watch wrestling, is moving away. He moves out this weekend. Although there have been rumors, I found this out for sure last night. I found out because another one of my friends asked him. And, after hearing this, I wonder if I would've known if someone would've asked.

I had loved watching wrestling with my friends...at first, just because I love my friends. I did grow to love the entertainment, but it has always been secondary for me. We were doing more than watching a stupid televised version of a fictional athletic competition...we were building community.

Or so I used to think.

After my friend's revelation, I started to wonder about the state of friendship altogether. Is it even possible to have friendships centered around one activity? Does that just lead to situational friendships? How well would I relate to many of them outside of the situation of wrestling viewing? And is the fact that I rarely can get them to do things other than wrestling a sign that they have these kind of thoughts as well?

None of these thoughts diminished how much I like this guy. I guess that what I hope for when I enter one of these hang-out situations is that the friendships I develop can expand beyond the actual event, that they can spread, that we can do other things, and that the event will quickly become secondary to everyone. But I don't seem to be able to get these situational friends to do anything else, for the most part. Is this, I wonder, due to the way that other people view their activities and the situational friends associated with them? Or is the fault somewhere within me?

Even though I've always been a quiet, shy kind of guy in many ways, I've also always had a thirst for friends, and I want more close friends. Right now, however, there's probably only three people in town with whom I can hang out regardless of the situation or event and just talk, hold a good conversation, and have that be the center of whatever we're doing, not the event or place where we're meeting...and I love these people dearly...but one of them has a family, and another one is busily dissertating, so that can limit contact. I wish I could pull them all to a quiet bar just to talk on a regular basis...and it's a shame that our schedules often limit this. I enjoy these people, but most of all, I need them at some deep level.

And I do have plenty of friends who live outside of Bowling Green, people whom I love and feel tremendously close to, but the distances can work against us there. I try to maintain contact, but I always get caught up in my work, and I never can do enough to be as close to these people as I would like. I've done an okay job with some, not so good with others, and others still have fallen off the face of the earth for me...much to my sadness. I try, but I never seem to have the time to put into overcoming the distances.

So, last night, I was thinking these thoughts when I got home. I should've been elated from the very good wrestling show and the fine conversation that did result, but instead, frankly, I was feeling a bit morose.

I got ready for bed and brushed my teeth. I tried to quietly crawl into bed, but my wife moved...I thought I had woken her up, but she assured me that she just went to bed herself. I told her I had a good night.

Then, my wife, my lover, my friend, held me...and that made everything go away, made everything disappear, save my wife's touch.

Sometimes, if you're lucky, you don't need an event or a reason...and you don't even need the conversation...

where are the top tens?

For those of you who remember, I currently do a spot on a friend of mine's weekly radio program "Off The Record," now on every Friday from 10 to noon, which you can listen to in real time here. My normal segment is a top ten, and I have, in the past, posted several of them here.

I would like to do so again. However, I am on the job market, and one of the things that's been in the news (at least in the academic circles) is the use of candidate's personal blogs as a tool in job searches.

This is where the top tens might be a problem. My main goal in writing these lists is to make my friends laugh. As such, I consider them comedy first and foremost, so issues such as taste or correctness are not really in my mind. Yes, they can tow the line of crudeness, but that's the type of humor the show strives for, so that's how I've been writing them.

However, I realize that they might give potential employers the wrong impression. So, it is with great regret, that I have decided to pull them from my blog. I'm very proud of them, so I don't want to do this, but they might work against me in the job market...so they gotta go.

I am still going to do the lists. You can still hear them on "Off The Record," every Friday from 10 to noon, which you can listen to in real time here. As far as I understand, they will be podcasted. And who knows? A link to a blog dedicated to these top tens might appear on the right of this page...you never know...

I look like who?

For those of you who have been following the "who does Mike remind you of?" saga, the one's I've heard lately are John Denver, Tim Robbins, Alan Shore (from Boston Legal), and so forth. Well, on my MySpace page, I just heard another one...Father Mulcahy from M.A.S.H. While my wife, a M.A.S.H. fan, will no likely be pleased, I'm kinda disturbed by the notion...

the way things go/miscellaneous notes

Remember when my throat went all throbby-throbby a few weeks ago? Well, just as I was starting to shake my bronchitis, my wonderful wife got a cold. She then gave me her cold. I then gave her my bronchitis. This is all sadly typical. For about three weeks, we were living in what I like to call "The House of Mucus and Phlem."

New photos up on my MySpace page. I now also have a Facebook site, if anyone wants to be my friend.

This Friday, I return to the weekly radio program Off The Record"...we will be on-air from 10 to 2, and you can listen along here.

job stuff on the web

If anyone's curious, I have recently revised my web page for potential employers. I've got some pdfs of some articles up there, if you ever wanted to see my scholarship. I am also taking advice, if anyone has any.

take that, Freud

Last night, I had a dream that my spousal unit and I were having a new house built, and our kitchen designer was Harry S. Truman. For some reason, he had died his hair orange.

I'm just not finding this one in my copy of The Interpretation of Dreams...

evaluation

I was looking through old student reviews, and one anonymous comment stood out...one of my students from a section of Scientific and Technical Report Writing thought my course was unconstitutional...I wish I could include the quote, because it's fascinating in a car-wreck way, but I'm assuming this would not be very ethically sound to do so...

random thought while driving to school

Do you remember when trucking companies used to be called trucking companies? I never thought I would see the day when a big rig would be part of a "logistics corporation"...it kinda spoils the whole "Convoy" song/phenomenon.

research-minded again

Long time readers of this blog have noted my struggles trying to balance earning enough money to support myself with actually living up to my identity as a scholar and actually doing research/writing. When I was a lowly doctoral candidate, there was a lag between finishing my coursework and passing my exams which made my dissertation the first real bit of research I did in months. Then I started (sob) adjuncting and working part-time (at the zoo, no less) for two years, which, apart from a presentation or two and a review essay, was a scholarship-free zone...I just didn't have time or energy to do serious writing. And it took me a full year to get used to the heavy grading load of a 5/4 composition teaching schedule, where it seems you always have papers. But I love my students...

On this front, however, I think I have made a break-through. I have been working on a book review-turned-full essay with a friend of mine...I have high hopes for this exposé of ethnography. I just been accepted to the 2007 Northeast Modern Language Association conference (and my panel chair seems wildly optimistic about my paper). In my pursuit to figure out exactly how network theory and cultural studies can usefully intersect, I spent the majority of this weekend reading several scholarly books (in my football time, of course). And while watching Monday Night Football, I got an idea for another essay which requires my immediate attention.

This is good, because in my darkest hours of grading over the past year, I have felt like my prime identity role was of paper grader...I now feel like I did when I started doctoral school. I have the buzz.

Watch out, academic world.

throat all throbby-throbby

Last Tuesday, while at school, I noticed that I was starting to feel all drunk/stoned...but just the unpleasant aspects. As I had been "living clean" for a few days, this came as a bit of a surprise to me. Then I realized it must be some kind of cold in the early stages. Needless to say, this put a bit of a damper on "Speak Like A Pirate" day.

Later that night, I started to cough. I kept coughing. Coughing, in my body's opinion, then took precedence over things I would rather be doing, such as sleeping. I kept coughing...and it was, most disappointingly, non-productive coughing. Finally, Sunday night, as I tried to watch football and ignore my throbbing, glowing throat, I decided that perhaps, yes, I did in fact need to go to the doctor.

Got up early Monday, got an appointment for 10:45 am and thanked the heavens that I actually finally have health insurance. Finally saw the doctor at 11:50. After examining me, he told me that I had acute bronchitus. This was a relief, because at first, I thought he was coming on to me ("I have a cute what???").

Now on drugs...antibiotics that "run through me" and give me stomach cramps, and a cough syrup which is clearly codeine...which, if I were ever really going to be a druggie, might be my drug of choice...

While I am thankful that the healing may finally begin, special thanks needs to be extended towards my spousal unit for not kicking me out of bed during a 4am coughing fit.

I become non-contagious on Wednesday. Watch out, world.

My Name is Earl dvd

Yarr...

Avast, me beauties. This fine morn, the My Name is Earl season one dvd set was released into the wild blue yonder. Shortly after the crack o' dawn, I smartly sailed over to Best Buy to pick up me booty...the Instant Karma edition, narry clad in a flannel shirt cover. Me bilge-drinking bretheren of the coast and I will splice the mainbrace with the finest grog when we get a chance to watch. Godspeed, me hearties!

(translation, for those losers not participating in National Speak Like a Pirate day: Hi. Today, they released the My Name is Earl season one dvd set. This morning, I got the Instant Karma edition, clad in a flannel shirt cover. I can't wait until I can get together with my friends to drink and watch it. Thanks!)

dumb and dumber

This weekend, the fine (?) folks at Girls Gone Wild were in Bowling Green. I gave my lovely wife permission to go wild if she so decided, but she declined.

Also, tomorrow is Talk Like a Pirate day. Celebrate. I'm gonna have to come up with a good post to do in pirate-ese.

celebrate good times!

I just finished the last of my first grading bout! Wooohooo! Party!!!

(now, if I didn't have more coming next week...damn this life as a comp Lecturer)

literalism

I'm in grading papers. I have a sign on the door which says "Please knock...I'm in, just working." One of my more insane colleagues just knocked on the door. She didn't want anything, but she said she felt she had to follow instructions...

because I'm such an expert...

I have come to some conclusions about the rap genre. As I see it, there are three possible directions. The first, actually attempt to say something worthwhile, is guided by the example of Public Enemy. As this is not tremendously popular with the prepubescent suburban audiences, most new artists don't seem to follow it.

Instead, a lot of rap artists attempt to "tell it like it is" in the "hood." This was at least notable when it was news, but by this point in time, is there anyone who really doesn't know what it's like in the hood? Is there anything new to be said?

Instead of following that model, I suggest more aspiring rappers follow the "let's see how many obscenities and shocking things I can throw into a song" model of rapping. But please, do it honestly. Follow the example of 2 Live Crew and actually do the dirty limericks and nursery rhymes...it's certainly more pure.

Not that I'm a major rap fan anyway...I've never really seen the abandonment of vocal melody to be a step forward (which is also why I don't really dig Cookie Monster Metal)...but if you're gonna be inane, go all the way with it, damnit.

Who knows? You might end up with a career as long-lasting as Luther Cambell and with as much integrity as Snoop Dogg (whose web site, strangely enough, doesn't mention his line of porn videos).

two websites of notice

Rate Your Students, which is "a public forum where faculty and students can work out the tricky dynamic of the modern classroom. Students can tell us why they won't take the iPod out during a lecture, and professors can tell us why their clothes are so frumpy."

Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, which you just have to see.

pressure buildup and release

For the last few weeks, I've mostly been focusing on my classes. There's a lot to do...fix the plethora of stupid errors that seem to endlessly creep up in my web material, battle with the bookstore, battle with technology (or lack thereof), answer e-mail questions from people who obviously haven't read the syllabus (or anything else, for that matter), deal with the droves of dropped students...so I haven't given a lot of attention to the myriad of other things that have come up (including, as some of you particularly know, answering e-mails...soon, I promise).

One of the biggest things that has been simmering away is the Great Academic Job Search 2006-2007. I've been thumbing through the postings and such, but I haven't actually sent anything out yet. The teaching work has been one big reason, but perhaps the most important excuse for this procrastination was that I was waiting for a response from a university press who expressed interest in working with me.

Flashback: In 2003, I was finishing up my dissertation. I was lucky enough to get into the American Studies Association. For those of you unfamiliar with this group, they hold what is undeniably the Mac Daddy of all culture studies-oriented academic conferences. I was fortunate in that the panel which accepted me was chaired by uber-scholar Janice Radway and also included Lawrence Levine, also a heavyweight in the field.

It was quite a rush to get regular e-mails from two people who are very influential in my field. The conference itself was magnificent...there was always an interesting panel to go see, and those of you who've gone to lesser conferences know how unique that is. The panel I was on went swimmingly...and no one laughed at me. There was plenty of stuff which covered professional development. Most important for me, however, I recieved a letter from a major university press (who shall remain nameless) who was interested in meeting me...and if this worked, it would be an academic coup.

I pulled out my vita. I polished off the best chapter of my still-in-committee dissertation. I wore a nice tie. And the meeting itself went swimmingly...the assistant editor of the press seemed genuinely excited about my work and the possibility of it fitting in their press. A few weeks later, I was asked for a copy of the full dissertation and a book revision plan.

It took me a little while to get the revision plan to them because my funding had run out, and I was adjuncting at several institutions...in disciplines with which I had no experience....but I eventually got it done and mailed off.

Now, I've never written a book before, so I naturally assumed that the revision plan would cover how I planned to revise the manuscript...and that the press would read both of them. When I finally heard from the press, they were confused about the proposal...and it was very clear, from talking to the editor in chief, that no one had actually read the manuscript. Admittedly, since I wrote the proposal as a companion piece to the dissertation, reading it without reading my big chunk o' work would be a bit puzzling...so I told them I would take another swack at it, now that I (supposedly) knew what they wanted.

The next draft went through several iterations, and it did take a while...I adjuncted for another year before landing my current job, and it took a long time to cope with the heavy grading load that accompanies a 5/4 load in composition (in which I've had very little formal training, so I was behind from the git-go). But when I finished, I was very pleased with the results. It showed a tremendous growth in my thinking. It spelled out my research questions in explicit detail. It was solid and had real potential to make an impact. So, last April, I sent the thing to the press.

Now, as I knew I would be getting back on the job market, I really wanted to hear positive things from the press. My heavy teaching load since the dissertation had kind of put a crimp on the amount of research I could do, and as a result, I haven't published as much as I should. A book contract, however, would be pure gold. It would show that I had some research potential, and it would show that I could put out stuff. Pretty much, it would have, if not guaranteed me a job, then at least really bumped me up in most school's "potential hiree" stack.

So I waited. And then I waited some more. The press's 12 week deadline passed. I waited. After 4 months, I sent a polite inquisitive e-mail. And then I waited. I sent another e-mail. And then I waited some more. I sent another e-mail, cc'd to the press's editor in chief.

Today I got the reply. They do not want to work with me. The story, as the e-mail tells it, is that they couldn't figure out what my research focus was. When I read this, I immediately resisted the urge to grab a whiskey sour (it was, after all, 10:30 this morning) and opened my file of the revision plan I sent them...and in the third paragraph, starting on the first page, was the paragraph that explicitly spelled out my agenda.

If they just didn't like my work and thought I sucked as a scholar, that would be bearable. If they didn't think I fit into their press, that would be understandable. But it was clear to me that they only browsed my proposal and never put real thought into my project. I am going to take great delight in deleting these people from my e-mail address book.

I guess it's a fact of life for me as an academic, but I think I have to start assuming that no one I will encounter will be professional. In my 3+ years on the job market, I've seen some unbelievably rude and amature behavior, and my first university press experience just backs it up. I would be happy if people would just take their job seriously and realize it had severe implications in the lives of others.

I know that if any of my ex-students are reading this, they might giggle...I have, after all, taught while wearing Hawaiian shirts...but that's just mode of dress. In my actions, both in the classroom and in other academic settings, I've always made it a point to take whatever I was doing very seriously. I wish others would do the same. I'm hoping to find out differently, and I really want a future employer and a university press (anyone have any leads on either?) to prove me wrong.

So, granted, I'm feeling a little pressure now. Without a book contract, my application packet might look research-light. Is it worth while to bother with the job market? Do I try to rush out some stuff and neglect the teaching? Do I stare at the wall and listen to Motorhead entirely too loudly?

Thank goodness the Black Swamp Arts Festival is back! Tomorrow, we go see The Reverend Horton Heat. The spousal unit and I are volunteering Saturday afternoon, and then we're back up for several bands I don't really care about...but friends will be there, and the beer tent will be open, so it's all good.

Don't you wish you were in BG?

just noticed something possibly insightful...

This week, it occurred to me that, when I teach, I tend to put my hands in my pants pockets...and this is something I never used to do before. Anyone have any clues as to what the significance might be?

The Yayhoos in Wapakoneta

Ever since the mighty Slobberbone broke up, I've been searching for my next favorite rock band. Some of the members of Slobberbone formed The Drams, and while I love the album and the show I caught in Minneapolis, it's not the same...they're not doing pure, unadultuerated rock anymore. The race has kind of been a toss-up between the Drive-By Truckers, Grand Champeen, and Two Cow Garage. I never expected The Yayhoos to be in the running, but after seeing them this Saturday, I'm having to put them into consideration.

When I found out that The Yayhoos were playing in Wapakoneta, I made immediate plans to go see them...mostly because I like the bar so much. Rhythm and Brews in Wapak is perhaps my favorite venue to see a rock show ever. The bar itself, first off, is a classic. It is a great roadhouse...but clean, neat, and orderly. They have a good menu and serve a very nice pizza. They have a friendly staff. They have a trough made out of galvanized steel, a pvc pipe, and a screwdriver in the men's room. My wife says the bar reminds her of a clean Urban Cowboy, but without the bull or Stetsons.

Wapak also boasts the best rock crowds I've seen. The audience for the show in Minneapolis had (for the most part) only mildly polite applause, and the crowd all looked bored. The shows I've seen in Detroit mostly consisted of people incessantly discussing their weekend plans and only playing scant attention to the bands. Cleveland crowds, while very appreciative, are a little too "hipster" for my taste. Ann Arbor crowds boast too many college students trying to be hippies, and that can get really annoying.

Wapak, on the other hand, is mostly 50-something farmers and factory workers. But they really love their bands and know all the material by heart. They are loud. They are appreciative. They are boisterous. And they make going to see a band really fun.

Opening the show was some very wirey, 15 year old-looking singer/songwriter wannabe named Wil Cope. His songs were all good, but he was just very one dimensional...everything had the same tempo, same picking pattern, and it all sounded very forlorn. He was okay, but I was amazed at how badly he marketed himself. He only said his name one time, and he only alluded to the fact that he had cds available for sale...maybe he doesn't need the money, but he struck me as someone who was trying too hard to be an "artiste."

The Yayhoos brought it like nothing I've seen in a while. They were loud. Every member was great, had wonderful stage presence. And they played and played...we got two hour-plus sets and two encores. Some highlights:

• cover songs. We got (of course) "Dancing Queen," but we also got an impromtu jam leading into "Love Train" and Roscoe singing "You Were Always On My Mind."
  
• virtuoso musicianship. Roscoe Ambel started doing great slide guitar with a Sam Adams bottle. However, the surprise of the night, musicianship-wise, was Keith Christopher. Why didn't anyone tell me he was such a monster? He took bass solos...and they rocked AND fit into the songs. When he took over Dan Baird's guitar for "For Crying Out Loud," he just ripped through a blazing solo that made the rest of the band just sorta blink.
  
• dancing girls for "Dancing Queen"...from the audience (no, the band didn't bring their own)
  
• tons of material from both albums.

Before playing "Baby, I Love You," Roscoe told of their last time through. That time, when they were doing their 4pm soundcheck, a man and woman came in who were apparently celebrating their anniversary...but during the 15 minute break they had between split shifts at different factories. Apparently, the couple requested a slow song, the band played "Baby, I Love You," and the couple slow-danced...and that dance apparently bordered on conjugal visit territory.

Halfway through the second set, some sick bastard puked in the men's room trough, clogged up the drain, and it flooded out the bathroom floor...not being able to use the rest room for about 30 minutes put a little bit of a damper on the set, especially since I'd been drinking a number of High Lifes, but the brave (yet disgusted) bar staff managed to get it cleaned up before anything dangerous happened.

Although there were only about seventy people in the crowd, the yelling and stomping pulled the band out for two encores, including a rousing "I Love You, Period"...which was apparently the last song they'll play together on this tour...I guess Steve Earle must be calling Roscoe or something.

It's too cliched to say I felt "rocked-out," but it was one of the best rock shows I've ever seen. The Yayhoos were ultimately much better than I would've guessed. They are tremendously fun, they were very talented, and they worked together beautifully. I don't think they're my favorite rock band (the albums aren't as consistent as was the band live), but I would go see these guys again in a heartbeat.

It was raining for the 1 1/2 hour drive home, and it hasn't stopped since, but that's just not depressing me...I still have a slightly manic grin, even though the ringing in the ears has died down...a little.

the semester is here

I'm at the end of the first week of Fall semester. It's been quite an adjustment, especially coming from the hedonistic no schedule days of summer.

First off? I now know what day of the week it is...without thinking! While those who've been doing the standard 9 to 5 might not find this extraordinary, those of us lucky enough to get the full summer off realize that, when you remove someone from all deadlines, time becomes very fluid. In the summer, I never had a clue what day it was...or for that matter, what week or month it was.

I am also getting used to being an authority figure again. I've got to exercise my booming "teacher" voice. I've had to keep people's attention for over two hours. I've had to funnel cacaphonous conversation back toward whatever point I was trying to make. I've had to do the hardass "if you don't like working, drop the class" bit (which I am good at, although I am nowhere near my old History prof. Dr. Prousis in this regard).

I'm doing two comp ones and two comp one with workshops. All the students seem pretty good...they're not afraid to talk, which is always a plus. I'd much rather put up with students who can't shut up or are prone to open rebellion than deal with a silent group. So their conversational prowess bodes well.

I actually get my hands on technology in the classroom. After three years of teaching in tech-free dives, I have two classes in computer-mediated classrooms and one class in a brand-new refinished building (which comes with an instructor computer and projector). I am using powerpoint for the first time ever. I already have a pile of grading sitting in my inbox.

The most important thing, however, is that I am back to discipline. Ever summer, I have grandiose visions of doing tons of writing, but it always falls through...I need a schedule, and having to be in the office x number of hours a week tends to focus me a little bit...that, plus being away from the TiVo. So, now I am sure I will do some writing. I'm already doing conference prep. I also have plans to return e-mails to the 6 or 7 people to whom I owe. Plus, I have papers coming in next week...so expect more posts to this blog, as I seem to use it as a grading break.

Post #200, by the way...thanks for reading.

final on the road for Minnesota trip

Excuse me if I bust out my last observations all together.

The return to the twin cities, from the great northern wilderness, was fairly uneventful...but being back in civilization after so much peace was weird. Personally, I found myself disturbed by how disturbed I was...being a city boy myself.

Friday night was The Drams. For those of you not familiar, when my favorite band of all time, Slobberbone, broke up, one member became a Florida high school teacher...the rest of the band formed The Drams. It's a little less jagged, a bit more melodic, and still very good.

They played the 400 Bar in Minneapolis, and I took my ex-roomie. A good show, by any standards. They started out with a Band cover, played most of the album, threw in one token Slobberbone song. Met with singer Brent Best afterwards, and he's as nice of a guy as ever....we talked about Wapakoneta.

I met some Twin Cities members of the Postcard from Hell contingent (including Lauren, with her "Ryan Adams is no Brent Best" t-shirt), but only at the end of the night...and despite making plans to meet some of them the next night, were never able to hook up again.

Went to the Mall of America, hoping to at least get some good photos. For those of you unfamiliar, the Mall of America is this gargantuan four story shopping mall built on the site of the old Metropolital Stadium, where the Vikings used to play (outdoors, in Minnesota winters, no less). It's so big, it holds its own amusement park (complete with two roller coasters), aquarium, and museum (currently NASCAR).

You think that with a mall that has 4.2 million square feet of space and over 520 stores, there would be something notable and weird to see. Wrong. Instead of having interesting, unique shops, it has five Starbucks, three Gaps, ten pretzel stands, four Carribou Coffees...and a whole bunch more generic crap. The only really photo-worthy element was the very cool Lego store, which currently has a dinosaur garden...and they're all made out of legos, as is the Boba Fett. Oh well.

After eating meals around the state of Minnesota, I have discovered that putting lettuce, tomato, and mayo on a hamburger makes it a California burger...never heard of that one before.

While driving somewhere, we passed a homeless guy begging in front of a "Condos for sale" sign.

We were, for some reason, inside a Target store. The cashier told me that my Hawaiian shirt reminded her of the first time she ever went scuba diving.

We spent one day walking around downtown. I got a photo of the Mary Tyler Moore statue for my strangely obsessed wife, then we headed down to this downtown British pub which had an authentic bowling green on its roof. I drank cider, my ex-roomie had a Bass, and we ate the appetizer platter. About the Scotch egg, my ex-roomie said "I don't think I've ever eaten anything that tastes as fried." We then saw the architecturally beautiful new library building and took some photos of the Grainbelt Bottle Cap sign.

We ended up my visit with a voyage to Porky's, this fifties-esque drive-in in St. Paul. Marvelous shakes, onion rings, home-made fries, and a divine pork tenderloin sandwich. Their sign is very cool, and I was really hoping they'd have some t-shirts with their logo.

Compared to the flight out, the flight back home was very dull. I did find out that the airlines now even charge for their meager packets of trail mix...I still remember flying and getting my choice of breakfasts. The Detroit airport was dull. There was little conversation in the bar, and the only guy who sat near me had a Hooters t-shirt, a copy of FHM, and a NASCAR hat...not someone with whom I was dying to converse. The only thing interesting he did was convince the bartender to give him a to-go cup for his beer.

It was a long (3 1/2 hour) layover, and to amuse myself, I walked the lengths of every concourse. The plane was further delayed becuase, 15 minutes before scheduled takeoff, they decided that the plane was too hot and they needed to run the AC for a while.

And of course, I arrived in Toledo and got to see my beautiful wife. I was away for over ten days, and the longer we were seperated, the more melancholy I got...I don't think I could've survived much more time apart.

Coming soon, the photo-essay!

delays again

School starts next week, so my fun week has been spent putting together a new reading schedule (I was on the book committee and still agreed to a new text...what was I thinking?), updating the syllabi for the move to portfolio grading, updating the WebCT stuff, finding a string of vastly stupid errors in my own work, and attending orientation...so more updates when I return to sanity.

Pray for Mojo.

on the road post 6--the north country

August 1-2. The day after the move, me and my ex-roomie made our way up to his hometown in northern Minnesota. He's from the area around several small towns/villiages, all of which basically rose up as mining towns. Unfortunately, there have been mine closures, so the towns are in a period of decay. Some mines still operate, and there are also attempts to bring tourism to the area.

On the way up, we decided to check out one of the Indian casinos, so we pulled into Grand Casino Hinkley. There really wasn't too much unusual about the casino...lots of noise, flashing lights, and gambling elderly. The casino (at least the slots) operated entirely on real money...you had to get change to play the machines. When I went to the slot room at the Windsor Raceway, they forced everyone into using tokens...which seems like the smarter route, if your goal is to maximize income. If you're using tokens, you are are apt to disassociate it from real money...and thus spend more.

We weren't really there to gamble...we each did lose about $10 on video poker and slots, but the real thrill was the sociological angle. When I commented to my ex-roomie that I was surprised that there were no actual Indians (no idea if the Ojibwe prefer this or "Native American") working there, he told me that they had probably taken in so much money that they didn't have to work there anymore...which makes sense, seeing the hurry everyone was in to give away their cash. He also claims to have heard white patrons making the unintentionally ironic comment "next thing you know, we'll be working for them" while handing over more money.

The whole Indian casino thing is something I feel a little uneasy with, at any rate. Casinos are specifically designed to strip you from your wallet...and gambling has always seemed like a particularly amoral way to make your living. One could argue that the Ojibwes are just treating the Whites the same way they were treated, but this still smacks of vengeance (even if economic), and this still makes me really wonder if this is the right way for the tribes to go about supporting themselves...but the alternative is the crushing poverty most suffered through before, so it's a hard question.

So we left the moral ambiguities at the casino, stopped at the local Hinkley MN landmark bakery (can't remember the name) for some of their famous 3" thick caramel rolls, and headed north. After passing a Frank Lloyd Wright-designed gas station (fallen into disrepair, unfortunately) and a stop at an IGA for some sausages to grill and a bottle shop (what some Minnesotans call their liquor stores) for some Hamms and Schmidt beer (the latter was called "Animal Beer" because the cans had pictures of fish, deer, or other game on them) to drink, we then went to my ex-roomie's parents's cabin.

When we got to the cabin, we met my ex-roomie's mom, who immediately (1) offered us use of her fishing pole and tackle, and (2) gave us a big hunk of smoked salmon...two things that I could never see my own mother doing. We cooked our sausage and drank beer. We also got to meet my ex-roomie's cousins, who were both fun guys. Some of my favorite quotes from our conversations:

• "I'd tell you stories, but I'm 16, and I'm not supposed to have stories yet."
• "I don't know what made me think of this...probably the concept of drunk people."
• "This guy was so big, light bent around him."

The next day, we went to the Soudan Underground Mine State Park, which is an ex-US Steel mine that the state has turned into a tourist attraction. It was open for over 80 years and was incredibly safe...for that kind of place. The tour took you down over 2,000 feet, to the mine's 27th level. Afterward, we hit this area which used to be an open-pit mine. You normally think of such things as environmental eyesores. This, however, was quite nice. The areas where they dumped the rubble had taken on trees, the pits had filled with water, and the whole thing looked like a mini-Grand Canyon...entirely artificial.

We did a few other touristy things, including visiting the World's Largest Hockey Stick and the currently closed US Hockey Hall of Fame, both of which are (for some reason) in Eveleth, MN. We then went back to the cabin, where my ex-roomie's parents joined us for a dinner of various grilled deer sausages and pickles before taking a boat ride around the lake. The next day, before leaving, my ex-roomie took me on a tour of some of his old haunts and then showed me his family's hunting shack, which he said was his favorite place on earth.

The whole northern voyage was incredibly calming, and it was a fun, welcome break from the Twin Cities...I can't wait to go back.

on the road post 5

(note: halfway through this trip, I lost my internet connection after my former roomie, with whom I was staying, moved to another place...so the remainder of these posts are from my notes)

July 31...Moving day hell. Of course, it got up to 103, there was no wind, and we had to move relatively swiftly. Rather than a full list of trials, some higlights include:

• lots of Gatorade and such consumed. We had a gallon jug of the premix, two 32 ouncers, a fifteen pack of 20 ouncers, all on top of tons of water. I still felt dehydrated and zoney. We had to work in short bursts before collapsing in rest.
• A nice neighborhood to move into. When we were unloading stuff in the backyard, I found a used syringe. Wee. Later, my ex-roomie told me that him and his now current roomie were in the neighborhood a few weeks before and saw one gentleman puling what looked like an Uzi on another gentleman. Hopefully my ex-roomie and his new roomie survive long enough to benefit from the lower rent.
• a Hello Kitty toilet seat...wonder how long that one will take to get replaced.
• Of course, utter, sheer exhaustion. My ex-roomie's new roomie offered me a beer, but I was too drained to take advantage ("I've become everything that I hate!"). Thankfully, me and my ex-roomie had a trip to the north country planned for the next day, and that promised to be good recoup time.

on the road post 4

Helping my ex-roomie move tomorrow (in projected 104 degree weather...wee) and then we're gonna run to the northern part of the state to cool off...his parents have a cabin.

Forgot to mention that when we were at the Global Market place, the Asian food store had Poki Sticks in a flavor labelled "Man."

on the road post 3

My ex-roomie has a laptop, and he's sponging off his upstair neighbor's WiFi signal...whenever he needs a connection, he has to hold his laptop up towards the ceiling. It looks like he's offering it to the great internet gods in the sky.

Vietnamese food is the best cuisine in the world. Last night, we went to a local Vietnamese restaurant, and that meal will go down in my top dinners ever list.

Later, we went out drinking at the local VFW hall. Apparently, the Minneapolis branch is open to the public. It is full of hipsters. They sing bad Karyoke. I wonder what the few VFW members who brave the young person onslaught think.

While we were drinking, my ex-roomie pointed out one of the vets who works there. "That's Henry," he said. "Henry has a special ritual. He cuts off all his hair when one of his friends dies." I've thought about this a whole lot since, and I wish I could describe exactly how the thought of this makes me feel...I don't know if I'll ever have the necessary adjective for this one.

on the road post two

My ex-roomie (with whom I'm staying) has one of those claw-foot tubss, so, in order to shower, he's had to rig up a wraparound shower curtain. It does close in on you...and when I left my shower, I felt like I had just been chemically decontaminated.

For lunch, we went to this indoor ethnic marketplace called the Midtown Global Market. It was really cool, lots of weird food booths.

We ate some $1.50 goat tostadas from this Mexican place...they were huge and tasty. The Mexican booth had the most awe-inspiring stacks of pork rind sheets...I will eventually post photos.

There was also a Mexican seafood place (Marlin Flautas), a Carribean Soul Food place, a Mexican breakfast place, and tons of others...all staffed by a selection of gorgeous exotic beauties. Very cool for lunch.

on the road post one

The Detroit airport is one of my favorite...when you arrive on a puddle-jumper, you arrive on an outpost terminal. To get to the main terminal, you have to go under one of the runways. There, they have a psychadelic light show, thunder sounds, and Japanime-esque music...it's what I imagine Tokyo must be like, down to the high-speed train in the main terminal.

I ate at the airport. Note to the restaurant...Mexican food should have some taste other than spackle.

After some junk food (Crazy Bread!) to wash the no-taste of the Mexican food out of my mouth, I hit an airport bar...one of my favorite classes of places. I ordered a bloody mary (an airport tradition) and met my neighbors. The guy to my left was having a plate of french fries for desert "because I had sushi for dinner and needed some starch." As he was reaching for the ketchup, he told me that, as a liberal, he generally only uses Heinz. We then speculated on how much money an airport strip club would make and why we never see them. He also speculated that passengers should have a drink or two before going onboard...so they are properly lubricated to deal with terrorists if they encounter any. These are the types of conversations you can only have at airport bars.

Why is CNN so omnipresent in airports? At the Toledo airport bar, there were two televisions, one tuned to CNN and one tuned to something else. When I sat in front of it, I found out that it was on second day coverage of some minor golf tournament...that had been rain-delayed. Scintillating television, I can tell you. The bartender (a 40-something blonde, minorly leatherish, lived and tanned too hard and it showed in her skin...and every airport in the world has one just like her) sighed, let out an "Oh, man," and tuned the television to...CNN. Thank the heavens for alcohol.

The airport had the PA warning and announcements in several languages, but the English ones were the only ones done by a male...all Asian languages were announced by females. Either this means something, or the three hour layover was starting to take effect.

We boarded the plane and sat on the runway for an hour while waiting for thunderstorms to pass. This brings to mind: how can airplane seats be so unsuited for sitting? Their concaveness really hurt my back.

As the flight attendant passed beverages out to the window passengers beside me, I could feel some effervescence rain down on my arm...it was very surreal.

From a certain distance and altitude, the nighttime city lights of a metropolis look like crashing waves of molten lava.

I know this post is minorly random, but you'll just have to wait for closure...if I get any, you'll hear it here first.

terminology

Am I the only one tremendously disappointed that no one ever calls anyone else a "rapscallion" or "scaliwag?"

Polish blah

For those requesting an update on the Polish festival...it sucked. It was mostly a collection of merchants selling stuff that had nothing to do with Poles (a windcatcher table?) or selling food that wasn't Polish (who would eat gyros at a Polish festival?). The pirogi booth was selling frozen merchandise dipped in the fryer. There was a tent where oompah music was going to be played, but that hardly masked my disappointment. The only cool thing was being able to wander around while drinking beer.

I have higher hopes for the upcoming Montpelier Bean Days festival.

post-vacation insights 3--visitors

When one is from Florida, one has to deal with tourists to at least a certain extent. Yes, I know that tourists go many places...hell, when we lived in Charleston, SC, we had to put up with a ton of them...but Florida basically depends on them for its livelihood.

This overreliance on outsiders (whom the natives invariably resent) is a major cause to the unique Florida character, a major reason why Florida (and Floridians) do things a little differently...and are themselves a little different.

Some areas of difference? Some are nice and sweet...the Florida Welcome Center on I-95, for instance, gives out free samples of orange or grapefruit juice...sweet literally. Some are slightly incongruous...every city in Florida (at least among the coastal/tourist areas) plants palm trees everywhere they can...although the trees are native to very few of the places that grow them. Then, as everyone knows, Florida can get seriously weird...

Case in point: My parents accompanied the wonderful wife and I on a trip down to St. Augustine. For those of you not familiar, St. Augustine is the oldest city in the US, and it is one of the places made famous because Ponce de Leon supposedly thought it contained an actual fountain of youth. They also have a Ripley's Believe It Or Not museum. My wife wanted to see a bit of Florida, so we went for a visit.

The whole way down, however, I kept seeing billboards for a place which billed itself as "The Florida Visitor's Center." They had tons of black billboards with either orange or fluorescent yellow writing advertising alternatively "Indian River Citrus," hundreds of tourist shirts, free orange juice, and the like. The clincher for me is that I saw one advertising a "13 foot alligator." Naturally, I wanted to go see this. Of course, my loving parents refused to believe I was serious and drove straight past the place as I pouted in the back seat.

So we went to St. Augustine, which is actaully pretty nice in spite of being touristy. The secret is that St. Augustine has never been invaded by the major corporations. There are no mouse ears, there are no superhero rides, and none of the restaurants are owned by b-movie stars. It's more kitch than commercial, which is nice. But you can still see historic stuff and get a sense that you are actually in Florida instead of some generic theme park. We wandered around the tourist streets, stared at the river, bought some 2/$5 teeshirts, and trooped around the fort.

On the way back, we stopped at the King's Head British Pub, which is just a nice recreation of an authentic pub run by an authentic Englishwoman. As my Mom's from England, she always feels at home here, and I like it for the good beer selection (I had a Fullers ESB) and good British food...their stilton onion soup is excellent, as is their fish and chips. This place is cool because even though it's just out of a tourist destination, it's not touristy at all...it's just a cool local hangout.

After dinner, we drove back to Jacksonville. I managed, however, to convince the parental units to detour to the Florida Visitor's Center for which I saw so many billboards on the trip down...I think the beer and food helped in that regard. But I'd seen enough serious tourism...I wanted my cheese.

The center was, in a word, fantastic...everything I hoped it would be. In terms of layout, it was essentially a gas station with an extended grocery area filled with all the merchandise you could imagine. They had tons of cheap teeshirts (I got one that had a picture of an alligator and the words "Bite Me...Florida"), tons of silly gator and flamingo knicknacks, gator jerky, key lime candy (in the shape of alligators), and every other bit of cheap crap you could imagine.

They did in fact still have the 13 foot alligator, which was nice. It was stuffed, not live, which was a little bit of a bummer. It was, however, surrounded by hundreds of stuffed gator heads, which made it look like some weird Aztec monument gone seriously awry...which of course made me love it all the more. So we got our cheap, kitch tourist stuff and went home...and I was fully content.

The highlight of the trip was getting a balance of all the tourist styles save the plastic megacorp variety. Let's face it...none of the touristy things that people experience in Florida have any real relationship to the state. It's not really a princess-stuffed land of illusion. Neither, however, is it a historical paradise. And actual Floridians never actually eat gator jerky or drink out of a mug made of shells...unless they're deliberately being stupid, like me.

Tourism is always a game, a ruse. Tourist areas want people to come there, gain some overly romantic or excitement-filled notion of the surroundings which will ensure return visits, spend a whole lot of cash, and then go the hell away. So reality doesn't enter into it at all...but this is obvious to anyone who's either lived in a tourist area or been a tourist themselves.

The reason that tourism holds a certain amount of charm is the varieties of games played, the different narratives of place sold, the subtle line between "we need you" and "get the hell out" on which every tourist-scavanger dances.

I've always preferred the kitchy variety because in many ways, it's the most subtle. "Yes, you may think these shell lamps are junky and goofy...you're right, they are...and you may think that I'm a hick for making and selling them...but you're gonna buy them, and I'm taking money off your idiotic ass in the process...so who's the hick here?" You know every purveyor of junky stuff is thinking this.

Tourism as warfare...it's definitely a topic worthy of further thought...

reasons you should visit my Flickr page

I have many witty photos up on my Flickr page, such as this one, which I entitle "wrestling with alcohol"...enjoy!

cinema and fandom

Last night, me and three great friends went to see the midnight sneak peek of the second Pirates of the Carribean film...which I can definitively say was...very long.

There were a number of previews, but the one that got the best reaction was...for the upcoming Transformers film. Hummm...life just gets curiouser and curiouser.

festivals

One of the things that fascinated me most about living in the north was the overwhelming number of summer festivals...I guess it has something to do with revelling in the sun while you can...that, and a desire to drink cheap beer in a plastic, fenced-off area after eating crappy food and listening to either oompah music or bluegrass.

The last two years, Lori and I have wanted to do more festivals, and the one that I have been pushing for is the McClure Radish festival. McClure is this microscopic township just west of Bowling Green which is apparently "the radish capital of the world." I personally hate radishes, but the idea of having a whole festival dedicated to them is both perverse and kitchy enough to be very appealing. However, we keep missing it, damnit.

I read about the Michigan Elvisfest in this weekend's paper, and it also sounded perfect...but alas, it's $15 a pop...and I love kitch, but not that much.

So instead, this weekend, we're going to the Lagrange Street Polish Festival in Toledo. I suspect the food will be awesome. Stay tuned for updates.

they can dazzle or delight....

When my sister married, she (much like me) was lucky to get very cool in-laws. About six years before I moved up to Ohio, me and my brother flew into Ann Arbor MI to visit my sister, and we spent an afternoon or two drinking with the in-laws. When I came to Ohio to find an apartment, my sister's in-laws treated me like lost family, which made me feel really good.

There is the added benefit that they are of Polish descent...and as little as I like so subscribe to ethnic type-casting, I will admit that they share a very large zest for life. Me and my sister's father-in-law have somewhat become drinking buddies. So, since the fourth of July is his birthday, it becomes a nice multi-layered celebration, and the beer does tend to flow.

Unfortunately, since in the last few years the fourth has fallen on a weekday and either my wife or I have to work the next day, we usually don't get to stay very late...and thus miss out on all the major firework displays in the area. There are some fireworks, but they're limited to sparklers, dog-frightening poppers, and the occasional bottle rocket which my sister's husband sets off starting around 4ish...when it's completely and utterly pointless, as the sunlight renders the explosion totally invisible. You have to, however, admire the determination, and I have to admit to holding onto a lit roman candle or two in the midday sun myself.

So the wonderful wive and I usually end up driving home just as it finally turns dark...but that's okay, because we get to see most every firework display between Dexter and Ann Arbor. The sober wife drives, while I, the drunken husband, hold her hand...and we "oooh" and "ahhh" at the distant explosions that occasionally peak over the treetops, even though, to us, they're only the size of a penny.

This year, our timing was perfect...we got to see the entire Bowling Green firework display. We picked it up when the explosions were more or less specks, and we kept it in sight as we breezed down I-75. As we got closer to town and got closer to the fireworks, the pace of the show quickened. When we drove past the BGSU football stadium, where they were shooting them off, the performance started to peak. We pulled into the BG main road right as the fireworks climaxed, and we could see the explosions the clearest right as the finale ran its course...and we were driving close enough to feel the "booms."

Of course, through the clouds of gunpowder smoke rolling in on Wooster, we could see people in lawn chair in the front of the Big Boy, the various gas stations, and the fast food places. They all had great seats too, but while they had to fight traffic, we were already almost home.

I found it all much more romantic than probably would've a normal person.

another reason why my wife rocks

So Lori and I were watching season 1 of Veronica Mars on dvd...a great show that I initially ignored due to an awful advertising campaign. In one episode, one of the characters is watching Clash of the Titans, and my wife looks at me and says, "Wow, isn't that an example of a simulacrum?"

My witty response: "Huh?"

My wife: "That's Harry Hamlin in that movie, right? He's also one of the character's father...isn't that what Baudrillard was talking about? Did I get that right?"

...as if I ever need more proof that I am not worthy of this woman...

announcements

• Once again, I will be on WBGU's weekly radio program "Off The Record," from 2 to 4 today (and every Tuesday (until they kick me off).
  
• There are new art photos up on my Flickr page
  
• I also have more normal photos up on Snapfish...e-mail me if you want to see.
  

post-vacation insights 2--disease, mortality, and "wook at da pretty puddy tat"

My dad was in the Air Force, and I spent my earliest childhood in Germany. When we moved back to the States, we decided that we needed a pet...they were problematic to have if you lived overseas, because often moving from one country to another would entail long periods of quarantine...the British, at the time, would hold pets for 6 months to make sure they didn't have, among other things, rabies (for whatever reason, the British seem scared to death of rabies...hence all the references in Monty Python...yet I digress).

On our first visit to my Florida grandmother, we picked out a cat. She was a mongrel, as most cats are, but mostly a mixture of tortiseshell and calico (we think). My mom named her (unimaginatively and inexplicably) Tigerlilly. We took her to our new home of South Carolina.

Tigerlilly was a great cat, albeit a little weird (as, we discovered, cats are wont to be). She loved olives...she would devour them, roll around in their juices, and generally look like a smack addict in the throes of a good buzz. She would fall asleep with her head in my shoe (again, a "high" thing?). She would fall asleep inside my violin case. If you were laying down on your stomach, she would climb onto and then fall asleep on your back.

Tigerlilly died after a bout of diabetes. I never even knew that cats got diabetes, but apparently so. It was sad giving her injections of insulin, and when her liver finally gave out, she couldn't really move, let alone get up and run around like she always did...so we had to put her to sleep.

Our second cat was a stray my mom picked up and named (again, unimaginatively) Muffin. Muffy must've been beaten by her previous owners, because I have never seen such a nervous, anxiety-ridden animal. While she could be nice, she hid from most everyone save my mom. She also died before her time...leukemia, I think.

Next, we got two sisters, strays from where my grandparents lived. The first one was a long-haired siamese-looking cat, very fluffy, with gorgeous ice-blue eyes. Mom named her Cleopatra, but in order to escape the tyranny of what we considered dumb names, my brother and I called her fuzzhead. Fuzzhead loved to be outside in our screened-in porch. She liked to be cuddled, but usually only after making you follow her on a quick jaunt around the house...usually after circling a table five or six times, looking back at you to make sure you're still following, she'd dramatically fall over...that was her sign that "cuddle time" had commenced.

Fuzzhead's sister was a brown tortise shell-esqe cat with leopard print spots. Mom named her Sheeba, but my brother and I called her Spider in celebration of her overly long legs and tails. Spidey was a talker...she would howl for ages, almost never shutting up. She was also very fast, lean, and very smart. Once, when Fuzzhead fell into our hot tub, Spidey took it upon herself to notify us with those howls.

After I moved to Bowling Green, our vet found a lump on Spidey's back. They took her to a hospital for surgery, but the cancer returned after a year or so...and that was that.

The final cat was a long-haired black cat with white splotches who took it upon herself to sit in our driveway during a thunderstorm until Mom came home...she was rain-soaked and pathetic enough to be taken in. I like to think that word spread in the cat community that we were good people.

In memory of the slotches, Mom named her Smudge...finally, a good name. As a kitten, Smudge was not pretty...she had monsterous beady eyes and ears that were way too big for her head. She really grew into herself, though. Smudge was also strange...she was abandoned at an early age, and she never really knew how to purr...she wheezed instead; she also couldn't properly meow...hers was more a "mwah." She was also very sweet. She would run to the door to see me, she would sit outside the bathroom door as I showered, "mwah"ing at me.

Smudge was probably my favorite cat. Again, though, when I was in BG, they found signs of disease. By the time they caught the diabetes, it was really too late...another one of my pets I never really got to say goodbye to.

I thought about this a whole bunch when I was down on vacation. Mostly, this was because Fuzzhead is the only one left. She's about 15 and still healthy (although thinner). While Fuzzhead is as cute and loving as ever, I couldn't help but wondering how much I'm gonna see her again. However, I don't want my time with her to be spent in sadness, melancholy, or a weird "in memorial" feeling...I want to remember her as an alive, vital, loving being...to do elsewise would not be doing justice to this wonderful personality who has made my life happy so often...so I spent some of my vacation fighting my own emotions.

I also couldn't help thinking of the weird state of diseases and animals. So far, not one of the cats we've had has died of old age. Is this normal? Is cancer, diabetes, and leukemia really that prevalent in animals? Later, when we went to visit two of my best FL friends, we found out that their long time dog has had both of its eyes removed due to glaucoma. She gets along fine, but it did make me think again.

Of course, thinking of things like this are never a good idea. Not only can it spoil the general spirit of vacation, it can cause you to start treating those around you as potential source memories, rather than just getting out there and living life...thus creating good memories. It will also stop you from enjoying those around you...so I had to make an effort to not nostalgize when Fuzzhead would have me follow her around the house en route to a cuddle.

Beyond that, I'm not really sure what the lesson to all this was...except maybe to enjoy the "now," whatever that might be, because the future is so uncertain...that, and to hug your kitty closely.

pain and letters

finger...burnt

skin...tender

ability to type...diminishing

Mike...resting

post-vacation insights 1--travel thoughts

I'm not sure if I'm just tremendously unlucky or not, but South Carolina sucks. More specifically, their roads suck.

Hey, I lived there and enjoyed it, but both during the trip down to FLA and back, we encountered traffic in SC. Heavy interstate traffic. On our trip down, I thought that everyone must just be heading to the beach...it was nice and sunny. But why was everyone heading for the mountains on Sunday?

There were also several times when we hit bumper to bumper traffic, and there usually was not even a decent wreck...or any sign of debris...or anything as congesting as a dead bunny, let alone enough to cause a jam.

On the plus side, South Carolina did have the highest per capita of attractive people at their rest areas. Some states had an ugly factor unsurpassed by all save WalMart, but SC had some real babes.

On the way down, every hotel room within 100 miles of Asheville NC was booked. Asheville? Since when did this become a vacation resort?

On the way back, we got a nice hotel in Kentucky. I went to a convenience store to buy a beer (as to better unwind after staring at traffic for 13 hours), only to be informed by the clerk that I was in a dry county. I had no idea such things existed in this day and age...outside of The Dukes of Hazzard, that is. The stupid thing was that the clerk did tell me that I could get beer three miles down the road. Hey, that certainly will deter alcoholism...drunks may be addicted, but they don't like to travel? Hah.

As a result of this, I have to recommend that nobody ever actually stop in Richmond KY. Nice hotel and all, but the dry county thing is not really what you want when you've been on the road...plus, it makes the surrounding areas look like they're still living during prohibition. Guys, I say this as a southerner...if you want people to not make stupid jokes about how backwards the south is, please do not do stupid, backward things. I really hate it when people willfully live up to the ugly stereotypes placed upon them.

A positive? In some states, I have noticed the arrival of a new highway sign..."Watch Out For Fallen Rocks." Thank goodness that someone has abandoned "Falling Rocks"...they must've realized that you really can't spot rocks that are currently falling or possibly pay attention to rocks that might fall. The present tense in that one was stupid (almost as much as "Deer Crossing"...if you spot a deer, it will most certainly already be inside your winshield), and the move to an advisory to watch for rocks actually on the roadway (which can be seen and thus avoided) is a rare sign of intelligence.

all hail to the chiefs

So one of my stupid summer projects is to read biographies of all the presidents, in order. In part, this is because I feel inadequate in my knowledge of history, particularly early American (I'm much better in the post-WWI era). I know this will not completely correct this, as it does very much fit into the "great man" theory of history...but it's a start. I'm going from Washington onward, and so far, I'm up to Thomas Jefferson.

I will be posting my thoughts here. They will be very preliminary, most likely very shallow...this I know. I'm doing an overly narrow study by looking at one biographer's take on each, so there are a multitude of problems. Look at this as an opportunity to set me straight.

resemblance?

During my last visit, my Mother in Law informed me that I remind her of James Spader's character, Alan Shore, from Boston Legal. She claims this is more a matter of wit and speaking style...and that she is not claiming I'm a sleazy womanizer, honestly.

I'm not sure how to feel about this, to tell the truth.

themikedubose imagery

I have just posted a link to my Flickr page in the "themikedubose on the web: section to your right. On my Flickr page, I have posted some of my better, more "arty" photographs. All hail the digital camera...so I can waste 50% of my shots before finding anything remotely usable. If you have a Flickr page, please let me know.

voyage back to the ancestral homeland

For any readers of this blog who live in the area, the wife and I will be going to visit my ancestral homeland. Yes, we're going to Florida. We will be there June 10th through the 17th. While it's not a long visit, we would like to see anyone we can. E-mail me, or feel free to call my parents when I'm there...the number hasn't changed.

Thomas Dolby was wrong!

Yesterday, I became a radio star...or at least a personality...okay, damnit, a guest. But I was broadcast! And that was a dream of mine...

Two of my friends got a radio show on the BGSU college station, WBGU. They call it "Off The Record," as it's the only talk show currently on the channel. Standard news, liberal student outrage, and gross-out humor, with wrestling commentary. They have a MySpace page for the show, and you can subscribe to their blog for show previews (if you're on MySpace, that is). You can also listen in via the station's web page...they're on 2-4 on Tuesdays. I'm also trying to talk them into podcasting.

Yesterday was their inaugural show, and they invited me on as a guest commentator for the wrestling segment. However, I was so busy configuring my new computer, I forgot about it. I only remembered about 3:15, when I was walking over to a friend's house to return a drill (used to assemble some more furniture-in-a-box...masculinity reclaimed!)...and luckily my new mp3 player also has a radio. So, I listened while walking and then called in so I could still contribute.

Of course, as soon as they put me on the air, I walk past a house full of barking dogs. About twenty minivans blow past me. More to the point, since I am a moron, I call in before dropping off the drill...so I have to walk circles around town to kill time while talking.

I did manage to drop off the drill and get to the studio before the show ended, so I became a full-fledged guest instead of just a caller, and it was fun...although I admit that having to keep FCC regulations in mind when I was talking was rough. Now we can only see if "Off The Record" actually invites me back.

At any rate, I am now a real, live radio star. Now all I have to do is star in a play, join a band and play out, have someone start a fan club, and earn a million dollars a week, and it will truly be a good year.

technology update

The latest bout of incommunicado was brought forth by a serious need for a technology update. You see, when I got my full time job last year, I also got a very nice, top of the line Dell computer...and I do most of my computing throughout the semester at my office. I've gotten spoiled by high network connection and a very solid machine.

When I started working at home this summer, I knew that I would have to put up with dial-up...it costs $9 a month, as opposed to $35 a month for DSL (the cheapest price I could find)...so I knew I would suffer some drop in performance.

What I didn't realize is that my machine had turned to crap. It was a nice computuer, but it was built in 11/99...and yes, that's a good, long time for technology, but its day was up. Whenever I would try to do anything, it would freeze. Moving from one open window to another took 30 seconds. It had no USB 2.0, so I couldn't use a thumb drive or hook up my camera.

After shopping at a local computer store, a friend suggested I try TigerDirect.com, and I managed to order an awesome eMachines system. It came in two days, but it gave me some nightmares by refusing to install my printer and making Word repeatedly crash after thirty seconds. My friend came over and solved the problem by installing a new printer driver, something that I tried to do for two days...and he did it a way that I tried (and which failed for me).

So the last day or two have been spent getting the computer loaded with all my files and software, properly configured, and all that. I feel much more tech savvy now, though. I even went out and bought my first thumb drive and mp3 player. I have sworn to buy a digital camera phone eventually and start mobloging. A Flickr and Snapfish page are not far behind.

I'm not trying to be a tech overlord or anything, but it is nice that people won't still laugh when they hear what I have. Plus my computer is now nicer than my parent's machine again! I just want supremacy in some small way...

channelling Neal

"We sow the seed, nature grows the seed, and then we eat the seed."

Neal, The Young Ones.

Lately, I've had a very slight desire to go "back to the land." So, after doing some preliminary shopping for a new computer (the one I have is still running a 333 Pentium II, which made the computer guy's eyes pop out...apparently, it's old...circa 1999 stuff is not still state of the art), I hit the local nursery.

First off, you have to love anywhere which gives out free popcorn. Large selection of herbs, so I got basil, chives, parsley, peppermint, cilantro, and oregano. I also bought a few new pots (since the plastic ones they came in didn't look too sturdy).

When I asked the nice girl working the counter (I'm not being condescending, really; she looked about 14) how much potting mix I should buy, she showed me their free potting/transplant station...and even gave me a primer. So I rolled up my sleeves and dived in.

I have to say, it was an experience that my friend Cassandra (of Adventures of Fifi) would appreciate...something completely new, something I've never even thought of doing before. It was oddly satisfying to transplant, and I have a feeling that my late Granddad would've approved, him being a farmer and all.

After driving carefully over and still spilling four of the plants on one turn (leaving a fine layer of potting mix on my passenger floorboard), I arranged the pots in my front yard's planting bed and watered them. I hope they live...not only do I enjoy the feeling of being their caretaker (more than I would've expected...what's wrong with me?), I want to eat them.

I'm open for suggestions on names for the suckers...although I think I have to call the basil...Basil. Lack of imagination, I know, but John Cleese must be recognized.

increasing my web presence for no good reason

For whatever reason, I now have my very own Friendster page. As I know absolutely no one on Friendster, this is especially stupid.

Anyone there who can give me good advice on Facebook...to take this level of web idiocy to a new plateau?

it's a nice day to start again

This weekend, I went to a wedding with my wife...it was for one of her college friends. Two things of note:

1. During the actual wedding, the couple had a guitarist and flutist play any music, which was refreshing. After the recessional, when the bride and groom came back in the chapel to shake everyone's hand as they left, the musicians were playing something that stuck in my head...but I couldn't immediately place it. After a few minutes, it struck me...they were playing Neil Young's "Natural Anthem" off Ragged Glory...which impressed me to no end.
   
2. I met one of Lori's friend's husband-to-be, a nice guy named Mark, who, during the reception, said "Actually, I don't mind "Cococabana"...the original."
   

Don't they both just bring a tear to your eye?