Merry X-Mas!

And a happy new year!

Enjoy this cartoon from Welcome to Wayne Manor. She's awesome.

Namaste.

Preparing

"Fortune favors the brave" - Publius Terence

"Battle not with monsters
lest ye become a monster
and if you gaze into the abyss
the abyss gazes into you." - Friedrich Nietzsche

"Wherever you go...there you are." -Buckaroo Bonzai

Friendly Thought

To the guy who parked next to me at Target (and almost hit me to boot):

You saw me, and yet you still plowed ahead and almost took off my door and my leg. Then, when I shut the door, you moved over so I couldn't get out.
And you laughed.

Great holiday spirit.

So here's what I think you can do in order to help the gene pool:

This is why I love art.

Namaste.

Shark 2: The Return!

(from here)

I'm not sure why, but this is hysterical.

And finally...the mother of all inspirational speeches:

Moral: don't break an oath, or karma will get you... or sharks will fuck you up...or something.

Namaste.

Shark!

Because Batman is always prepared.

Celebrity (or If You Ain't Famous...You Suck!)

(This will embarrass him slightly, buuuuuuut... I don't care.)
First of all, I would like to welcome the Fox Mafia who has probably already found this and has passed it on to proper channels. How's it going?

It is fascinating to me how people will change their demeanor the second a celebrity appears. The most stoic person in the world can suddenly become gelatinous goo when a famous person walks in the room. When I was in college in St. Louis, I used to go to this restaurant/diner all the time in the city of Clayton (near St. Louis...think rich suburb...like Edina). They had wonderful, greasy diner food. More often than not, my dining partner was a set designer friend of mine who was the most uptight person in the world. Did not like to show emotion. If you've ever seen the movie Ratatouille, think of the character of Anton Ego, the food critic, and make him a little more of a hippie and this is Peter. So it was incredibly shocking to me that Peter would turn into a giddy little school girl when we had lunch one day and there was Mark McGwire at the next table. You couldn't miss the guy. He had Popeye-like arms, very light hair, and many waitresses falling over themselves to talk to him. This was also the offseason after he had broken Maris' record.
Maybe I'm just different, but celebrities are just people who have been elevated by the public. Thus, I did not run over and ask for the man's autograph. Peter, however, did. "Oh my GOD! You're Mark McGwire!" Peter shouts. Again, my dining partner is usually stoic. When his girlfriend dumped him in front of us at a tech rehearsal (such bad timing), he just said, "We'll talk later, I have to work." No emotion, no raising of his voice. Yet, here he was jumping up down trying to get a baseball player to sign a pad of paper.
I did my part. McGwire sighed as he looked at me and said, "I suppose you want an autograph too?"
"No, sir," I said, "I just want eat in peace. I know you know that feeling."
He laughed. "Yes, I do."
Later, as he left the diner, he stopped and said, "Thanks," and walked out.

Microfamous people aside (I leave that to Rex), we have elevated people on TV, radio, film, and playing fields to a level beyond us solely because they do something we don't: talk to the masses.
Thus people can take celebrity one of two ways. Either:
1. It goes to their head, and they treat people as lower than them, or
2. It doesn't affect them as much. They know they have power, but it is not wielded like a sword.
Jason DeRusha. Sorry, Jason DeRusha (that's better) is an example of a #2. While he enjoys some celebrity and is well known, you will not hear him say (or see him do this) in a harsh tone, "Do you know who I am?" That's not him, and that's what makes him likeable. (I also owe him for way back when he named my blog as one to read. What the hell was he thinking?)

The same can be said of Keith Marler. He's not one of those, "Get out of my way, kid," kind of celebrity. He enjoys talking to people. One time he was in the Arbor Lakes 16 when a woman, who was a little infatuated with him, came up to him and said, "Oh my GOD...Keith Marler...I love you." Keith just stood there and smiled. "Thank you very much," he said. Of course, I had told the woman to hug him...and he graciously let her while giving me the, "Your children will suffer," look. He doesn't seek out people and doesn't use his fame for personal game. Never once have I heard this man exclaim, "Don't you know who I am?!"


Karl Spring, however, is an example of the other kind of celebrity. Years ago, I met Karl Spring at the Minnesota State Fair. He was working at the Fox 29 (this was before the switch) booth. He couldn't have been nicer. We chatted for a few minutes about being a weatherman, and I told him I was a teacher.
"Oh!" he exclaims. "You have to bring me to your classroom."
"Um," I begin, "Maybe."
At this point, he grabs my free fan (on a stick) and starts writing numbers on it.
"No really," I say, "that's not necessary."
But he just writes out these numbers and says, "Please call. We'll set something up."
"Ok," I say, and I start to walk away.
And this is where it gets odd. Even though I have the numbers, the former weatherman comes out of the booth and runs down to me as I'm walking away.
"Stop!" he yells.
I do.
"I forgot. This is my other line," and he takes the fan and writes more on it.
I never called, because the students wouldn't have gone for it, and because he seemed desperate.

The worst "celebrity", however, has to be Dick Ebersol. Now, I used to work as a maintenancean at a tennis court. Ebersol's wife, Susan St. James, played there, and I had spoken to her a few times. Very pleasant woman. He and I had also met, but he dismissed me. One year later, I was a ball boy (yeah, yeah, get it out of your system now) at the then Volvo Open (now called Pilot Pen). There was a celebrity softball game between CBS and NBC Sports personalities. The best personality was the umpire: Randy "Macho Man" Savage, who called balls and strikes in character. "HOOOOO Yeah! That was Strike ONNNNNE!"
One of the personalities, however, was Dick Ebersol. At the end of the game, the crowd was allowed to go on the field and mingle. I went to Ebersol to talk to him and ask how his wife was (she was always very nice to me, and a really good tipper). The second I walked up, it was like I smelled of the plague and asked him to lick me.
"No, I'm not signing autographs," he said.
"I don't want one," I replied. "I wanted to ask..."
"No," he cut me off, "Fuck off, kid."
"I just wanted to ask...."
"Did you not hear me?!" he yelled, "FUCK OFF, kid!" Then he turned back to the person he was talking to and said, "I hate these things. The people are so...you know?"
I walked away, but that was the moment I realized that some people gain a modicum of fame and power, and they treat people badly because of it.

And yet, we value celebrity so much in these modern times. We don't know what to wear unless our new "heroes" tell us. The celebrity endorsement may not mean as much as it used to, but it can sway some people.

I'm not famous. I never will be, but it's fine. I wouldn't want photographers following me. I wouldn't want people digging through my trash.
I wouldn't want to be in public with my children and have people come running up. Some of us have control, but many don't.

I'm proud to call Keith my friend, and even though I haven't known him very long, I know he's not the kind of guy who would dismiss me for my low standing.

So thanks, Keith. Thanks for reminaing a real person even though you don't have to be.

Namaste.

Batman Says It Best

Because he is the man.

How I Will Pay For This

Ok, read this first.

This guy is on to something. I'm going to sell ad space on my tests.

I wish I was kidding.

I've spent over $1,000 every year for each year I've been teaching. Yes, I can write it off on my taxes, but there comes a point when I can't keep throwing money into the hole.
Budgets are tight, so here is the call:

I am a high school English teacher in St. Paul, Minnesota. I work with ninth-graders and twelfth-graders everyday for fifty minutes a period. Every Friday there's a test, and I give out a great deal of study guides.

I'm looking for companies that are interested in only getting a small mention at the bottom of the page (like a, "sponsored by fill-in-the-blank"). No logos and no full sheets.

I will offer the same rate as Mr. Farber in San Diego: $10 for a quiz, $20 for a test, $30 for a final.

This is not just for businesses. I offer parents and even students the ability to sponsor a test or quiz.

Interested parties should contact me at ironicteachings@hotmail.com

Thanks,

IT

I'm just not ready to face the world after Turkey Day....

Apparently doctors are now saying that looking at pictures of babies and baby animals makes you feel better and is good for your health (makes the blood pump faster).

So, enjoy the New York Daily News' Baby Animal gallery and improve your health.

Namaste.

Rage Kitty

I can haz acidic blood that melts people.

Really like the Rage Kitty.

Namaste.

Proof Positive

This explains a great deal....

Revenge Is Best Dished With Turkey

After the Macy's Day Parade was Rickroll'd today, I think it's only fair that we begin a plan like this one to get him back. Let the Duckrolling begin.

And in case you missed the Rickroll today (it's about 30 seconds in)....

Happy Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving.

Before you slip into your Trytophan coma, make sure you thank your friends and family, and make sure you go and do something nice for someone who isn't as lucky as you are.

Namaste.

Heeeeelium!

Enjoy this website.

If you don't suddenly feel like Helium is following you around and smile...you aren't human.

Namaste.

Augering an Adult

(Thanks to Alan Guthrie)


Being an adult is not the moment that you realize that people will leave you. It's the moment that you figure out that you will have to leave other people for their greater good.

Being an adult is not realizing that you will fail. It's figuring out that you will fail someone else.

Being an adult is not being angry at the world. It's figuring out why you're really angry.

Being an adult is finding the futility in trying to change other people.

Being an adult is not pointing out other people's stupidity. It's figuring out your own.

To some, the tree in the picture by Mr. Guthrie is dead and sad, but there is a real beauty to it. It is the true metaphor of the world. Eventually the pieces will be stripped away and we will all be laid bare. If what is left is beautiful, it will be seen that way. If not...then so be it. There is a beauty in the futility of fighting the course of the river.

I don't really sleep anymore. My body and mind won't let me, so I contemplate. Some nights, I go into my son's room, and I just watch him sleep. This big head with a little body that occasionally jerks at a nightmare, and I wonder what a two year old dreams about that would scare him. There aren't monsters in his life yet as his mother and I have been careful about that, so what makes him jerk his body and scream a little. Is it being without his parents? Is it falling down stairs (as he did once)? And yet as I watch him, my fears begin to take realization. If I die tomorrow, I don't care...but what will happen to him? To my wife?

It used to be easy. When I was in college, I nearly died a few times. There were accidents, times of idiocy, and even just straight dumb luck, yet I survived every moment. If I hadn't...then oh well.

And it's odd, because I remember the exact moment I understood death. I was five years old standing in my parents' bathroom, and the whole process and idea of death clicked in my head. The world literally shifted to a point of clarity. I can't describe it better than that, but the whole world moved left and clicked into place. My parents and sisters would one day die...then I would too...and I would be gone forever. Yes, Virginia, even at an early age I knew that Christo and I wouldn't agree. So I did what every "genius" child would do: I hid in my parents' clothes hamper. I was convinced that Death (in the personification of the Grim Reaper) wouldn't look in there because it was dirty clothes...and who the heck hides in a hamper? I was in there for only an hour, but I thought I was in there for longer (because kids don't really have that concept of time yet).

This would change, however, as time passed. I no longer feared my death, and I really can't tell you why. It's not a "I believe in ever-lasting soul" thing, but more of a just not caring anymore. This was seen when I got to college. In my first year, I took part in pychological experiments as part of what I thought would be my major: behavioral psychology. One of the experiments was about extreme situations and self-preservation. The tester had setup a situation where three or four people would be in a room and (unbeknownst to us) a man would enter with a gun and threaten us. The test was apparently about seeing if we would follow directions under duress (This is another reason why I don't like psychologists). So there we sat, in came the gunman, and he gave us directions that we were supposed to follow. I would love to say that I walked up to him, put the gun up to my forehead, and, in a low, gruff voice, said, "Go ahead...pull the trigger," but I can't. I followed instructions...sort of. As I was told later, I made sure to step in front of everyone when the gun was pointed toward us. Didn't matter if it was the other guy or the girl in with us. Whenever the gun turned toward anyone, I stepped in front of them.

And that's what I want to do with the people I care about. I want to step in front of them and take the bullet. In my head, I've lived a good life (if it's not a metaphorical bullet, but a real one). And yes, pain is necessary to learning. We have to hurt someone, and someone has to hurt us if we are to be complete...yet I think of my son again. I don't want him to ever experience the pain I have. I want to protect him.

You see, the hardest part of being an adult is realizing that you are connected to people...and if that connection is severed, it hurts them.

I have to stop and think of him, my wife, and those who care about me and I care for if the situation rises where I might die. I would take a bullet for my students, I really would, but what would it mean for my son? And what If I'm dying? What if Cancer has a hold on my body and ravages me inside and out? I would never want my son to have to do what I did with my father. I took my father's hand and walked him through the hospital. It was a horrifying experience. Who could ever want that for their child?

It's easy to disappear. Unlist your number, change that cell phone, delete an email address. People are resilient, and we can overcome pain.

And the beauty of futility is that eventually we will become orphans and have to deal with it.

So I sit in my son's room and watch him sleep. I wish him happy dreams where he rides the train he loves so much. And I hope I prepare him for the future.

Being an adult is not wishing you could be young again. It's preparing those around you for you leaving.

Being an adult is not saying used to be better. It's questioning what makes things better and why.

Love your friends and family while you have them. The current can always shift in an instant.

Namaste.

Because You Should

Give to your friends.

I recently surprised two different friends of mine with gifts solely because I could. While that's sounds egotistical, the reasoning behind it is far from that.

My buddy Keith is a huge Green Lantern fan. Recently, a limited edition pair of bookends was released to commemorate the Sinestro Corps. I managed to trade a few of my older and important comics to another collector who happened to have those bookends. While I'll miss those old comics, the look on Keith's face, which was a combination of sheer joy and total bewilderment, made it worthwhile. If you've never seen a grown man returned to a state of being a child on Christmas morning, you're missing out.

At the same time, I made sure Margaret could live out her fantasy as a drummer for Survivor's Eye of the Tiger. Before she even called, I could hear the squeal several miles away. Now I expect her to rock out so hard and become so good that she can destroy anyone while wasted at a Vita.mn party.

I'm not rich, I just care. Why? Because even though I understand that we finish alone, the journey should never be done so. And as selfish as it may seem, the feeling you can get from making someone else happy is intoxicating and more addictive than any drug. An added bonus is the need to use your brain to figure out what a person really likes. It's a fun mystery.

To be clear, however, it doesn't take money to get that feeling. You can just as easily make a gift and give it to someone. One of my former students is about have a birthday. The gift I'm sending is not one I made, but one that (I hope) is thoughtful.

You should care and give because The Beatles may have been right: and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.

Of course that's just my opinion. I might be wrong.

What I find interesting, however, is the backlash for both the above mentioned gifts. For Keith, the comic book community the person I got the bookends from has turned their attention on me and started taking me to task. While I should care that the value of one of the books I traded is much higher, I don't. In the end, the perceived value of the book is worthless compared to his joy.
The same goes with Margaret. I don't care if people are jealous or think I'm crazy. All I care about is that she's happy, and Indigo Sassypants will now have music to help him chase shadows on the wall.

Be good to your friends, and when you need them, they'll be good to you.

Namaste.

I'd Vote for Him

See more funny videos at Funny or Die

Because my son is Lando.

And because we have to save those Tauntauns.

Enjoy.

Makes Sense to Me

I was asked to summarize my training as well as this trip.

This picture works. Another two hours of lecture, then I get to hope I have a seat on the plane back to Minneapolis. If I don't have a seat, you better believe I'm buying another ticket or renting a car. Ain't no way I'm missing the election.

Namaste.

(Still) Training in Dallas

Day 2.

While the actual training is SO much easier than was described to me, the hotel is still causing problems.

My teaching conference is not the only one here. Fannie Mae is also here showing off all the money the government gave them by having a giant party for its members with high end food, entertainment, and gift bags. I managed to crash their party for a while before someone noticed I wasn't wearing the right badge. While my buddy Tom has a ton of anger, my anger is focused more on this crap. Don't tell me there's no money and you need help...then throw a giant party. Sheesh.

Also here are people for the Texas/Texas Tech game, NASCAR fans (there's a race at the Texas Motor Speedway), a law enforcement conference, and some sort of conference for beauty pageant organziers. That's a great deal of people. And because of this, there are a many idiots. Sure, I went and meditated in the garden again. And I had a person ask me if knew my shoes were off. It was if I was special person who could not feel that my socks and shoes were in my hands. I wanted to feel the grass between my toes. However, there two better stories of the other people here and the grief they cause.

#1:
We may have fallen back last night for the end of daylight's savings, but the Texas fans were crying into their beers after the Longhorns lost to Texas Tech last night. No one was crying more than the guy next door to me. John Longhorn, as I've been calling him, was extremely drunk when he stumbled into his room this morning. He was also really upset. So he made a phone call and loudly bawled about the University of Texas. Not a small crying, but a full on boo-hoo as if he was Oedipus discovering his history. I heard the entire conversation as well as his..umm..relieving of his beer from his body via his mouth after the phone call. Extremely annoying and loud...and disgusting. However, I was not alone in this. My colleagues mentioned hearing other people stumbling into rooms. There were even extremely drunk fans who beat on sleeping people's doors. No respect for those who were not here to watch the game.
This was a subdued story, the next was not so nice.

#2
There are several bars in the hotel, but the one in the lobby near my elevator has sushi, and I wanted something that would not be greasy. So I bellyed up to the bar and tried to get some Nigiri (Tuna preferably). Yesterday I wore black...not knowing that Texas Tech was playing Texas (and Tech's colors are red and black). Many people at the bar were wasted (the bartender told me that many people actually tailgate AT the hotel. Ok then). So, I'm sitting at the bar when I feel hands and an arm around my back. I don't really liked to be touched, so I jumped out of my seat and pushed away the arm of the person touching me.
It was a wasted gal wearing Texas gear.
"Oh my goood," she slurs. "I so thought you were my boyfriend. You look ssssso much like him."
Now, she didn't see my face, just my back and back of my head. I could have been...Alfred Molina for all she knows.
"I'm not him. Sorry," I reply.
As I sit back down, I hear the cry of the drunk, angry jock.
"What the fuck are you doing hugging my girlfriend?!"
I look over and see a large dude who looks very little like me except that he, too, has a goatee and has dark hair. Other than that, he's thinner, taller, more muscular, and drunker. He's also wearing a TON of Texas gear so his clothes are more of a burnt sienna/orange color. Again, I'm wearing black. If she had seen him earlier in the day, she would know this.
"She hugged me. She thought I was you," I reply and turn back to my food.
"What the fuck?" the Orange Incredible Hulk says to me and starts toward me.
"Dude, calm down and go be with your girlfriend," I say.
"That's it, fucker!" he screams at me. "We're gonna fight. Let's go outside, and I'm going to kick your Red Raider ass!"
"Fuck you," I reply. "I'm not fighting."
"You're gay! You're fucking homo," he yells back.
I bite back the line from Full Metal Jacket about steers and queers and move to the other side of the bar to pay my tab. I'm not fighting. If I get arrested, I'll never hear the end of it.
"You fucking fag!" Texas Tommy keeps screaming at me, "Get back here. I'm gonna fuck you up."
I look over and see his girlfriend trying to calm him down, but to no avail.

Now, the next few minutes are insane. Texas Tommy is still yelling and being asked to be quiet. I'm trying to get away as I don't want to say something to set this guy off, and there are a ton of people watching this. As Hulk keeps yelling, some Texas Tech fan (actually wearing a Texas Tech t-shirt) says, "Why don't you stop yelling, you little bitch."
Hulk's eyes glow orange, and he flips the table in front of him out of the way so he can charge at the Texas Tech fan. Even the guy from Texas Tech was not expecting this. I wonder if he hoped that Texas Tommy would be pissed and attack me.
Remember when I said that there was a law enforcement convention? Well, there were armed officers here. This included a cop near the bar who had a taser. He yells at Texas Tommy to calm down and back off.
"Sir, don't move!" he yells, but Texas Tommy ain't listening.
The guy from Texas Tech actually runs behind the cop, who tells Texas Tommy to, again, stop.
The Incredible Orange Hulk is now going toward the cop who has warned him twice. Out comes the taser.
You can almost see the brain of Texas Tommy kick the alcohol to the side and yell, "Dammit, you fucker, we're in for a real shock now."
The eyes go wide as the taser is fired, and Texas Tommy hits the floor.
At this point, I put a little sping in my step just in case.
Fun times.

As for the training... well, I'm not getting anything new. The teacher is a wonderfully nice guy from Vancouver, but even he said to me today that I am way ahead of the people in my class. I actually finished my group's unit plan today because I wanted to get done. Though I love my job, I just don't understand how taxpayer money can go this. I could have done this in Minnesota...online...for cheaper. Oh well. At least I got a nice walk in the garden.

Namaste.

Goodbye Old Friend

Goodbye to possibly my favorite cartoon character of all time.

When I was kid, Bloom County was my favorite Sunday comic. I didn't always get the jokes ("Who's Gregory Peck?" I used to ask my sister), but Opus, Bill, Portnoy (who I thought was named after the novel), and Binkley always did something I could understand. That is the genius of Berkeley Breathed: his comics are funny on multiple levels. Many were political, but you could still appreciate the humor without knowing who the heck Jeane Kirkpatrick is. It helps, but it isn't necessary.
In one of the happiest moments of my life, I went to a used bookstore where I stumbled upon a signed copy of the first Bloom County collection. I still have it, and though he is nortorious for being very private, I hope I can actually thank him in person one day.

Opus gets a good ending. He's tucked into bed in what is Lando's favorite book: Goodnight Moon.

In the end, the Bloom County creator tied his work to the Humane Society in order to help protect animals. If you look at his work, you'll see how much he cares about animals and their treatment. There was even a contest for the last strip. And it makes sense. Make sure you take care of the animals, because of the joy they have brought you.

So thank you, Mr. Breathed. Opus got a happy ending, which I'm happy about. I'm sad that the strip is ending, but if you right more books like Mars Needs Moms, I will be very happy to keep reading them to my son.

Happy trails, Opus.

Namaste.