Saturday, November 28, 2009

Dinner at John's

SOUTH SIDE, CHICAGO--John had the nerve to complain that I don't write enough in here. So, here goes:

I'm at John's place now. And guess what? The service here is terrible. I waited ten minutes for a slice of pizza and had to bring my own beer. Babies crying all over the place. Moms crying about their lot in life being married to John. DCFS constantly popping by for "social visits." Please. You people make me sick.

Or, to explain it in verse:
The cries of the innocent fill this house
But the cries of the parents outweigh them
First- and second-born children dumped in my lap
Like a bag of laundry, except the laundry is washed
With plaintive voice and outstretched hands they protest their innocence to the world
But the world knows better
How you like them apples, John?

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

It had to happen sooner or later.

I caved in. I sold out.

I went against my values and beliefs. Oh, the "right" path is not always easy, but there are times when it's at least clearly defined. Discernible. At one's feet.

And I turned my back on it. Because it was convenient. Because of the cheap thrill.

God, I feel dirty. Cheap. Hypocritical. I'm not who I'd planned on being in my adult life after all.

I did it and I have to admit it. Or it'll eat me up inside.

I got an iPhone.

I'm typing this lying on my back.

I downloaded chess and history trivia apps like a junkie haunts a street corner.

I downloaded a library of pics of my dogs and threw together ring tones featuring The Black Keys.

It's all so trite and stupid. Normally I'd be reading or grading. Not looking for free movie clips. Dumb. Dumb.

But it feels so @right.@

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Famous Tweets in History

"Jury done deliberating. Should be out in no time. Having a cool refreshing drink of…wait…oh shit."

From Sock-rock-tes at 5:32 p.m. 399 B.C.


"Wait'll my dad hears about what this Pilate guy pulled. He's gonna *crucify* him."

From NumberOneSon at 7: 41 p.m. April 3 CE 40.


"Totally lost. Better name this place Hispaniola and rape all the women or school children five hundred years from now won't get a day off."

From CC_Globetrotter_3 at 3:01 p.m. Oct 12 1492.


"Suck It @King George: Don't Fucking Tread On Me!"

Colonizzy#17 at 5:00 a.m. July 4 1776.


"Hey @Johnny, thanks for taking care of those urder-may arges-chay. Barbeque tonight?"

From BigDog at 8:15 p.m. Oct 3 1995.


"Are you shitting me? U'd better be shitting me."

From GoreGalore_2000 at 11:14 p.m. Nov 29 2000

"Are you shitting me? U'd better be fucking shitting me."

From JohnMcCainforPrez at 11:14 p.m. Nov. 4 2008


"Just take a short trip, they said. The judge'll have forgotten *all* about it, they said. Pricks."

From romanpolan at 10:01 p.m. September 29.


"This is stupid. It'll never catch on."

From diggerblue at 2:45 p.m. September 12 2007

He whose opinion matters most here

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

My Most Inspirational Teacher Nomination from Last Year

He didn't get it. But he should have. For posterity:

My most inspirational teacher was

…Gustaf Van Cromphout. I had him for Early American and Romantic Literature. He spoke five languages. Threw gobbets around the way I would Simpsons quotes. Could trace a word’s etymology two millennia back without breaking a sweat. But all of this was secondary to his real tool: passion. He made you care. And he cared about his students. He remembered me almost a decade after I had him as an undergraduate. Van Cromphout died three years ago, but before he did, he’d made it clear that death was the only thing that would keep him from teaching.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

From today's paper

The History of the Death Panels. Ought to be required reading for town hall and tea party idiot protesters.

Teachers Sell Lesson Plans. Personally, I don't see it for myself (I can't even give mine away sometimes), but if we're going to be held accountable like people who work "real jobs," then we ought to be able to sink our thumbs into the free market like, say, investment bankers, mortgage brokers and the like.

Megan Fox talks about being an actress. For some reason, the people offscreen aren't laughing hysterically. P.S. Take your top off, Ms. Fox.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

TV Pilot Script: The D.C. Guys

A co-worker and I whipped this up last spring in a desperate attempt to cash in on the addled tastes of whoever picks shows for television and escape our humdrum jobs, not to mention avoid work. So...yeah. We avoided work, all right. For about ten minutes.
VOICEOVER: In 2009, a couple of disgruntled, possibly-loaded-on-the-job high school teachers packed up and went to Washington, D.C. Their mission: to expose any elements remaining of the evils of the Bush administration, and to get a cushy job in Legislative Affairs. Whatever the hell that is.

Today, they're living on the fringe in the nation's capital, watching, investigating, and racking up debt. They're currently wanted by a government that refuses to acknowledge their existence, and their savings are almost gone. If you have a problem, and no one else can help, and if you can find them...maybe you should hire...the D.C. Guys.

OPENING MONTAGE: Magnum PI ripoff music. Scenic shots of D.C. The Capitol Building. The White House. The Lincoln Memorial. A homeless guy pissing in a dumpster.

CHARACTERS:GREGG STUDLYBUFF, tall, ripped, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and two days' worth of beard. And sunglasses! Mirrored, aviator sunglasses. He leaps out the door of his Potomac-bank trailer wearing his mirrored, aviator sunglasses and spends an exciting minute and a half parallel parking his Dodge.

ADAM ACHIN', medium build, conservatively dressed, smoking a cigarette and staring arrogantly out the window of his swank, three-bedroom apartment. Behind him, a trio of Senegalese men implore him to come back to bed. Adam resolutely ignores them.

Gregg finally gets his car parallel parked. He steps out. Through the reflection of his bitchin' aviator mirrored sunglasses, we see the Capitol Building. Gregg smirks confidently, pulls out a cell phone and calls Achin'.

CUT TO: ACHIN'S SWANK APARTMENT. Achin answers the phone.

ACHIN: "Yeah."

SENEGALESE MAN/BOY #2 (from the bed): "Revenu au lit, le grand homme. Les heures sont peu."

ACHIN: "Quiet, lover. Daddy's working."

GREGG: "Achin'. I'm at the Capitol."

ACHIN: "And?"

GREGG: "Uh, they still won't let me in. The restraining order paperwork went through."

ACHIN': "Damn."

GREGG: "Yeah. So, what do you want for lunch?"

PREVIEW NEXT WEEK'S EPISODE: Club sandwich special! And a quick trip to the doctor's office for penicillin.