Master Fob vs. Technology

I have discovered a wonderful teaching resource that I plan to use every day for the rest of the semester and likely for the rest of my teaching career: my collection of Simpsons DVDs. There's a slight problem, though. The technology at the college I teach at is less than top-of-the-line.

Today I decided to show an episode called "Itchy and Scratchy and Marge" (in which Marge fights to censor the cartoon Itchy and Scratchy but later fights to stop censorship of Michelangelo's David) to my classes in order for them to "read" the episode rhetorically--to analyze the authors, the audience, the genre, and the angle of vision presented in the episode.

I even brought my own DVD player because I wasn't sure if each of the three classrooms had one. As it turns out, all three rooms have a DVD player, but none has a remote. (And I forgot to bring my own.) Which means that you can't select the episode you want to watch from the menu--you can watch the first episode and that's it. "Itchy and Scratchy and Marge" is the third or fourth episode on Disc Two, which means I was pretty much screwed. Being the quick thinker I am, though, I looked at the other discs to see if I could use any of the first episodes, and found that "Homer vs. Lisa and the Eighth Commandment" is the first episode on Disc Three.

This episode, though not quite as ingenious as the one on censorship, worked quite well for my purposes--the students could talk about what angle of vision the creators of the show were taking on stealing cable.

So despite my initial panic it all worked out. Then I got to my second class, realized that the DVD player is bolted into place such that the plug doesn't reach the outlet, and was glad I'd brought my own. Next time I'll bring an extension cord and a remote.

The Saga Continues

Today I started reading Sarah, Plain and Tall to S-Boogie. It seems to be much more effective than Knuffle Bunny, There Was An Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly, and Dr. Seuss's ABC in helping her fall asleep. She was out in less than ten minutes.

So now that she's napping and I have time to write, I need to figure out what to write. It's always strange and exciting to be done with something I've been working on for a long time. Suddenly, I can write whatever I want. There are new things stewing in my head I could take a stab at, but I think it would be wiser to go back to some of those things I've finished that need revision before I can do anything with them. I think I'm in the mood for cleaning up the formatting on the epistolary novel Theric and I are working on (which, if you count, brings my total up to six). The working title, though I seriously hope we come up with something better, is The Sophie Saga. It needs a lot of work, but it has potential. If I try hard enough, I can get excited about revision.

S-Boogie playing dress-up with her cousin

Nappy Heads

S-Boogie is trying to tell us that she is no longer interested in afternoon naps. She does this by getting out of bed, lying behind the closed door, and kicking it. Putting her downn for a nap has become a two-hour process of going back in the room, rocking with her some more, then leaving her in bed and hoping not to hear any noises coming from her room. We often give up defeated. That will likely be the case this afternoon.

The thought of no more naps terrifies me. Monday and Wednesday afternoons while Foxy J is at school and S-Boogie is napping is when I write. If she stops napping I don't know when I'll write. I suppose she still does go to sleep at night before I do and wakes up in the morning after I do, but I'm generally not disciplined enough to write in the mornings or evenings. That's when I randomly roam the net, read people's blogs, and if I'm feeling particularly motivated I blog myself. But more importantly, if S-Boogie stops taking naps I fear Foxy J and I will lose our sanity. Don't get me wrong--she's a very loveable two-year-old. But ten hours a day between the two of us is about all we can handle of her high-energy loveability. The time she takes to sleep ensures that when she wakes up we'll be excited to see her.

Really, I fear that I'm too selfish to deal with a nap-free toddler.


P.S. She just stopped kicking the door, opened it, brought her blankie and ducky into our room, and said, "Hi."

DJ Whitey presents Lyrical Masterpieces of Hip-hop

As per Theric's request, I've made him a mix CD of rap songs with good lyrics. And, as per Editorgirl's example, I'm posting the playlist here:

"Nappy Heads"-The Fugees-Blunted on Reality

"Lost Ones"-Lauryn Hill-The Miseducation Of Lauryn Hill

"To Zion"-Lauryn Hill w/Santana-The Miseducation Of Lauryn Hill

"Retrospect For Life"-Common w/Lauryn Hill-One Day It'll All Make Sense

"Love of My Life (An Ode to Hip Hop)"-Erykah Badu w/Common-Brown Sugar

"Yelling Away"-Zap Mama w/Common & Talib Kweli-Ancestry In Progress

"A Song For Assata"-Common w/Cee-Lo-Like Water For Chocolate

"Between Me, You & Liberation"-Common w/Cee-Lo-Electric Circus

"Sometimes"-Cee-Lo-Cee-Lo Green... Is The Soul Machine

"Release"-Blackalicious w/Lyrics Born & Saul Williams-Blazing Arrow

"The Last Trumpet"-Lyrics Born w/Lateef the Truthspeaker-Later That Day...

"Beautiful You"-Lateef & The Chief w/Gift of Gab-Maroons: Ambush

"We Don't Stop"-Michael Franti & Spearhead w/Gift of Gab-Everyone Deserves Music

"Water Pistol Man (Chocolate Mix)"-Michael Franti & Spearhead-Chocolate Supa Highway

"Take It Easy" [BONUS TRACK]-The Fugees-Take It Easy (Single)


Now everyone take my word for it and run out and buy all these albums.

Smells at the Library

1. I was down in the internet area when a nice-smelling fellow signed up and I thought, "I should buy some cologne and use it." Any thoughts on cologne? Particularly from those of you who live with me and/or have to smell me often?

2. Then I switched to the main floor desk where I was helping an older fellow find books about violas and he burped quite noisily. A second or two later the foul odor reached me. I often find that gas released through the oral cavity can be even more repulsive than gas released through the anal cavity.

3. (Not smell related.) For those of you who have complained about the poor lighting in the cave, I changed the font from light gray to white. Hopefully that will help.

Mrs. Robinson and Mr. McCullough

Today I got an email from another coworker, including the following excerpt:

I don't know how many people have come to you with their own personal stories since reading your article but I am about to add my name to that list.

I have a [teenage] son who only last year admitted to his father and me [he] is struggling with same sex attraction. He apparently has felt challenged with it for years but thought he'd outgrow it. While I am thankful that he felt safe enough to share this information with us, we have had a difficult time knowing how to help him. Your article is a great resource. He, like you, has had a hard time finding an accepting "box". He also struggles with why a loving Heavenly Father allows some of his children to be challenged this way. The answers all seem so trite.

Her email made me smile--I was touched that she would share this with me. Then I sat on the floor, tried to clean up a mess S-Boogie had made, thought of this woman's son (whom I've never met), and sobbed uncontrollably. I don't cry easily (though more so lately than I used to, which I think is a good thing), but for some reason the thought of this poor kid with such a hellish struggle ahead of him really hit me hard.

The fact is, it sucks to be gay. Either your religion tells you it's wrong, so you have to decide between deeply-held spiritual beliefs and deeply-rooted sexual desires, or you have no qualms with homosexuality but you have to live in a society filled with people who do and feel it their duty to tell you so. Or you immerse yourself in a subculture that is still young and, to be frank, immature (not speaking of gay people but of gay culture). Or you try your luck at some other untried, untested path and hope for the best.

I don't mean to say, "Boo hoo for me, poor Master Fob." Much of my pain is caused by decisions I've made--and the important ones I don't regret making--but even the pain that comes through no fault of my own I can handle. What makes me ache is to see others go through this hell.

As I was despairing over this on the floor this afternoon, Simon & Garfunkel came on the iTunes shuffle singing, "Jesus loves you more than you will know." I laughed. If I had written that juxtaposition in fiction someone would have called it trite or contrived. If I had read it in fiction I would have called it trite or contrived. "God bless you please, Mrs. Robinson, Heaven holds a place for those who pray."

One of the things that concerned me about the email is that my coworker asked, after the quoted excerpt, for my "help/direction." My fear in publishing "Getting Out" was that people would assume I am some kind of expert on the subject just because I wrote something. I can offer thoughts based on my limited experience, but I don't have answers. It didn't take me long to kick myself for being so damn presumptuous. She wasn't asking for answers--she's not stupid--she was asking for my thoughts based on my limited experience.

This made me think of a BYU forum I watched yesterday, given by David McCullough (author of 1776). He spoke about how the great leaders of the past were not aware that they were living in the past. They didn't go around saying, "Isn't it great to live in the past?" and "Look at these funny clothes we're wearing!" They lived in the present. George Washington and his contemporaries were not experienced revolutionaries. They didn't know what they were doing. They just did their best and hoped something good would come of it.

I'm not comparing myself to George Washington. I don't pretend I will have any fraction of the effect he had on history. But I, just like the pastors of Christian ex-gay ministries and the gay activists who are making the Governator's phone ring off the hook hoping to convince him to pass the Legislative-approved gender-neutral marriage bill, am doing my best and hoping something good will come of it. I wrote "Getting Out" with the intention of opening up a dialogue between those of us whose experiences don't quite fit the mold--people like my coworker's son and Melyngoch's & my Mutual Gay Friend and Freelancer & Mandi, none of whom I would know if I had not written the essay (and talked about it on my blog). Maybe all of us who have no answers but do have thoughts based on our limited experiences can figure out something together.