Editorial

“Of all the joys in life, I think I like nitpicking the most.” – Wally, of Dilbert

This completely sums up my outlook on life. I love editing other people’s papers. It’s the one thing that always puts me in a good mood. Also enjoyed: criticizing bad movies, criticizing good movies, mocking people’s poor fashion choices, and harping on grammatical errors. Criticism is the way to go, in my opinion. And as per that, my opinion is all that matters. See how fabulously that works out?

However, lately I’ve hit a bit of a problem in musical criticism. Because, as we see above, I love to mock other people’s choices. But in the arena of music, I has no room to talk whatsoever. I tend to listen to almost anything, or so it would seem. My musical tastes run so varied that eclectic doesn’t even cover it. I think that owning CDs by: Britney Spears, Dashboard Confessional, DMX, Yo Yo Ma, and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs should qualify me for some sort of federal grant for people who can’t make up their minds.

Because it becomes very difficult to answer any questions concerning musical tastes. Not only can I not give a reasonable answer as to what I like most, this puts me in no position to judge other people’s choices.

How can I tell someone that country music is the work of Satan when I’ll listen to Nickel Creek any time of the day? That popular music is consumer driven, well orchestrated corporate marketing ploys when I harbor a secret girl crush on Hilary Duff? That Clay Aiken sucks when…nevermind, Clay Aiken obviously sucks. But the point remains!

While I do love a good dose of hypocriticality now and again (like the new word I invented?) there seems to be something ugly about this sort of musical snobbery.

Which is very strange, since I tend to dress only slightly better than your average vagrant outside Taco Cabana, yet feel no compunction for slagging someone for wearing one of those damn trucker hats. And I can’t write a coherent sentence to save my life (see: every entry on this website) but I’ll cover anything you’ve ever written with half legible comments and slashes in red ink.

So just to summarize, I would relish being a book editor because of my inherent love of breaking down someone else’s work based on my own tastes, but would balk at being a music critic because I feel my lack of taste would disqualify me.

Sometimes, I read over these things I write and I wonder: “this guy graduates college in less than two months?” Ah, the mysteries of life.

The Depths Of My Stupidity

This is the entry that finally answers the age-old question, “exactly how stupid am I?” (With the answer “Very, very, very stupid.” (Sorry if you were hoping for some suspense on the result.))

So, Thursday I was getting ready for class, right? I’m up much earlier than usual, since I have to go get my advisor’s signature and turn in my degree plan (which I totally got done. Am now a real life almost-graduate.). This phases me not, or so I think.

Alert and ready for the day, I put my left shoe on, go for the right one. Strangely, I can’t get my foot in. There’s something impeding the process. After careful consideration and examination, I realize that the fancy gel insole has ripped on top and is sticking to my sock, foiling my attempts to properly apply the shoe.

Brilliant strategist that I am, I come up with the most direct solution: remove the offending insole. Ha! Problem solved, now on with the day. Right? Yeah, no. I missed a very important step here in the process. Removing just the offending insole is not the way to go, you need to get rid of them both. Because if you don’t then you start walking really weirdly.

But did I do this? No, of course not. Unthinking, I go about my business of the day, oblivious to the world. First, I start noticing that I seem to be limping. “That’s weird,” I think to myself. “I must have hurt myself yesterday in Badminton. Oh well.” And continue on with my day, never once thinking about my insole adventure.

Then I began listing to the right whenever I walked. Very noticeably, apparently, since 3 people asked me if I was okay. I was very manly in my response: “Oh, it’s nothing, just a sports injury,” I would say, very nonchalantly. Then I would run into something. Usually a wall, one time a bike rack.

This continues for the entire day and I am mystified as to what the deal is. I don’t feel sore, yet I’m obviously limping. What is going on? Did I pull something, is something numb? I start getting more worried as I’m walking back from work and totally run into a tree that I tried to walk around.

I get back to the room. Go to take off my shoes. As I do, I look down under my desk. There lies the offending insole. Slowly the gears turn, the hamster starts to running, the light begins to dawn…and…oh. That’s why I’ve been a walking disaster zone today. Well then. I suppose it’s good that I still remembered to breathe all day today.

I'm Better Indoors

Sometimes in life, it’s better just to stay in your room. For me, “sometimes” means always. When I go outside, bad things tend to happen. Rarely do embarrassing, painful, or…um… horribly embarrassing things go on when I’m in my room. Despite this knowledge, I went out on three separate occasions on this, my weekend of total rest. Each of these were undertaken for some sort of dire need, either food or project meetings, so the risk was calculated to be worth it.

Sadly, the calculation was mistaken.

The first trip was fine. Nothing horrible happened, save my lip getting stuck to a delicious Rainbow Pop™ that I got from the cafeteria. The pain was worth it, however, as Rainbow Pops™ are one of those things that I love so much that they get their own special allowances for pain.

Emboldened by this successful outing, I made a second trip for food the next day. Around 1:30 in the afternoon on Saturday, I woke up and was hungry. I decided that food would be mine, but didn’t really feel like working for it. So I wander over to Blimpie for a little sandwich action. As I’m coming back, I see a large group of people wandering in my direction. Apparently it is one of those high school recruiting days, as there are hordes of little-ish teenagers and their parents descending on Hughes-Trigg.

Have I mentioned that I hate all children? Because, sadly enough, I do. But teenagers hold a special place in my heart. And that special place is full of even more hate. There are numerous reasons for this. One in particular being what happened during this adventure.

So, I’m headed back to my room, minding my own business. There approaches a small family unit of a mom, dad, and son who seem to be having some sort of argument. I don’t get much of it, but I get the gist. Allow me to recreate:

MOM: (shocked about something) Jeremy! You need to be more respectful. This is a Christian university. They won’t put up with that sort of thing.

JEREMY(one assumes): What-eva, Mom! Look at that guy (points at me)! He is obviously hung-over! And it’s 2:00 in the afternoon! No one cares! Christian university, my ass.

MOM: JEREMY!

Now yes, I was still in my pajamas. And yes, my hair was uncombed and pointing in 5000 directions. And yes, I was unshaven, wearing sandals, glasses askew, and looking down toward the ground with an annoyed expression while rubbing my forehead.

But that does not mean I am hung-over! I am just very lazy. Damn high school kids, trying to give me a bad name. You’ll know when I’m hung-over, by God!

Um, yeah. So that’s it. Actually, on the third time I went out, I fell down very comically in a big pile of leaves outside the engineering school. But really, my exploits of falling down are just getting pretty ludicrous, so we’ll skip that part. Suffice it to say, I should never go outdoors. Ever. We’ll see how that goes.

Madness

“God, I hate that Todd kid soooo much. Please make him make this free-throw or smite him from the face of the Earth. Amen.”

And with that, so begins my descent into March Madness that always hits around this time of year. I spend three days agonizing over selections and then use the next week and a half to question my sanity at the time of picking.

Because, seriously, why did I pick Nevada? I hate Nevada. And I especially hate that Todd kid from Nevada. And yet, I am suddenly forced to stand there and request intercession from God for him. Insanity, right?

Oh! And Texas? What on Earth was I thinking? You never go with Texas! Choking is part of their genetic makeup, no matter what the sport. Everyone knows this. My grandmother who hasn’t been to a sporting event in 42 years knows this. And yet there they sit in my Elite 8. Saints preserve us, my brain is missing.

But I went a very different way this year, in hopes that I could remove some stress from my life. 1) Quit picking Arizona to win it all. You’ll just end up crying and gnashing your teeth in the end. 2) Don’t vote against a team just because you hate one of the players (That one didn’t turn out to be such a good idea, as we see above). 3) Don’t vote for a team just because you think one of the players is cute (although that was an excellent strategy last year).

Alas, these aids did not seem to work, as it’s only the first day and I’m already all discombobulated about the whole thing. Case in point: At the current moment, DePaul is trying to give me a second ulcer by not giving Diener the ball and missing 10 straight free throws. Stop it DePaul, right now. Don’t make me go get God.

But it’s still a great time of year. So much drama, tension and ridiculous color commentary from the sportscasters. That guy totally just said “That’s some nice backdoor action right there.” You can’t make that shit up.

This year there is seemingly much less pressure, since the only pool I’m in is the one for our hall and the entry fee was just one canned good. Not that it really matters, I’m so easily excitable that I’d probably end up throwing things at the TV even if there was no pool. And I really want that DVD player that is the grand prize. Eh, maybe getting the blood up is good for my metabolism. I am much hungrier than usual.

So as the week goes on, think positive thoughts about: Texas not choking (haha), Wisconsin somehow beating a bunch of people (seriously, insanity must run in my family...oh yeah), and Kentucky triumphing over all. Sigh. I need more Rolaids. And possibly a CAT scan.

Rights

In the interest of sparking something resembling controversy, today we shall discuss the idea of gay marriage. And by discuss, I mean that I will ramble on at length and you will have no input, other than what you yell at your computer screen. Deal? Sweet. Let’s begin. Easy part first.

My beliefs: Gay marriage should be allowed. (By marriage, I’m talking an institution with full and equal rights for gay couples that straight couples enjoy. That includes the title ‘marriage’. More on that later.) Additionally, I believe there is no reasonable basis on which to deny this right, in the terms of American civil rights. ‘All men created equal’ and all that jazz.

Simple enough, no?

The arguments against: This is the hardest part about this whole issue, which makes it so difficult to refute, or even understand. What are the arguments that people have against allowing gay marriage? Approximately half the country is opposed to the idea of gay marriage, so there must be some sort of obvious reason, right? Centrally, as far as I can tell (and I’ve done a whole lot of reading on this thing) the main thrust of the argument is that marriage is a sacred (religious or otherwise) institution that should not be degraded by allowing anyone other than a man and a woman engage in it. Example:

“Marriage is a religious institution reserved solely for a man and a woman.”

Or

“Marriage is one of the oldest institutions the world over, is the foundation of society, and has always been between a man and a woman.”

Supporting this argument are two other claims that attempt to bolster the correctness of this view of marriage. Namely: 1) that allowing gay people to be marry is a case of giving special rights to certain individuals and 2) that gay marriage is a fundamentally unsound union. Basically, the purpose of marriage is the creation of children and, by extension, children thrive best in two sex, two parent households.

My argument: Let’s start with the most important thing that people are missing, as I see it: The kind of marriage we are talking about here is in no way religious. We are talking about marriage as seen by the state and federal government, along with public institutions. Allowing gay marriage does not mean that churches will be forced to perform gay unions, or recognize them. Catholic, Methodist, Baptist, whatever, their form of marriage will remain as it always has. The only thing that will change is that the public protections and benefits available to straight married couples will be available to gay ones. That is all. These sort of things include: hospital visitation rights, the ability to adopt the children of a spouse, health benefits for spouses, and inheritance rights.

Again: these rights are in no way religiously affiliated by the conventions of the United States. Right now, a 98 year old man who is a devout Satanist and in prison on a 40 year sentence can get married to a 18 year old agnostic girl he met for the first time today. They never have to live in the same house. The only stipulation (and only in some states) is that the marriage must be consummated. And that they be a man and a woman. Those two being met, every right of marriage is theirs. Religion is not a factor. That’s the whole idea behind civil marriage. They occur by the hundreds every day. Allowing gay marriage would simply make these civil marriages available to gay and lesbian couples. That’s it.

“So why not just set up ‘Civil unions’ and be done with it?”

Because that is shit. Seriously. We need a new name and a new set of rules and regulations for the exact thing that straight people have? No. The rules set up for civil marriage work as they should for straight people and will continue to do so for gay ones. There is no difference at all in a straight and a gay marriage. Two people, consenting adults, wish to form a bond publicly to profess their love and their commitment to each other and society as a whole. Two guys, two girls, or one of each, who cares? The result is the same. Love is love. Creating an underclass institution is patronizing and blatantly against the concept of equal rights for all people.

Whew.

After all that, the rest of the arguments sort of roll together. Marriage has not always been a singular institution between a man and a woman. Throughout time there have been variations on the form. Until the 1950’s, some states outlawed biracial marriages because they violated some tenant of marriage. The state of marriage is set up such that it is most beneficial to society.

Gay marriage in no way hurts anyone. There is no evidence at all that gay families are more likely to break up that straight ones, or that children of gay couples end up worse off than those of straight couples. No where is it said that marriage is created or reliant on procreation. Straight couples are free to have or not have as many kids as they want. Marriage is fundamental unit of stability that is supported by the government, not a child producing concept. Gay marriage will only add to this.

Whether or not you agree with homosexuality or not, you can’t deny civil rights to a group because of their lifestyle. You believe we’re all gonna burn in hell, that’s cool. No skin off me, I’ve made my peace. Your beliefs are your deal. But what we’re talking here are rights that should be available to all human beings. The right to live with the person you love and enjoy life with them like any other couple in America. To be able to create a family and have as normal a life as possible. To be able to see your husband in the hospital after an accident.

It seriously hurts to watch these sort of attacks go on. To have the President of the United States stand up and say that gay people should not be given the same rights as straight people because they don’t meet his standard of what a couple should be. Ugh. I don’t know what else exactly to say, except that I hope this Constitutional amendment thing dies in its tracks very, very soon.

What's Up With the Beavers?

I dread writing this, but so many people have asked me this question in the past week alone that I feel that I should have some sort of stock response prepared. Thus, whenever someone asks, I can just be all “That information is on my website. Begone!” And I will wave my hand in a dismissive manner. I imagine it will save me a lot of time while making me seem even more surly than usual. Two birds – One stone.

(For those of you who don’t know what I’m rambling about: I own a ton of beavers and beaver-related paraphernalia. Stuffed animal beavers, beaver-sporting clothes, ceramic beavers, platinum beavers…etc. They’re all over my room, and I reference them everywhere else. See that url up there? Yeah. So…)

Quit stalling and get to the question. What’s up with the beavers?

It all started when I was but a wee lad in high school, so idealistic and much more of a nerd than I am today. (Quiet you, I make the jokes around here.). I was bored in band practice one day (see? High school band? Very nerdy. More so than…college band…ne’ermind, just leave me be) and was randomly illustrating my music with little cartoons acting out the titles. One such cartoon was of a goofy boy beaver giving a girl beaver a valentine. Who knows why?

It was badly illustrated (I am a horrible artist. I have professional confirmation of that fact. But that’s really a story for another time) but it was vaguely cute, in a “look, some unskilled four-year-old drew a picture” sort of way, and my clarinet partner-in-crime said I should draw more of them for all the music. (Yeah, I played the clarinet in high school too. Back off, we’ve already gone over the nerd part. Y’all just don’t understand my pain.)

Thus, my love/hate relationship with the beaver began. All through high school I drew a series of beavers in random jobs, wacky scenarios and the like. My friends accepted the growing horror with the good humor that inherently comes with being able to tolerate me. Life was good, if strange. Then, my mom bought me a stuffed beaver for my birthday, and that was the beginning of my descent into madness.

Because he was just so cute. I had to have more. And then I did have more. And they were still cute. Life was even better. But slowly, the beavers started taking over. They were everywhere. In the car. On my bed, covering my shelves. On my notes, in my music. And soon other people knew and started supporting my weird addiction. Because finding a beaver related object is something of a minor rarity, when someone I knew saw one they’d pick it up for me. Suddenly, there’s yet another brand new testament to the strangeness that is me.

Soon, people began to see it as less cute and more creepy. “You’re not from Canada, are you?” they’d ask, all suspiciously. And the coincidental double entendre that could be derived out of the moniker “beaverguy” started to heavily affect my life. (It’s never a good idea to send your college applications out with your email address as beaverguy21@hotmail.com. It’s just asking for embarrassing questions.)

And so forth, for the last six years or so of my life. As I sit here right now, I have 3 beavers on my desk, have an IM name that suspiciously sounds like I have a preference for gnawing on wood, and am wearing a fabulous shirt with a beaver who says “Dam,” in an ever-so-clever pun.

Often times I wonder how it all got so out of hand, but I still think they’re very cute. And as it is, beavers can be seen as a sort of metaphor for living a good life: Always be industrious, never let obstacles stand in your way, eat a lot of fiber, if life gives you trees - make dams, etc.

So to recap: I collect beavers. They control my life and bring up strange questions, but I do it anyway because old habits die hard and I’m drawn to them.

….

Seriously, this whole column-thing is really making me out to be a complete wacko. Eh, embrace the madness, I always say.

Oscars and the Geek Inside

I love the Oscars. I don’t care if it fills a thousand stereotypes, I love it all: the prognostication, the political intrigue, the horrible fashion, the overwrought, all-about-me celebrity limelight, and the bad jokes. It fills me with a special, ridiculous feeling of happiness to watch over-hyped fame-whores wander around a red carpet in outfits that cost more than my college tuition and then go on to battle it out for tiny gold statuettes.

On an entirely different note, I am a huge geek. Huge isn’t even a strong enough word, really. I have seen every Star Wars movie at least 4 times. I down science fiction books like most people down Coke. If hard pressed, I’d probably admit to liking books more than people. Not only that, I am a computer programmer in the classic sense, complete with the glasses, the bad hair (and skin), along with the inability to function socially. I’d totally own pocket protectors if there was still a market for that sort of thing.

Do these two admissions really have anything in common? Besides exposing some of the more painful sides of my personality to the general internet-reading public, no, of course not. But for the purposes of moving this column along, indulge me for a bit. Because this year the Oscars could have easily been renamed “Praise be to The Lord of the Rings” without changing the content of the ceremony in any significant way.

And The Lord of the Rings? Is right up there on the geek scale. Really, it has its own special level on the scale that transcends normal geekiness to a form of über-geekiness so powerful that it can actually form a vacuum of anti-coolness for miles around. When popular people feel a cold breeze and shudder for no apparent reason, it’s really because they passed a hardcore Tolkien fan.

Luckily for my sanity and the sake of all the cool people around me, I am on the relatively low end of the über-scale. I still read the LotR books at least once a year, but I have never endeavored to learn any of the languages. I never wrote any of the really bad mass-produced fan fiction on Middle Earth, but I have read a lot of it. (Really, a 4 on the scale: intensely geeky, may cause temporary ostracism from one’s peers, but never becomes a long term destructive force. Mating is still possible, although very rare.)

But today the world (and by ‘the world,’ I mean ‘The Academy of Motion Pictures, Whatnot and Somesuch”) joined me in the high levels of geekitude and gave 11 awards to the LotR film series, winning everything it was nominated for. And it even won for things that it had absolutely no right to. Film Editing? It was over three hours long and ended at least 6 times. Best Song? Annie Lennox creeps me out in a very special way and I’m just astounded that people don’t flee from her at every available opportunity (Although I really liked the LotR entry last year for best song, so I can forgive this one, kind of.) (No, scratch that, Annie Lennox is too terrible.)

In any case, I am way too into the LotR movie series and associated industries. And apparently so is the upper-class of Hollywood. So I had a nice night, seeing all the people from the DVD documentaries give their little speeches with their fresh-won gold statuettes of victory. Not that I watched the acceptance speeches. Those things always make me uncomfortable so I have to leave the room. There’s just something so strange and off-putting about thanking all these people while people pretend to be interested.

Oh, right. Topic. Yay Oscars. Yay, Lord of the Rings. Yay, I am a big geek. And apparently very, very gay. Hmm. I probably should have thought this thing out a bit before I sat down to write.