So, so meta

So last night I'm bowling--yes, bowling, on a bowling team, in a league. One of my teammates is a burly guy with a flattop and a forthright way of speaking. He's making a career out of harassing Donnie, a shy, skinny, scraggly-bearded guy on the opposing team.

It's all I can do not to ask him to say, "Shut the f--- up, Donnie." But I don't, because it would hurt Donnie's feelings. Instead I ask him if he's ever seen The Big Lebowski.

He looks at me like I'm an alien for a minute and then asks, "Would I like it?"

"No," I reply. "No, I don't think so."

We're getting shirts. I want "The Dude" embroidered on mine, but I don't have the guts to ask. Oh well.

Upon further review

Maybe twenty years ago I was assigned, and read, Notes from Underground. Astonishingly, it did nothing for me. Now, as I grab it off my shelf this morning as a distraction from the fifty or more administrative flies I ought to be swatting this morning, I read this:

I was a spiteful official. I was rude and took pleasure in being so. I did not take bribes, you see, so I was bound to find a recompense in that, at least. (A poor jest, but I will not scratch it out. I wrote it thinking it would sound very witty; but now that I have seen myself that I only wanted to show off in a despicable way, I will not scratch it out on purpose!)

When petitioners used to come for information to the table at which I sat, I used to grind my teeth at them, and felt intense enjoyment when I succeeded in making anybody unhappy. I almost did succeed. For the most part they were all timid people -- of course, they were petitioners.

[...]

But do you know, gentlemen, what was the chief point about my spite? Why, the whole point, the real sting of it lay in the fact that continually, even in the moment of the acutest spleen, I was inwardly conscious with shame that I was not only not a spiteful but not even an embittered man, that I was simply scaring sparrows at random and amusing myself by it. I might foam at the mouth, but bring me a doll to play with, give me a cup of tea with sugar in it, and maybe I should be appeased. I might even be genuinely touched, though probably I should grind my teeth at myself after-wards and lie awake at night with shame for months after. That was my way.

And I feel a little less alone in the world. I wonder if I should go back and reread every book I read before turning forty?

Critical Theory

I've been trying to think of something funny and self-deprecating to say to introduce these venerable recordings, but everything comes out like "the most fun I've ever had with two other guys in a bedroom." I mean, it's true, but it's not exactly what I ... oh, the hell with it.

Anyhow, the name of the band was Ivory Tower, and the name of the game was work (and for me, home) avoidance. The name of the beer was Natural Light, and after all these years, that's the only thing I'm ashamed of.

If you listen carefully, you might hear a smug literary allusion ... maybe two!

Critical Theory by Ivory Tower (later the Elmers) circa 1989.

Not exactly political

I direct your attention to this link knowing--knowing, mind you--that no reader of this blog is likely to find it interesting or compelling. But I do. Because, really, that's how I am.

There are many paths to enlightenment

If by "enlightenment" you mean "this blog" ... people get here through some pretty interesting means. Most people who weren't specifically prodded to visit get here by searching "superior drinkability" (why? why? why?) or "marion ravenwood" ...

Last night somebody stopped by from Rush Presbyterian-St. Lukes Medical Center in Chicago after googling "i go first indy"

Seems like there's a story there, doesn't there? Maybe a sad one.

High school football

I like high school football--it's one of those institutions that make me like being a Pennsylvanian, and I guess an American. Of course, it's more fun when you win, as the hometown team did tonight, even though they were playing away. And it's even more more fun when they beat the rivals in the next town over. They suck because they're not us. It all makes sense in the heat of the moment.

For years after I wasn't in band anymore, the sound of a marching band made me nostalgic. Now the sound of a good marching band playing good marching band music gives me pleasure, but bad bands grate upon me like nothing else ... except, I guess, an actual grater. Like if somebody came at my scalp with a slaw grater or something. That would suck.

Tonight, sitting amongst the parents, I actually felt like part of a demographic, if only briefly ... this never happens to me. Usually I feel kind of alien. But today, sitting with other kids' parents, around hundreds of people more or less like me, I felt like one of a crowd of people who were generally decent people who often try to do their best, whatever they're trying to do.

And out of the thousand or more people there, I didn't see one of them--not one--whom I'd want to have as vice president. Huh.

This is nothing like the rabbit movie

Laugh if you want, but this is pretty remarkable.



I think this is pretty damned inspirational if not metaphorical. The most interesting thing to me, though, is that this guy shares a first and last name with my mother's cousin.* We could be related.

My favorite line: "Like I said, it's not done, it's got a bunch of other stuff to be done." Even before the end of the video, I was wondering, what do you do when you've finished something like this (besides stand there and crank it)?




*And as a former small town mayor, my mother could easily be a step away from the vice-presidency, so the significance of this is transparently self-evident.