Eyes to See V

Last Friday I managed to get out to the theatres(!) and caught V for Vendetta. Oh happy day! This is a film I've been anticipating for months. Hugo Weaving - Natalie Portman - 1984'esque pulp violence - Wachowski's back to from: I'm so freakin' there, man. And for all of the anticipation and excitment of such a "dangerous" film - it lived up to all the hype.

What an amazing film. V for Vendatta is a great film. Yet more than that, it is such a huge, beautiful slap in the face to religious politics. V is filled with stunning and shocking visuals that would truly be ruined in part if I mentioned them here. These are perhaps not unexpected visuals - but to attempt to describe them in words so poor as my own would truly undercut anyone's first experience with the message of V.

And oh!, what a great message V gives us. A message of violence and peace, passivity and unrest, hope and despair.

I don't think it's much of a shocker that where Guy Fawkes failed V did not. However, I watched the screen, mouth agape and tears streaming down my face as the finale ripped through the celluloid. A friend, if he gets over to Cambridge for the summer, will ask his classmates what they thought of that awesome end of V. I'd love to know myself. As I think about it, I probably would not be as shocked if the White House or the like were similarly...metaphored, as it were. Interesting, eh?

I was thrilled with the content of V. Vendetta could have gone several ways in showcasing great "evils" that the totalitarian regime rallied and coalesced itself against. They could have gone for religion (anti-Muslim) or sex (anti-gay) - and of course the politics thereof. I think it's fantastic that they went with the sex route - because of course I am such a whore for sex. Not to say they left religion alone - Vendetta got in a nice jab when Muslim terrorists were executed for unleashing St. Mary's virus. Furthermore, through the partial focus on sexuality, the film explored the evils of patriarchy and the counterbalancing power and empathy of women. Yet in the exploration of women as equally powerful creatures, men were not ignored. For that I am very thankful. In rejecting one extreme we can so easily (and sometimes rightly) swing to the other extreme. Pleased am I that while exploring extremes, V for Vendetta did not settle just on the far end of the spectrum.

I loved this film.

I think I understand the hatred of George W. Bush now. Obviously there are petty and childish facets of humanity inspiring such hatred, yet I will lean towards the ideal and go from there. Those who hate our President see the promise of something evil, if not evil itself. That V can never be considered a terrorist (by me, at least) is defined in that he acted against evil, abject evil. Let me clarify, I use evil in the sense that disagreeing with the following phrase is evil: "People should not be afraid of their government, the government should be afraid of its people." (Of course Bush says he wages war against those who are evil. Yet what happens when evil fights evil? For while I do not deny that those terrorists dance happily upon the path of life that will end with hot fire pokers shoved up their collective asses, what good is it when evil fights evil? Since childhood we've been taught never to fight fire with fire. Aren't we doing that now? Isn't that why we're in this quagmire [giggidty, giggidty, go!] in Iraq?) Whether Bush is evil or not, many see a promise of evil - which is enough for some to fight against him. Bush is not afraid of the American people and the power they can wield, that much is clear - and personally has become stunningly clear to me in the most recent past.

V for Vendetta has the most intelligent counter to Bush I've ever seen. Yet it goes further that Bush, which defines the film's longevity. V is also a counter against religious politics.

God wove an amazing tapestry of theology that defines itself not only within the confines of the church but in the world. In the Old Testament God, more or less, fought a holy war against the world. In the New Testament, however, Christ rejected that holy war (for His people) with: "Give unto Caesar what is Caesar's, and unto God what is God's." I see that as an establishment of the strictest distinction of a separation of the Church from the World. And it is not surprising that such a distinction is made clear, for within the New Testament a new Covenant is created in which the world ceases to be the end prize for the faithful. As a Christian, I view attempting to be holy in the tenants of Christianity or any religion as a state, as a world in any way is a gross neglect of our responsibility to society. I don't mean to say that if there is a group of nice Christians/Muslims/ect. who want to establish a small religious state unto themselves, they can't. Of course they can. It is the people who decide how they shall be ruled - if they collectively want religion, then let them have it. Yet given our world, our lives are defined by diversity. Because that diversity lives under the on-going experiment of democracy where every voice has the choice to make itself heard, no one religion can exert authority over politics - at least not in America. God may rule His people but He does not rule society. I believe He more or less expressed that in the transition from the Old Testament to the New. The New Testament is a testament (haha!) of sorts to what Christianity is and becomes - a religion not defined, as it once was, by society (Gentiles now instead of Jews - not instead of, but). We can take that to mean, I think, that the Gentiles are everyone. And the inherent logic of everyone is that they aren't in one place. They are everywhere, scattered - here, there, and nowhere.

I am lead then to this question: Why are Christians banding together to fight the world?

Let me rephrase, for often the world does need to be fought. Some Christians, however, seem to be circling the wagons, and have forever been circling the wagons, in order to fight the oncoming horde of pagans/atheists/Muslims/ect from taking over the world. Does not the fallacity of the argument jump right out at you? These so-called Christians seek to fight the world in order to preserve the world - or convert it. As a Christian, I declare quite honestly that I live in a delicious paradox - I am both a part of this world and not. I believe I have something far greater to live for than this world. In the meantime, I get to enjoy the hell out of this world and enjoy all that God gave life to.

And I do so enjoy this world.

Biblical Manhood

Imagine this conversation between a man and a woman as to the reasoning behind male leadership -
Man: "But you don't have a penis!"
Woman: "Well...right. I don't have a..."
Man: "Hah! Hah hah! I win!!"

The vaulted Sister (sister of the girl) recently sent me an article having to do with Biblical Manhood. Sounds dirty, doesn't it? Unfortunately there was nothing dirty about the article. No, it detailed the adventures of some dude, Mark Chanski, in quite possibly the worst-titled book in the world, Manly Dominion: In a Passive-Purple-Four-Ball World. Fun stuff, eh? This has nothing to do with an attempt to review the book. Rather, I want to look at some specific quotes from the book that not caught my eye but were also pointed out to me by the sister. In a religion that calls for male authority yet not male domination in a world in which authority is almost tantamont to domination, the issue of male authority is a fine line to walk.

So, clearly, I relish any opportunity to talk about exactly what authority is. Especially in today's society, or simply in my relationship, where authority may take on its true definition but also a delightfully perverted definition which demands an understanding of the nature of equality, duality, and difference. Of course, I like to think that the true defintion of authority is actually that perverted.

But. that's. just. me.

Let's start with what I agree with the cat on. The article's author writes: "In the opening chapters, Chanski...analyzes the unbiblical mindset into which many Christian men have fallen. Many men have embraced the pathetic victim mentality that so thoroughly pervades our modern-day...[and in so doing, they have abdicated their roles as husbands, fathers...and as just plain men]."

I don't believe it's astounding to say that we live in an age of victimhood. Or, rather, we live in an age of realized victimhood. From the dawn of dirty old men there have always been victims. Yet as we begin to shed more and more light into the crevices of our society, we begin to realize more of who and what we are in terms of autonomous individuals. Gone, going, are the days of en masse without the choice of joining the mass. As individualism becomes more important, so too do the issues that individual deals with. Yet the striking realization of this age of self-actualized victimhood is that victims refuse to move past their victimhood. I speak not, surely, of victims who have been truly violated. (In one way or another we must all use absolute definitions, even if it is the absence of the absolute. So, by truly violated I hope you know what I mean.) This phrase seems to be our world's mantra: "I deserve (blank), yet because of (blank) I'm not getting (blank) and so I hate (blank), the bleepity bleepity bleep bleep." [All blanks are not held equal.] Obsessing over victimhood has crippled or threatens to cripple what we are capable of. I fully agree with this Chanski fellow about that.

Yet Chanski seems to feel that this victim mentality is only a threat to men. Yeah it's a threat to men. But it's also a threat to women. Our culture is painting itself in a the corner of mediocrity with the paint brush of unjustified expectations (I think I just gave myself a literary orgasm). As the fabulous Geena Davis said in "A Long Kiss Goodnight" - "Life is pain!" [Her daughter in the film actually repeated the line, but I've repressed the memory...or tried to, damn't!] It's life. So deal with it. And hopefully there are enough of those who love you to help you deal with that thing called life. 'Cause it sucks otherwise.

Chanski continues, or the article continues and Chanksi follows, with some insight into what his theological argument will be in the most horrifically titled book ever. Chanski wants us Christian men to "exercise dominion over creation." Indeed, he goes on to say that "Man is to aggressively dominate his environment, instead of allowing his environment to dominate him."

The worst titler (titleist?) of a book justifies this view with an amazing statment:
"In the Lord Jesus Christ, the Christian finds his ultimate model for subduing and ruling over the opposing circumstances of our sin cursed world."

Christ subdued and ruled over the opposing circumstances in our sin cursed world? Why, yes, I do believe He did. But not quite in the way that Mr. Chanski believes. Christ, I assert humbly, rules absolutely. Yet Christ, the sneaky devil, went about manifesting that absolute rule in a very tricksy way. Christ let the Romans and the Jews subdue Him - God, of all people! - in order to achieve a facet of that absolute rule. It was because Christ let Himself be taken that we have a path of salvation - if you believe that kind of crazy shit. In asserting how Christ subdued and ruled those who opposed Him, I don't think that Chanski is sending quite the message he wants to. You see, the message I take from Christ's Passion is a fundamental reliance upon Faith and submission and not, as I think Chanski wants to have it, the message of "rock with your cock out" - if you'll excuse the vulgarity.

(Domination, leaves a bad taste in your mouth, eh? Yet dominion, not so much. Isn't it incredible how two words with the same root and connected meanings have diversive connotated meanings?)

Chanski continues with "We have been commissioned by God to go out and aggressively assert ourselves as masters over every realm of our lives." He defends such an assertion by declaring that Jesus Christ "provides the ultimate example of one who exercises manly dominion to the nth degree in his life and atoning death." I believe the author wants to intimate that Christ was dominating in His dominion.

Not quite.

Don't get me wrong, Christ was dominating - He is God, He couldn't really not be. Yet the New Testament paints a delightfully complicated picture of how Christ existed in His dominion. Christ questioned His Father and weeped tears of blood as His crucifixion loomed. Funnily enough, I don't quite equate that with domination. Rather, I see Christ's actions as an acceptance of given dominion - rife with metaphors of submission, service, and, yes, authority. In his attempt to paint a simple by-the-numbers "Grow Balls" scheme, Chanski paints an gross picture of what it truly means to be a Christian man (even simply Christian) by following Christ. We are told to have and hold dominion over creation, yet there is only one who dominates. He's God. And He is rather territorial.

Ultimately Chanski advocates some good things (through an article) in a poor, foolish way. Especially in this our world, we must define authority and dominion with words that are equal and do not work in opposition: service, submission, and equality.

Otherwise, when you dumb down Christianity the world in which we live results and words like authority and domination are evil.

I think we've had enough of that. Yeah?


An interesting link: http://www.cbmw.org/rbmw/rbmw.pdf

Throwback: Mark Price

Perusing SI.com, I came across an interesting Q&A with Mark Price, the once hero for the Cleveland Cavaliers, who is now coaching basketball in Australia - of all places.

It's a fun a read and brought back a lot of sketchy memories from that era of basketball.

Price has some great thoughts about Lebron James, Jordan's "The Shot," and, of course, playing 36 holes and scoring 40 points in one day.

What the Hell Happened Last Night?

What follows will be a rant in the vein of sport.

Last night: LSU defeated Duke handily. Gonzaga shot itself in the head and let UCLA run rampant all over their clenched asses. Texas beat West Virginia. I could care less about the Texas/WVU match. However, the previous two games inspire my mouth...or fingers in this case.

The Duke loss does not surprise me. The way the team teetered off towards the end of the season, espcially their horrifying loss to Chapel Hill, almost made them a lock for "great team on paper with no ability to play the big game." Coach K for Duke said it best when he declared that they were never a dominant team. LSU's incredible defense certainly showed that. It's a sad note for JJ Redick (Duke shooting star) to end his career with such a pathetic game but perhaps deserved just to assure that he doesn't get too much praise.

Now, after dissing one scoring champion I will now castigate the March Madness gods for letting Adam Morrison and his Bull Dogs crumble down the stretch.

I was actually having myself quite a nice night of basketball until NBC decided to air the Texas/WVU game instead of Gonzaga's contest with UCLA. I have utterly no interest in the Longhorns (Texas) and after seeing a near 17 point lead taken by Gonzaga with almost no time left in the first half, I decided to retire and snuggle into sleep with my bear and cat.

I woke up 6 hours later to watch Adam Morrison's heartbreak on the court.

I exclaimed: "What the hell happened last night?"

And then I saw Gonzaga with a comfortable enough lead as they entered the 3 minute mark begin to toss the ball around in order to wind down the clock. Suddenly, these great players began to play footsy with the ball.

You don't possess the ball like a limp wristed Dick Cheney against an opponent in March Madness who is only 5 points behind you!

And you don't do that incredibly stupid thing for the simple reason that your opponent, remember in MARCH MADNESS, will just go CRAZY on your ass the second you let up.

Crazy is exactly how UCLA began to play. They pushed hard, stole hard, and scored hard. Gonzaga was rocked and humiliated. A team can't jump for pussy to frenetic in 10 seconds, nomatter how much inspiration there might be.

And Adam Morrison was left in tears, prone on the court.

That is great basketball, but an incredible shame for such a fantastic team.

A fantastic team who didn't have the balls to finish the game. They deserved to lose...just like Winthrop.

Now I Know How to Spell

Bullet.

BULLET.

Ultimately I knew I was thinking about Bullitt, but I just coudln't be sure.

I suppose if I misspell a thing, it's good to at least be channeling Steve McQueen. Don't you think?

Nonpoint

Bullet with a Name

What a great, hard song.

Kinda poppy though, don't you think?

Might I Be?

I am exuberant with pleasure. I just received word that I've been accepted into the UNC Economics PhD program with a fabulous stipend offer for 5 years (encouraging that they actually set a limit on how much time you have).

*coughs*...excuse me....YIPPEE!

Temper that ridiculous show of emotion with if I get a comparable offer from Virginia.

I'm rather stunned, I must say.

I Really Did Go to Italy

Considering how much I procrastinate (and how effective I am in that procrastination), let me bite the bullit and relate the details of my travels to see the girl in Italy. Is that even how you spell 'bullit'? I think so and I might even bet my first born on it, but I'm not 100% confident. Is it bullet? That looks, at the least, more aesthetically pleasing.

The flight: Landing in Rome was the first time I've experienced a plane actually backspinning while it landed. Admittedly the tarmac was wet, but hot damn, spinning out like that was surreal. After I kissed the unmoving ground I set myself up to meet Jon who was flying in from Germany. It took me about 20 minutes to realize that since he was flying within the EU and I from the US we would arrive in different terminals. So I trundled off, caught his eye, embraced and preceded to buy 4 tickets to Perugia. I really, really wanted to get to the girl as quickly as I could. What? An extra ticket doesn't make the train go faster? Well sod a wet hairy dog.

The arrival: Relief, I had the girl in my arms. Precious. We talked, holy hell did we talk. In point of fact, the only disturbance to our talking was the fact that the girl still had school to deal with. Big kink, as it were.

Cinque Terre: Connecting in Florence, we arrived in Manarola (the second of the 5 coastal towns) with no passports and money/sweet, beautiful American faces that no Italian could refuse. We somehow (randomly, opportunistically) found an apartment that overlooked the sea (truly, though the view was...narrowed, as it were). We wandered around Manarola, Jon scoped out where he would propose to his girl, and I spotted the most disturbing dog in the world.

That first night we had a fantastic meal at the restraunt just opposite our wee apartment, Jon proposed, and afterwards we tried the Grappa he bought earlier.

From Wikipedia: Grappa, also known as Grappa Wine, is an Italian grape-based spirit of between 40% and 50% alcohol by volume (80 to 100 proof). It is made from the distillation of the residue of grapes (including the stems and seeds) that were pressed for the winemaking process. It was originally made to prevent wastage by using the leftovers at the end of the wine season.

Jet fuel. Fucking jet fuel.

Our second day in Cinque Terre saw us walking to Corniglia (the third town) along a cliffish type path that provided beautiful views of Manarola behind and Corniglia before. The girls managed to disappear for half an hour up the cliff (alone only because Jon and I could literally not fit through the paths they chose). The girl claims she found the lost city of Atlantis. The other girl protests that it was simply a collection of squatter houses. I believe the girl, who wouldn't? Atlantis is a hell of a lot more exciting than squatting (which Italy makes everyone do a lot of).

We then took a train to Vernazza where I took a fabulous video on the hour of the chiming church bells. I truly wish I would share the sound. From there, we trained to Monterosso where we skipped rocks, the ocean attacked me, and we had a rather expensive "decent" meal. Good wine though. We took the train back to Manarola, or so we thought! We wound up first in Riomaggiore (the first town), back to Monterosso, and then finally caught the right train to Manarola. The adventure took us about 2 hours and included meeting a very friendly Italian man who assured us that the Italian train system shows mercy to none - managing to even screw with John Travolta's time table. (and Italians loooooooooooooove John Travolta.)

Back in Perugia: The next 4 and a half days was a collection of midterms for the girls, Harry Potter, meeting the girl's old roommates, walking all over Perugia, and, ironically, spending little time with the girl. Perugia is a lovely city, beautiful even for its intimacy. There was a great pottery market on Tuesday where I got my mother a cool oil vase. Strangely enough I didn't get her the accompanying vinegar vase - my mind truly does amble along strangly. Wednesday night we attacked a fabulous wine shoppe and proceeded to attempt to drink Italy of all its wine. We suceeded not but I found a fabulous red wine and a great white wine (great if you never eat octupus with it, that is). After wresting my mouth from the teat of Italy's Bacchus, I tried to help Jon to finish off the bottle of Grappa. We tried mixing it with coke (which he liked) and milk (which I "liked"), but could only take off about an inch and a half of it. I do believe, after the girl and i walked one of her roommates home, that I succumbed to an artificial fever created by a lack of water and a fascinating combination of spirits. Nothing worrisome, but it was a mighty mighty strange experience. Needless to say, I slept in the following day. The girl and I had a nice talk when she got home and I then helped her "study" for her last final. I'm such a great study buddy (likely a much better one when I'm not still blitzed, eh?).

The girl left and I commenced to packing as it was my last day. Jon and his packed as well for they (and the girl) were off to Venice to meet some friends and rejoice in the engagement. The girl eventually came home and we eventually left.

The night that followed is priceless for how incredibly tragic it was.

I won't go into the details because it's just too damn good of a story not to tell in person. However, a few things resulted because of the events of my last night in Perugia which I simply must share:

1. My bags and I are now intimately acquainted with the streets of Perugia.
2. My ideas, though often never listened are ultimately always followed.
3. Champagne on a train is a fantastic experience that you should not pass up.
4. However, losing your glasses down the shitter on a train is one experience that you must endeavor never to embrace.

Whose?

Hers.

Reiterating My Love

I love clapping.

I think it's a fantastic inclusion in any type of music, especially the music of Matchbook Romance whose single "Monsters" I am listening to at this very moment. What is a more elemental instrument than two hands brought together with speed and rythm? There are feet, and those are fun, don't get me wrong. But feet really can't get into the many levels of emotion that hands can by virtue of the varying degrees of impact. Feet are only good for stomping.

And I love to stomp.

But claps are so much more versatile.

Applause. Accompaniment to a great spiritual, black or otherwise. And a rousing percussive to go along with an incredible song that might be decidely less spiritual than...say...George Michael.

Getting into the music. Kind of like Three 6 Mafia winning for best song at the Grammy...refreshing, so bloody refreshing.

Italy In Pictures: So not Happening

Blogger is getting in my craw. I had hopes of putting about 80 pictures in this post but since I cannot get beyond 2 without Blogger timing out on me, I must relent to Yahoo to share m'pictures. I'm a stalwart fellow, I can manage.

Shall write all about my glorious adventures when my thumb is no longer fully inserted.

Just so Bloody Typical

You scored as Journalism. You are an aspiring journalist, and you should major in journalism! Like me, you are passionate about writing and expressing yourself, and you want the world to understand your beliefs through writing.

English		92%
Journalism		92%
Psychology		83%
Theater		83%
Philosophy		75%
Mathematics		75%
Sociology		75%
Engineering		75%
Dance		67%
Anthropology		67%
Art		67%
Biology		58%
Chemistry		50%
Linguistics		50%

What is your Perfect Major? (PLEASE RATE ME!!<3)
created with QuizFarm.com

I, I Return

It is an incredibly surreal experience being back in the States. Actually, that itself is not so strange. The surreal nature of things rests in the understanding that the girl continues on without me. You see, I saw and, in a way, lived with the girl for a mere 5 days. And now I am away from that, yet she remains. It has been this way for the past 6 months and will continue for the next month and one half. 'tis as simple as saying, "I was with her and now I am not."

Sadness. Happiness. Impatience.

I miss her.

*waits for the collective "awwwwwwwww"*

I will post massive amounts of pictures forthwith. And I do promise at least one hell of a story. I have many, but this one in particular is...special.

I have a test tomorrow that will determine my graduation GPA. I still have not heard from Virginia, Vanderbilt, and UNC. My mother is now in England with my father for some brief frivolity. The girl is killing me with her lack of presence. And I have a cold.

I have a freakin' cold.

Italy Awaits, Again

Wahoooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Italy Awaits

I have one class to get through and then four and a half hours to wait before my flight leaves.

My love to everyone. I will come back with many pictures and many stories to share with y'all.

ta ta for now, my friends.

Do Not Disappoint

X1 and X2 singlehandedly revived the super hero/comic book movie (with some help from Blade, of course). They are good movies, with X2 bordering on greatness. Bryan Singer (the director of both) was a savior to geeks all over the world. However, in the midst of wrangling for X3 he left for Superman. Not a bad mistress, eh?

However, while Superman might be reborn, there are genuine fears that Superman will replace the X-Men instead of standing beside them. There was despair, then hope with Matthew Vaughn, and then despair again. Brett Ratner? What, was he going to replace Alan Cuming with a wise-cracking, bamfing Chris Tucker?

But then the teaser trailer came out. And it was cool.

Then the awful promotional pictures came.

And now the X3 Trailer.

I honestly could not imagine anything cooler. My jaw was agape for nearly 3 minutes. I implore you Ratner, do not disappoint me.

Please?!

Delaware Loves It Some Bedingfield

I have great tidings of reasonable spiffiness.

First, UNC-G made its courtship official. Now I must set in motion the hope of in-state tuition. It would appear to be a fruitless endeavor, but with no stone left unturned I won't then kick myself in the ass too much.

Second, honestly, Deleware must love Natasha Bedingfield - for I have been accepted into their Economics Doctorate program. Huzzah? Huzzah.

Huzzah for two reasons. The first is the inherent coolness of being accepted into their program, even if it is not nationally ranked. The second is Delaware's obvious love of dance pop. Bare with me.

You see, I had this grand scheme. I would write my official statement of purpose with no specific University in mind and then tweak like a masochist for every school I applied to. Things were good, things were fine. Until Delaware required three essays. Three.

Three.

This in the midst of my last semester and dealing with...a lot besides school. So, what's a boy to do? What any right-minded fella would do - take his well-crafted and *shivers* glorious paper and gut it into three. I shiver with excitement, because while I was in a state of shock about where to begin, the entire process was like a work of modern art. A piece here, a piece there - a genre here, a genre there. Tragically, I fell in love with my writing at this point. More in love than usual, at least. And when I fall in love, I get...grand. My father often says, ripping off someone much more famous than he of course, if a writer thinks a sentence or phrase is the bee's knees it must be cut. Yet I did not cut. I was not too grand though. For even I can recognize when my amorous intentions with the pen become too much.

As I ended my last of the three essays (the key to each essay was the end, popping and locking was my only hope), I compared myself to a book. It is an old image but one of import. And considering my first essay contained a description of my education as a window unto the world (I know...), I figured that another over-the-top metaphor might not be so out of place. So...my life is a book. And there are pages in it yet to be written on. My last sentence stated my hope of writing upon those pages at Delaware. Cute, eh? I just hope it came across better than I'm sure it did here. Cute my writing is not. I like to think of it as, shall we say, bloody.

So, cute my writing may have been. It may have also been a direct plagarism of Natasha Bedingfield's recent hit "Unwritten" which is a delightful pop song about writing for yourself the pages of your life left to you. It was an incredible shock to hear Bedingfield's song about 2 weeks after I submitted my Delaware app. I suppose it is too much to hope that one of my application readers saw the book metaphor and laughed at my apparent plagarism?

Well, a boy can hope.

Grey's Anatomy: Season 1

My mother became a nurse. Then she was awarded her Masters in Nursing. She then applied to and was accepted into the doctoral of medicine program at Washington University. Then my father swooped in, ringed her, and snuck her away to Pennsylvania. The bastard, though I love him.

My mom is an amazing woman, truly amazing. She defines, in a lot of ways, the kind of woman I want to marry. Someone I can trust implicitly, rely on, and can admire. And of course have hot, hot sex with. But since my mom has nothing to do with that bit...the admirable traits will do just fine. She was accepted into a really good program of medicine and would have become a doctor.

I imagine her being as good a doctor as she is a nurse. And she is a fucking A nurse. Really. I don't believe she is bitter about letting go of the chance to become a doctor. In fact, I know she isn't. But I often wonder what life would have held for her if her husband had followed her instead of the other way around (of course, he couldn't have due to his visa restrictions). Such a rather large "what might have been" and it doesn't bother my mom in the slightest. I still wonder though.

Needless to say (remember: nurse, wanted to become a doctor, program in Washington, and, oh yeah, lived in Seattle), the woman has wanted to see Grey's Anatomy for a while. Actually, I do believe she had no idea it was set in Seattle, but nomatter. She wanted it and we got it. Badda bing, badda boom. Least I can do for erasing 2 years worth of pictures, eh? Yeah, the least...

What a brilliant show. I never got the hoopla surrounding Desperate Houswives, too bitchy for me I suppose. (I'd really like to sit down with that first season at some point and explore why I never sought it out even after watching a few episodes.) But, Mr. Wilely E. Coyote, I get this.

Location and set: Picturesque.

Camera: Smart.

Music: Fab.

Cast: Fabulous.

I was really excited after I saw the first episode because TV has to be damn good (or just full of giggles which, admittedly, a ton of "bad" TV shows are) to draw me in. And Grey's Anatomy did just that. It's smart, deliciously so.

Smart, smart, smart, smart, smart...I just like saying the word smart. Smart, smart, smart. (Classic newspaper cartoon reference. Anyone, anyone?)

To end. Sandra Oh is probably as thin as Ellen Pompeo, the show's star. Yet, the skinniness seems to fit Oh's body type. Pompeo, on the other hand, strikes me as one of those people whose body is almost completely wasted away. Really weirding me out, man. In her scrubs she looks about 10 years old. Now compare how she looks to how Sarah Chalke fills out her scrubs, delightfully un-10 year oldish.

(Great Grey's Anatomy reference in last weeks Scrubs.)

Matchbook Romance

Great pop rock.

And clapping.

Honestly, I can't get enough clapping.

I got an itch for the clap! ...doesn't sound so good, that.

Enjoy the Weather We're In

It almost hit 80 degrees today. Hallelujah, spring comes! As a guy who defines his enjoyment of a day by the percentage of hours he spends barefoot in it, I am giddy with the onset of warmer weather. The heat of the sun is almost like a tongue (anywhere), the more the better. Bring me heat, bring me heat!

I'm just happy about the heat.

Happy happy, joy joy. May the sun love us all the more (says the slight bitter, slight forever sun burt red head).

The First (Unofficial) Acceptance

Two days ago my boss covered my shifts and my professors excused me out of my Monday classes so I could travel to Greensboro, NC. What is in Greensboro that would hold such power over me to give up money and precious (hah!) class time? A prospective Economic graduate program, a veritable cornucopia of simplistic academic delight if you will. The dean of the Economic department at UNC-Greensboro desired my presence after I tantalized him with my application and who was I to deny him me? Especially when I am so greedy for any sign of direction for the coming year and desire a place for myself that exists outside of the places more unknown to me than known. So I ventured forth.

The city: A mini College Park, MD. I think Damion and the girl will know exactly what I mean. A bit run down, a bit ghetto, and promised niceness, just not too near the university.

The University: Greensboro, Damion, might actually have a worse parking situation than College Park. $230 a pop per year for the premium parking spaces. That combined with gas prices likened more to Charlotte than Rock Hill (a consistent 20 to 30 cent difference) has defined my belief that I will be biking to school, if I have to do that much at all. However, despite the nightmarish presence of cars on campus (they have two bloody stop lights!), it's a pretty little ditty. Again I make a comparison Maryland, green and nice without being as spreadout - to the campus' detriment.

And so it was with all of these thoughts that I made the slightly terrifying journey from a 3 story car park to the dean's office. The fellow was incredibly nice with a touch of oddity (a combination of Parkinsons and slight autism, perhaps?). I chatted with him for a wee bit. A common strain of conversation that was defined by this initial discussion was my application to the PhD program. Apparently Greensboro is the only school who distinctly separates their PhD and Masters programs. Schools such as Maryland, Viriginia, ect all have their Masters built in to their PhD programs. Reasonable to assume that Greensboro followed the pack, eh? Sadly not. Though, I like their spunk. Funnily enough, everyone who spoke to me about their hesitancy of throwing me into the PhD work without any Masters background (no shit, homey, I'd have been running away if I knew that) acted as if they might have been insulting me by suggesting I couldn't make the leap. I believe they even went so far as to say that they'd gladly let me in the PhD adventure as long as they could provide me with some prepatory classes. I assured them that in now way was I insulted. I think by the time I left, four hours after my arrival, they finally believed me.

From that initial meeting I attended an interesting microeconomic/literature review/statistics class. It was fun stuff, though I'm glad not to be in the current Masters class. Theere always has to be one smart ass in the class, right? If there isn't, I generally fill the role without everyone hating me because I'm just too fun. And goofy. (I think goofy has a lot to do with people not hating me.) Anyway, this class had 3 of these smart asses. Hopefully you know the type: the loud mouth who takes precious time to say precious little and contests every little thing until they're sure that it wasn't they who were wrong but the professor who was unable to explain correctly. Wow. I have a hard time with one. Three might be the death of me.

After the class and a short meeting with the professor (cool, wiry fellow), I spent an hour and a half talking with 3 masters students and a PhD candidate. I could not have imagined a more natural and informative meeting. All four students expressed utter delight about their program, their professors and their prospects. The three masters students are actually staying past the typical graduation point (the program runs only three semesters) in order to better prepare themselves for applying to other doctoral programs. Really...great. The students sold me on the program as an incredibly structured, whole, applicative Masters education.

Then I met with the Graduate head type person to chat some more. Nice guy, fun personality. Finally I met again with the shaky dean before I left. He essentially told me that he hoped their full court press had worked and in a few weeks I would receive my acceptance and, a few weeks after, that word about my assistanship.

Well, HOT DOG!

1 program loves me, 1 hates me. We shall see how this tete-a-tete progresses.