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What I’m about to say might be the most controversial thing I’ve ever written. I expect to get more hate mail than I did that time when I wrote an article for my college newspaper that proclaimed we should round up the homeless and have them all sent to Mexico (I offended Mexicans, homeless sympathizers, and [somehow] PETA all in one article). This time, my words will result in more than a meeting with the dean and an apology in the next issue. I expect my controversial words to alienate two or three readers–which is significant when your audience is in the single digits (I’m just glad I have a big family). But enough with my rambling: just get to it.
I hate Dr. Seuss.
Duck. Dodge. Shield face from tomatoes and cinder blocks.
Yes, it’s true–I hate Dr. Seuss. I’m not sure if that makes me un-American (although, I’m pretty sure he was a Nazi–a name like that has to be German). I know Dr. Seuss has a big following. I understand he is beloved by children and adults alike…and I just don’t get it.
I don’t mean to insult anyone who does like the famous wordsmith, but he . . . . .
As a child of the 80s, I grew up worshiping Star Wars. Obsessions with lightsabers, Wookies, and the ability to choke someone with your mind were quite common for boys of my age (for some reason, girls didn’t like Star Wars: maybe My Little Pony was really good back then). I’m probably the perfect Star Wars age. My brothers don’t share the same obsession I do, so it’s definitely a generational thing. After all, when we were talking about a getting a cat I was the only one who wanted to name him Chewbacca.
When I was a kid, Star Wars was everywhere. Besides the obvious action figures, I had lunchboxes, coloring books, audio books (in record form), Shrink-A-Doodles, Underoos, Lite-Brite–you name it, George Lucas found a way to market it with a Star Wars twist. I grew up wishing to be a Jedi and to strike my father down with a lightsaber. I played Star Wars. I slept in Star Wars sheets. I dreamt Star Wars. I even liked Princess Leia.
One year for Christmas someone gave us the Star Wars movies (in VHS form). From that point forward, I watched the trilogy at least once a month. The . . . . .
In season seven of “24” there’s an actress who caught my eye. While no woman could ever tame Jack Bauer, there’s something about this gal I like looking at. Now I wouldn’t go as far as calling her hot because her attractiveness falls way short of your average supermodel. She just has a thing about her–kinda of like “old lady hot.” Every time I looked at her, I found myself thinking, For someone her age, she doesn’t look bad. Her face had a wrinkle or two–but she wore it well. After two or three episodes, I became obsessed: I wanted to know more about her. What was her name? How old was she? Did she ever do softcore porn? Once again, not because she was hot–just attractive in an older woman kind of way. I dare not disclose her name because I don’t wanna be considered a granny chaser. Besides, I assumed she was much too old to be considered attractive by most standards.
Given my predetermined assumption that this woman was “older,” imagine my horror to discover she’s is only a few months my senior. This “old lady” is my age! Technically my peer and probably an ideal mate . . . . .
With my full-time return to school, I feel older and wiser than all my classmates (that’s probably because I am older and wiser). I bring about one third more life experience to the classroom–not to mention a BA in creative writing. I’m not afraid to speak my mind or do my homework because I know I can do so without thoroughly embarrassing myself (except when it comes to analyzing poetry). My wisdom really shines in Groupwork. I think because in Groupwork students are left entirely on their own with little teacher interaction. Since I am the oldest, I become the pseudo teacher of the group and often its leader.
When unaccustomed students are thrust together for the first time there’s a brief, “getting to know you” phase with an exchange of information. How old are you? What kind of music do you like? What’s your major? Since I refuse to answer the first question and name bands they never heard of (is 1995 really that far in the past?), my academic history proves to be the most topical. The majority of classmates are impressed when I tell them I already have a BA and I’m currently a graduate student. Usually . . . . .
When I was little, I thought Grownups knew everything. Whether it be a math problem, spelling a word, or trying to identify a rash, I felt like a Grownup would know the answer. Grownups were always so together–so calm and knowledgeable. That’s what made Grownups better than kids–they knew everything about everything. Maybe it’s because both of my parents were smart so I grew up in a home where knowledge was prevalent. Grownups weren’t just older kids–they were perfect people. They went to school, got smart, and became Grownups.
Six-year olds are naïve I was no different. I thought there was nothing a Grownup didn’t know or couldn’t do. My dad was always repairing the house, growing plants, and watching sports–it felt like he knew everything. My mom use to cook, fix all my booboos, and could answer any question I ever gave her. They were Grownups and in complete control of their lives.
My folks had me in their mid-20s–I’m getting close to an age when I can remember my parents being as old as I am now. I have memories dating back to when I was three-years old. I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m older . . . . .
My 32nd birthday is approaching and I’ve reached the point in my life where I’m comfortable with what I know…at least I thought I was until I discovered I’ve been using commas wrong for my entire life. Of course, you probably already knew that–you’ve read what I wrote. I took grammar classes and earned a degree in English…only to discover I’ve been completely wrong. now I either hafta unlearn 25 years of improper punctuation (not an easy task) or try to forget what I discovered and continue doing what I’ve always done (easier…but there’s a pride-thing involved).
I was doing homework and stumbled across the definition of independent clauses and this little sentence:
I didn’t know which job I wanted, and I was too confused to decide.
In my opinion, that sentence is improperly punctuated. To me, that comma is completely unnecessary. I don’t know where or why, it just is (comma splice comes to mind). I see that sentence contain two, separate ideas and they’re joined together by an ‘and.’ Alas, it takes more than an ‘and’ to join separate clauses together–you need a comma, too.
Maybe it’s because I grew in New Jersey and they’re not too keen . . . . .
I am a big fan of crappy teen dramas. It started way back with the original “90210” and continues today with the new “90210.” When I was in the midst of my “Dawson’s Creek” phase, I wondered how these television producers could keep coming up with new teen drama plotlines. Every teenager in America goes through the same struggles. I don’t wanna lessen their trauma, but how different is the “Dawson” version of teen drinking compared to “One Tree Hill?” It’s hard to tell a story that’s already been told–at least hard to do and make it seem fresh and interesting.
Back in the original “90210” I remember losing one’s virginity was a major plotline. This theme eventually gets explored in every teen drama and to this 31-year old adult, it’s a little played out. I know I’m not the target audience of these shows, but I’m sure I’m not the only 30-something watching (and if I am, I really need to rethink my life). The shock value of teen sex is completely gone. I remember how controversial a 1991 episode of “Roseanne” was because 17-year old Becky wanted to go on birth control. Unfortunately, that sorta “shock” isn’t shocking . . . . .
Recently I walked out of a Jon Cena movie…but not for the reasons you’d think. It only took about five minutes of the “12 Rounds” to make me sick (also not for reasons you’d think). The movie is part of a growing phenomenon in cinematography that I think is ruining movies. I can live with WWE superstars make movies; I can’t stand movies shot on hand cameras.
I don’t understand why more and more movies are shot this way. Instead of using a perfectly balance tripod, a great deal of movies today are shot by handheld cameras. I think directors do it to create a ‘gritty’ feel that puts the audience into the action (in reality, it puts me in the bathroom). This is a style that I’m not comfortable with. The quick pans and extreme close-ups make me queasier than an overeater at an all-you-can-eat buffet of week-old fish. I can’t stand it. Quick zoom. Quick cut. Extreme close-up. Pan left. Pan right. Hurl in the aisle–I’m telling you, it ain’t for me.
I’m not sure I get the appeal of it. Admittedly, I didn’t grow up watching music videos and I’m not a fan of rapid cuts–but I . . . . .
The economy is bad (or so the experts say) and my employer felt that my position had to be eliminated.* Faced with the option of paying off my student loans with no income, I decided to delay the inevitable and return to school full time. It doesn’t seem that long since I was a full-time student, but considering “Who Wants To Be a Millionaire” was popular and “Dawson’s Creek” was still on the air, I guess it has. The year was 2003 and I was finishing up my final college semester by sleeping through boring, pointless classes.
The biggest thing that has changed is the technology. I wrote about this a few months back, but it’s even greater than I realized. Back in 2003, I was a major email-user; unfortunately, the majority of my teachers were not. Very few were willing to communicate by email; now I have teachers insisting that all papers are emailed so we can save trees.
The computer has made everything different. At my school, everything gets done online. You can register for classes, check grades, even pay tuition. None of this was available in 2003. It might not seem like much, but it’s a whole . . . . .
I’m not sure what to think of this, but my wife Photoshopped our wedding photos. She didn’t like the color of her dress so she changed it. You can’t rewrite history. I just hope her next alteration does involve replacing me with someone better looking.
When I was a kid, I used to twist around in circles just because I liked to see the world spin when I stopped. I grew out of it eventually–but the point is I didn’t use to get sick. First time I went on “Star Tours” I was ten years old and I didn’t get sick. Merry-go-rounds, carousel, or roundabouts, it didn’t matter: I could ride any amusement park attraction without getting sick (except the Teacups–that’s way too much spinning for any human to endure).
As I get older, I realize my stomach ain’t what it use to be. They say taste buds evolve as you get older; allergies can develop after adolescence. I think susceptibility to motion sickness is another change you body makes when you get older. My parents couldn’t tolerate even the mildest roller coaster…and I fear I might be joining them.
Over the past couple years, I find myself about to . . . . .
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