Whudda W.A.S.T.E.

where I've been

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 23:37:00 +0000

It has been an amazingly long time since I put up a blog post. What happened? Well, throughout the month of October, I applied for 45 or so jobs. That was a lot of work. At the end of that, I defended my Dissertation. Now, I have to revise my dissertation and because no one read it before the defense, well...they have a few suggestions. I have to pretty much add another chapter on crazy politics of the 1960s. I'm not sure where to focus because my dissertation committee couldn't make any suggestions. They just said they want something between chapter 4 and 5.

Interestingly, out of three of them, one didn't read chapter 5 and one didn't read chapters 1-4 (out of 5). Ah, tenure. So, basically, the professor of AfAm culture is mad because my dissertation which has nothing to do with the black panthers doesn't include a chapter on the black panthers. So, now I have to go become an expert on the great poetry and drama of the black arts movement. By the way, I am not against the black arts movement. I am against writing another chapter for my dissertation after the defense which is when the dissertation should be done. I am against having to write another chapter because my dissertation advisors, not a single one of them, read my dissertation for more than a year and a half. One still hasn't read it, and one of them read it four days before the defense.

These people suck is I guess what I am saying.

People who live in glass bunkers and stones

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 23:23:00 +0000

I made a promise involving freedom and a bunker. Need I say more than the views expressed in the following audio files do not necessarilly reflect that of Monstro D. Whale, your humble bunker-free narrator.

Enjoy.

money from one generation to the next

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 12:13:00 +0000

I've said it before, so this might be a repeat, but what the hey:

What is an economy? It is a system for the distribution of wealth. What does that mean? Well, it's way to hand money over from one group to the next. Otherwise, people would accumulate wealth and take it with them to their grave at which point it would become part of the public fund. An economy allows the money to pass from the old to the young.

This is pretty simple logic, but you need to imagine that there are problems with this, namely--what does it mean to be young, and what does it mean to be old. See, for my parents, old was 60 and young was 22. So, they hit 22 and began to get the jobs of 60 year olds and began to have access to their things like houses.

Over the years, however, old has come to mean later and later because of medical science and the saturation of the job market with baby boomers. Now, old means 70 and young? Young, in this sense, probably now means 32.

These numbers aren't arbitrary. You can only spend so long training for a career or waiting to get a home so as to start a family. It ins't that the houses don't exist, it's that the wealth and the means for that wealth are tied up. You can't expect people to wait until they are 32 to become economically speaking adults, but that's precisely what this system has done. What's worse, because of the recession, even fewer people want to give up their wealth or access to wealth and so we have people being told that they will have to wait even longer or that the stores of their wealth (like social security) will soon be used up.

There are many ways to conceptualize the current recession. For me, I think the ever widening gulf of one economic generation to the next is a more reasonable candidate than commodity futures and housing bubbles. This is the reason we have commodity futures. This is the reason for the housing bubble.

D and D day at modern myths

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Sun, 20 Sep 2009 13:13:00 +0000

Yeah Dungeons and Dragons Day!

The gang and I played down at the store and we had a great time. Modern Myths is a great host and supplied awesome D.M.s.

Loads of fun.

Carter has pills

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Sat, 19 Sep 2009 14:41:00 +0000

I read an interesting opinion column in the NY Times today which talked about how we don't need President Carter to tell us that the complaints made against Obama are racist. Hmmm...

You know what, I think we do.

Here's a little something that most non-white people don't know about white people: we know when something's racist. We know it. In many cases, when our black friends are assuring us that something has nothing to do with their race, we hold our tongues, because...well, we don't want to be associated with that kind of racism. We don't want people thinking, hey, the whole white world is against me, since it isn't. We allow the illusion so as to protect the truth I guess.

So, there really aren't too many white people, I think, who didn't know from day one (and I'm talking the election) that a lot of the shit that we saw about Obama being a muslim or a terrorist, or whatever, was motivated by people who basically felt a little held back from simply saying that we shouldn't vote for him because he's black. But then, why say anything? You're not going to change those people's minds, and Obama is going to win the election anyway. So, we kept quiet, mostly.

In any case, there reaches a point where someone has to raise their hand and say, unleash the volley, and that is, essentially, what Carter did. He said, "let's bring race into this because, as we all know, it's part of it and we've been dancing around it." I applaud Obama for saying that it isn't about race, but well...he's wrong. They're basically saying that Hitler's main problem was that he tried to extend universal health care to the Jews. These people are so whacked out by their beliefs about race that...I'd call it Holocaust denial if it made some kind of sense. Instead, it's just crazy talk.

But here's the thing. I think race is something we need to discuss, but I don't think it's actually at the heart of these people's complaints. That is, if Obama were a woman, they'd hate women, and if Obama were a Mormon, they'd hate Mormons, and if his most salient feature was that he was a Texan, they'd pick on him for being a Texan. That's the extent of what they're doing. It's just that making fun of someone for being black carries a heavier weight than making fun of someone for being Texan. You know what I mean.

The real news here is that they don't want Federal Health Care, but the problem is, we'll never really hear why. They're so busy beating the one drum they got that they never say: hey look, the federal government fucks up everything else, why wouldn't they fuck up this? That never gets to be part of the debate because they're too busy drawing Obama as Hitler, the Joker, or Al Jolsen.

I do think we need universal health care. I think its morally imperative, but mostly I think that the 60 million people on record as unemployed and the countless others who are either underemployed or who have fallen off the grid and are no longer being counted in that figure are going to need some health care, especially after they've been allowed to become addicted to Prozac, Ridalin, and Percocet in a country that will allow anyone to buy a gun.

To be honest then, I hope the opposition keeps playing the race card, because they've never played that hand against other white people, and we know how to beat them at that game better than anyone else. If the health care debate wins or loses on whether or not the opposition doesn't like black people, then it will probably get through on that strength alone.

Townhall moment

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Sat, 19 Sep 2009 13:18:00 +0000

I...had...a...townhall...moment.

That's awesome. That's just like, "hey, I don't know where I'm at AND I don't know where my dumbass comments are appropriate. Got to remember: don't shout shit at the President; shout stupid shit at Senators!"

Knock Knock

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 00:29:00 +0000

Knock Knock
Who's there?
The interrupting Kanye
The interupting Kenye wh....
Hold on before you finish this joke you should know that Beyonce Knowles....

The Day of the Moron

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 14:35:00 +0000

It is 10:35 in the morning. Already, my email box is filled because someone sent out a mailing list email and, for some reason, all the requests to unsubscribe are going out to everyone as well. So, the box is filled with emails with re's like, "unsubscribe me" and "don't hit the reply all, you illiterate moron."

I went to the dorm life center in 20 story dorm to get my parking pass so I wouldn't get towed while teaching and there is no sign telling me on which floor the Residential Life offices are located. I went to the door of the Associate Director for that dorm and said, "Hi, I'm teaching in the dorms this year and I need to get a parking pass, on which floor do I go to see the people in charge of the Residential Academic Programs."

"Teaching in this dorm?"
"No, Field."
"That's up the hill."
"Yes, I know, but I need to talk to the person who runs the programs in order to get a parking pass."
"That's not in this building."
"Really, because it's been in this building for the past five years, did they move it? It used to be on floor 7 or 11" (everything's always 7 or 11 with me).
"Oh, fifth floor."

What the f did he think I was talking about.

I went to career services where a woman standing in front of 3 forms (!) was waiting to help me.
"Hi, I'm going on the job market this semester, so I need the form I give to the professors who are writing me letters of rec."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Do you handle grad students going out on the market?"
"Yes, do you have a file with us?"
"I think so."
"Do you want to read your letters of rec?"
"No. I don't have any. I'm trying to get them."
"Okay."
"Look. Isn't there a form that a profesor needs to fill out, I give it to them and they send it in with their letter?"
"No."
"Maybe I'm not describing this right, because I know there is and I've gotten them here before."
"Well, what it is it now?"
"It's like..." She only has 3 fucking forms to choose from. "I say that I won't read the letter..."
"Oh an evaluation form."
"Yes, that's it."
"You fill out, not the professor."
"Oh."
"...and then the professor fills out the bottom half."

Thank you Captain Dipshit.

I'm really hoping the rest of the day goes better.

I Recommend

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 23:43:00 +0000

Today I asked my guy who my three people for my rec letters should be. He told me that it's three minimum. That 10 people saying I'm a genius is better than 3. I asked him if 50 people saying I'm 1/5 of a genius would work. Play the odds, 'sall I'm saying.

In any case, I've now asked 9 people for Rec letters and I have two more in mind, and two more after that if needs be. It's very therapeutic to think of people who might speak well of you and to make a sizable list of them. I don't know if it will help my job prospects, but it is very therapeutic.

Life aint fair, bubchen

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 23:20:00 +0000

The children woke together at around 2 and gave us an entire afternoon with which to deal with them, together. I'm trying very hard not to turn my life into a one note...thing. Like, I realize I have to do a lot of work to get out of here and have a job come this time next year, but I also don't want that to become my life, so I decided to go along with my wife's plan to go to the fair which, by the way, I hate fairs.

Fairs to me seem spots of total mediocrity. All throughout my young life I was getting honorable mentions when, and I'm sorry maybe I was an arrogant kid, but I think I deserved a hell of a lot more. Looking back, I have no idea how all of that played out. I once figured out how to explode hydrogen gas using soap or some such shit. Maybe they figured my mom helped me too much, but come on. Half those kids couldn't cut a f'ing straight line and their presentations looked like they were fashioned together using a modeller for an architectural firm. Who the hell knows.

In any case, I always figured that when my crappy fourth place thing went to the fair, somebody would happen upon it and wonder why in the hell it got fourth rather than first, but no one ever did, they just sort of accepted my mediocrity. Oh look at me, I turned a fucking potato into a battery and what's that...oh snap, lost out to a crappy volcano. Look, I make volcanoes for a living now, and believe you me, they were crap.

But the worst was wondering the halls of crap at a science fair, moving among projects that someone had lovingly worked on and which seemed to me, abandoned there, almost hopeless among the multitude of their peers from five school districts, and then suddenly, like a ninja or something, my project, which I've since long forgotten, jumps out at me and I get Honorable Mention yet again. Fuck I hated that.

The rest of the fair is the smell of cow shit and rides that are only half put together. I took my eldest on a ferrous wheel which could, for no explained reason, only be filled half to capacity. Beat that for, "holy shit, they brought the wrong bolts." No seriously, and I rode it, which makes the bravest person in the whole world...with my child, which makes me the worst father.

He got me back, of course. He's at the right age that if I pick him up while he's pitching a fit, he kicks me directly in the balls...twice. Oh my god that hurts, but I'm like...Dad, so I can't even flinch, I just drag him along with this sting in my balls like they've been hit with a wasp, and popped. That was us trying to make it past the bungee jumping trampoline.

Let me back up though because the greatest moment at the fair today was the ride in. Bumper to bumper traffic and some guy just f'ing cuts me off. I keep thinking to myself that wherever we end up, he'll be next to me and I am totally going to key his car. I may even write a message, and it's all I can think about as my youngest starts screaming and we slowly creep up the hill, passed by people who were smart enough to park way the hell away and walk it on in. I'm just filled with it. Then we're at the top and just about to pass the official parking lot that's closed, and boom they open it up and I get to turn into it, and that guy in front of me didn't because he cut me off. My god is an awesome god. I realize that you probably don't see this experience as religious, but I most certainly do.

I saw a woman at he fair with a tattoo of an open straight razor running across her neck, and it was big enough that it covered her entire neck. She had kids. How f'd up is that. That's the kind of people you see at the fair.

All in all, I give the Franklin County Fair a 2 out of 4. All it had was rides. It didn't even have a whole bunch of fair food, which is just ridiculous. I didn't see any of the school projects from the region. They were shit for livestock (though they did have turkeys). On the other hand, they didn't just take crap that had been in the field for the past ten years and turn it into an "exhibit" so that's worth at least one star.

Oh I forgot to tell you, I kept seeing people with open sores and gigantic tumors. There'd be some kid playing and all of a sudden you'd see some kind of giant purple hackey sack hanging from his cheek, or some large guy would walk by, and his calf would look like...you don't want to know, but he shouldn't have been wearing shorts. I don't know, maybe we showed up at Franklin County on Leper Day. As the place was crowded, it made it extremely hard to keep the children away from people who I thought might be infectious, but I did my best. Knock on wood.

Nazi--not a Nazi

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 11:50:00 +0000

So, many many thousands of people marched on Washington complaining about health care. They did that yesterday, as I understand, because they still have jobs. Did you know that 500,000 people were laid off last week adding to the 6.1 million people in this country still collecting (and able to collect) unemployment? Makes you think (if you're able). That's more than 6 million people who need healthcare but who couldn't afford a bus ticket so as to go to Washington and bash in some...err... give their opinion.

In any case, these protesters again called Obama a Nazi. Now, I'd like to retort.

There they are, all of them, sitting on the lawn and complaining. I ask, 'What Would Hitler Do?' Because I'm pretty sure that if Obama really were like Hitler, those people wouldn't need a bus ride home.

How about we let that be our temperature gauge on this thing. If you call someone a Nazi and they don't immediately shoot you in the face, then they are, in fact, not like Nazis.

If you elect someone who you think is like a Nazi, and they allow members of the opposing party to stand up and spit out, "you lie," and that guy isn't taken out and shot, then they're probably not a Nazi.

See Nazis...kill people. That's what they do. It's like...their thing.

Here's a film that might help.

9/11

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 23:06:00 +0000

Today is September 11th. It is a horrible thing that I can't think of the attack on the twin towers without my memory becoming polluted by all that has happened since. It seems to me that the casualties of that day were the tip of the iceberg for the damage those terrorists managed to inflict on our country with their box cutters and our naivete. I wish I could remember just those victims and feel the appropriate amount of sadness for their tragedy and the tragedies of their surviving families, and I think as an American, I ought to be allowed that kind of mourning, and yet, it has become impossible for me not to also think of George W. Bush, perpetual war, the energy crisis, this recession, torture, secret prisons, secret phone taps, and now our violently polarized politics. We should remember those days after September 11th today when we all swore that we wouldn't let the terrorist win. Maybe, eight year later, we ought to all renew that vow.

Mixed feelings

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 17:31:00 +0000

I recycle more than you. You don't know this, but it is, in fact, true. I make scenery for wargames out of garbage which means that there are a lot of things I don't throw out. Pretty much anything box-like, made of plastic, or in general, worthless.

Michel Foucalt once postulated (this is "Docile Bodies" I believe: here he is talking about balls) that if you force someone to physically be something (a soldier, a patient, an alcoholic) then they will follow suit mentally and take on the angle of that identity. Normally, I hate Foucalt (I call him Fuck Alt) but he seems to have a point. As I've begun filling my attic with garbage, well, I feel more environmentally alert.

So, it is with mixed feelings that I face the fact that my school cafeteria has done away with cafeteria trays and different sizes of soft drink (they now give free refills). Their logic for the drink is simple. Smaller cups, free refills, less garbage, and yes, I get it, but I don't eat in the cafeteria and so I would like a very large cup. Does that make me a horrible human being? I don't care.

But it's the trays that I find absolutely fascinating--their absense defies all reason. If I get a sandwich, some chips, and a piece of fruit, I run out of hands. This is a serious design flaw on their part. What's worse is that if you order food to go, as I do. They generally hand it to you in a container that is not designed to be carried by hand. I got a hot roast beef sandwich today straight out of a furnace, quickly envoloped in some nice insulating tin foil, and then thrown to me like a hot potato which I bobbled in line at the register for a good five minutes as the various people in front of me fumbled for change as they patted their food up into the air with agonized dexterity.

Maybe I'm missing the point. Perhaps, the school's juggling team isn't doing so hot and this is their way of making the student body practice without their even knowing it. All I know is that there must be some kind of tradeoff with all this. No trays means closer contact with the cafeteria tables, which I've never seen anyone clean, and which the staff will probably be less inclined to clean now since we're conserving water. This will ,of course, lead to fewer people in the long run I imagine, which is ultimately the best thing, all around, for the environment. On the other hand, quite literally, the water that's wasted from me putting my hand in ice after my game of hot potato has to factor in there somewhere as well.

Continue the Boycott!

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 15:20:00 +0000

I would like to invite all the parents who kept their children out of school yesterday to continue their boycott. Listen, Obama WANTS your children to stay in a federally funded school--THAT'S SOCIALISM!!!

His vaguely hidden message that each of America's children has potential to make the country a better place should not be tolerated despite what you're now hearing from the wishy washy Republican Leadership who seem to have gone all soft in the last moment. Christ, Laura Bush, don't you get the Rush Limbaugh newsletter. Take your pain pills and get with the program.

SOCIALISM!! NAZI!!

Keep your children out of school. The truth is that capitalism needs an undereducated exploitable working class. The AARP gives their endorsment. Jim Greer supports your stupid kids (well, he supports their being stupid, he won't support them financially). Principals, please, close your doors, as you did yesterday, to the value of education. Make sure your students hear the message loud and clear: you don't think they have potential!

Remember, when the guilt hits you that you have failed your students in some fundamental way, that they trusted you, and you betrayed that trust by selling them out to a totalizing ideology, that you let the Republican party decide your role as an educator, you did that because you don't want politics telling you what to do. You're an individual, and those godless socialists like Obama can't take that away from you by telling your students that their individual potentials must be fulfilled for the good of the nation.

In any case, what with the recession, your students will probably have to go to work in a factory soon anyways, so, big deal that they didn't get to hear the President tell them that they can make something of their lives.

Among The Savages- First Day

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 11:52:00 +0000

I am continuously enticed to start up a new blog. Occasionally, I do. Occasionally, I don't. The truth is that, right now, I am so locked down for time, that any other activity besides those that can be performed while watching children is moot, and even there, that's what I do in my free time when I'm not teaching or writing professionally, or...writing a dissertation. However, had I the time, I would want to chronicle this in blog form: today I begin a class teaching Freshman composition and all but one student is an engineering major. That's a lot of engineering majors.

One of the interesting things about college composition is that you often meet people in various stages of developing their writing skills. Some are quite able to do what you ask, others not. Students in the field of engineering are more often the latter rather than the former. It isn't that they aren't good students, this just isn't there gig. In general, they slip into the background, and your go-to students remain in the humanities and you hope that some of it is sinking into the silent kids in the back, but in this class, that will be all the kids.

The good news is that I imagine I will not find myself filling as many classroom roles. I will probably not have to convince the class's prima donna that their blog and its ten readers are not evidence that they don't need a class in writing while simultaneously trying to teach someone else how to use a comma, while trying to argue with someone else that all immigrants are worthless and horrible. Chances are, with a class of all engineers, the problems I face, simultaneously, as the teacher will resemble each other.

We'll see, I suppose.

Midas- End Game

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 14:19:00 +0000

I should point out that after Midas screwed my car up and I got in a fight with the owner and their mechanic, I eventually called corporate who refunded me the price of my last visit to Midas under the full knowledge that I was accruing the name of regulatory agencies to call.

Just remember kids, never stop halfway up the ladder. Always call the boss's boss's boss. They don't appreciate getting called and they seem to know who to blame.

Van Jones

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 14:04:00 +0000

As you may already know, Van Jones (special adviser for environmental jobs to the President) resigned today after noted drug addict Rush Limbaugh asked him, "are you now, or have you ever been a member of the Communist party." Or wait, is Limbaugh Cohen or McCarthy?

Notice, that yet again, the Republicans are picking on the black guy. I'm just saying.

Phone Call With Mom

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 18:31:00 +0000

What can I say of these people except that they mean well. I think. No, they must, right?

In any case, my mother called today to let me know that she's afraid for me and my kids because, of course, things are looking grim in America. She's stopped watching CNN because she thinks its partial to Obama and now takes her orders from Fox News. She's afraid they'll cut her social security. She admits that she thinks everyone should get health care, but she doesn't like Obama's plan because no one's seen it. Obama is simmultaneously a Nazi and a communist.

I told her that I'm glad there are increasingly less members of her generation left voting because to be quite honest I have no faith in their ability to figure anything out or to make a responsible decision. I, too, am afraid for my children. I'm afraid they will be eaten by their grandparents.

Dungeons and Dragons--a strange progression

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 13:03:00 +0000

It's funny because in the beginning, there was room 14 and there were 8 goblins in it, and you killed them. Why? Because they were evil. Why were they there? Who knows. But that's the point. They were evil. They represented the lowest echelon of a cosmic force of badness that needed to be stopped because...well...because it was evil.

Since that time, Dungeons and Dragons has done a lot of work attempting to explain why there are 8 goblins in room 14. They've given the goblins motivations, and in giving them motivations, they've described the evil, and now you know why you're killing goblins.

The problem is that these motivations are inherently based around human stuff. Goblins have cities, they have armies, there are goblin merchants and goblin farmers, and so now, the main reason that you're killing goblins in room 14 isn't because they're there but because they're in your turf. There evil is directly related to their being at cross purposes with you.

To make matters worse, the creatures that you don't kill because they're good guys have become swelled, due to the influence of anime, mangan, and steam punk, with creatures that I'm not so sure about. So, now, you kill the 8 goblins in room 14, but not the 8 half-demons. See the problem? The designation of evil seems to be arbitrary and based off of turf.

I mean, when Vampires and Beholders have cities where they keep law and order, then what the hell does it even mean to be evil? And here's what's disturbing me. Evil seems to be a designation of race rather than attitude. Moreover, it seems to be attached to nationalism. The goblin kingdom is bad, so goblins are bad. Which looks to me a lot like racism and war mongering.

I suppose my big problem is that I don't want to kill people because of their race even in my fantasies, even when they're disguised as Orcs or when Afghanistan is called the Pomarj. In essence, I liked it better when the goblins didn't have cities and were the lower echelons of a cosmic force and hung out in room 14 for no good reason for all of eternity waiting for the players to show up and defeat them. I want magic to be mysterious and to not resemble trendy technology--a magic bard-in-a-box is an Ipod, people.

But I think something larger is being said here. Dungeons and Dragons, in its attempt to pit good against evil, has found that, even in fantasy land, it has no stable definition for evil. Talk about failing at the extremes. D and D has demons and devils you can meet and defeat. Surely here, evil should be recognizable as a thing, but no, the desire to rationalize evil has, as it always done, created an ethical system where descriptions of morality are actually impossible. I have no idea why the goblins in room 14 deserve to die. What if they're like the goblins that sell swords in the city down the road? What if the goblins are like Bob the half-dragon over there. I mean, he's part f'ing dragon and he's okay. So, they're raiding the dungeon for treasure, so are we.

...the cats in the cradle

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 12:25:00 +0000

The three people who are supposed to be reading my diss aren't, but there is a guy who is. I am, by the way, defending on the 28th of October. Yesterday, I clocked myself at 12 1/2 double spaced pages a day of writing--whatever you can say about its quality, I am fast.

So, anyway, yesterday I came across this interesting fact, Schindler's Ark, the book upon which Schindler's List was based, won the Booker Prize for fiction. I find that interesting because, clearly, the story of Oscar Schindler and the Jews whom he saved is non-fiction. Amon Goeth is a murdering asshole. This is not to suggest Holocaust denial, only that under the guise of fiction, the author of the work was able to change details if he needed to. Let's say it's 99% correct. There are intimations that some of Schindler's bribes involved sex (I don't know how that worked) and in the movie Amon Goeth seems to suggest that he has sex with one of his German servants against her will, and I haven't read any non-fiction descriptions of Goeth that suggests he was a rapist (though it wouldn't surprise me if he was). This, combined with the fact that the German officer at the end of the Pianist had, in real life, actually helped a number of Jews, makes up a large part of my fifth dissertation chapter.

Anyways, the guy whose reading my dissertation, in his letter responding to my observation was so excited by my insights that he called me "my son."

I don't have Daddy issues. I am not looking for a father figure. I feel that my own father did a pretty fair job. He's a little odd at times, but who the hell isn't. So, I'm not that guy from Scrubs, J.D., always hoping for a fucking hug, but I can appreciate the closeness someone must feel to someone to call them "son," and so I can appreciate the sentiment for what it is. Especially in Massachusetts where everyone is 100% into PDA (Public Displays of Apathy).

Part of me, though, thinks that this is the ultimate expression of condescension (it is literally patronizing). I feel like the evil martial artist who just wants the fucking super diamond belt that will give him the power of his master, but the master won't give it to him, because he's evil. And the master goes, "you have earned my respect," and the evil guy says, "I don't want your respect, old man, I want the belt. Give me what I've earned." Like, I don't want to feel that way but, say, 10% of me does.

The problem is that the total apathy of everyone I've encountered in Massachusetts has put me in the mindset that everything I've achieved academically has been all me. If anyone has helped it has been my wife, but academically, well...she can't exactly read the books for me. So, its like climbing up a mountain and somebody giving you a hand up for the last 2 feet and then taking credit for your climb.

On the other hand, this guy reads my stuff, and he's really into what I'm doing, and that's honestly five times the response I've gotten from anyone else in the university out here (maybe more). Plus, and this is the most important thing, he's a damned good guy and he's fucking smart. I don't say that generally about the professors I meet. Roger is my benchmark, and he's hard to beat (he reads two books a night in history, literature, philosophy, and politics). So, I think I have to let it slide rather than...you know...calling him Dad and rubbing his face in the whole "My Son" thing.

Slap Happy Grand Pappy

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 12:18:00 +0000

Okay, so evidentally some old guy in a Wal Mart decided to help a young mother out, who he didn't even know, by slapping her two year old across the face five times to get the kid to be quiet. I'll be the first that he should probably be skinned...maybe not completely. Say remove a sleeve or something.

But here are two major points that I would like to make on this subject:

First--baby boomer? You bet. Who else would feel entitled a 2 year old across the face except a member of the infamous and useless "me" generation. So, accustomed to having everything their way, it must irk them to know end when someone's offspring disturbs their own perpetual childhood now extending well into the seventies (thanks Viagra!).

Second--Can we find out what this guy was on. As the baby boomers are now this nation's most prominent junkies, I'd like to know which pharmaceutical company I should blame for the fall of Western Civilization. He didn't slap a two year old sober, you and I both know that. At some point, we X-ers are going to have to figure out what to do with these addle brained addicts. I say, send them to Hawaii, tell them surfing's the next "new thing," and let nature take its course. I don't know, how's Prozac for mountain climbing?

Obama better'n't talkem dem dare kids...Nazi

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 12:11:00 +0000

So...

The Republicans are claiming that it is a bad thing for the President of the United States to talk to kids....

Are they fucking high. Yes, probably. But still, why the fuck aren't these people taken out back and hit with a fucking board. In my humble opinion, this is what is missing. Morons aren't getting hit with boards anymore, they're given medication that neutralizes the shame they ought to feel for saying stupid shit. Thus, the republican party. I say, we need to return to the old pine approach to politicking.

Let's get something straight...you guys aren't fooling anyone. You don't want the black guy talking to your kids and your concealing it under this...political agenda bullshit. If the President wants to talk to the nation's youth--any president, that's a fucking great thing. Now, republicans, shake off the stupid and get with the program or someone will bite your finger off.

Dungeons and Dragons

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 12:25:00 +0000

The wife and I have taken up dungeons and dragons again. It's really fun. It's interesting because it doesn't carry that stigma it did back when I was 10. We just play and have fun. My wife is even trying to get me to go to PAX next year if we can figure out how to get our kids taken care of.

You're f'ing with my high

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 12:10:00 +0000

The other day I was in CVS picking up various prescriptions for my family. There were two people in line in front of me: a guy in the very front who was trying very hard to get his medication without anyone seeing what it was, and a woman standing directly behind him who was so close that everytime the man leaned backwards he risked bumping into her. She was reading a magazine about Brad Pitt or something like that. She wasn't particularly paying attention, she just wasn't giving him any room.

...and I thought, "what the hell is wrong with her." It was then that I realized that she was standing in line at a pharmacy. There could very well have been something wrong with her. This was an important moment because, you see, she was acting in a way that I normally associate with mass-hole-dum. So, the prospect that her attitude and behavior were related to say, the medication she was taken for her personality problems, made me deeply concerned. What if being an asshole was a reaction to medication?

So, she stepped up to the counter. She didn't bother putting her magazine down. She just kept reading as if she couldn't be bothered with human interaction as she gave her name and address. I figured I was out of luck because it just wasn't likely that the tech was going to say, "here's your medicine for your impacted genital wart." They're trained not to say such things even though, realistically, I bet it's a real temptation.

But, thankfully, the woman in front of me had no such reservations. "Now, how many more refills do I have for the Prozac?"

Yes!

One out of every four adults is on Prozac or similar medication. Prozac keeps people from being self conscious. Self consciousness is what stops you from sounding like an asshole on a regular basis. No self consciousness means that you're an asshole. Bingo bango bongo. Done. One out of every four people.

Now, keep in mind. This doesn't include the vast populations of people on pain killers like Vicadin or Oxycontin, or the countless number of our nation's young people who are taking medication for AdHd or Autism. Add it all up and you know what I think...I think you probably get a ration of about one in three, maybe more. That means that one in every three people you meet is totally high.

Does this, I ask, not explain everything?

The Midas Touch

noreply@blogger.com (Monstro D. Whale) — Sat, 25 Jul 2009 01:00:00 +0000

Today, the owner of Midas on King Street called me to tell me that I don't know what I'm talking about. He basically called me an idiot for 10 minutes until I finally hung up on him.

Here was his explanation. First, they have in writing that I okayed them fixing the wrong brakes. When I told him that, yes, I wanted them to fix the brakes, and so I didn't realize that they, the mechanics were discussing the wrong set, he assured me that they had it in writing.

When I told him that the main problem was that my e-brake was installed upside down and backwards, he told me that he had it in writing that they had fixed my brakes. He didn't see anything about the E Brake there on my first visit. When I told him to turn the page, he continued to talk about the brakes. When I told him to turn the page to where the manager had given me a one hundred dollar discounts for having fucked up, he told me that this didn't mean anything. They give discounts all the time. Evidentally for no reason.

When I asked him why he bothered to call me, he assured me that I had signed off on that brake job.

I said, "look, I took my car in there for a squeek. They didn't fix the squeek. I took the car back. They didn't fix the squeek. I took my car back again, and not only did they not fix the squeek, but now there was a new squeek."

He answered, "Well, maybe you didn't hear the second squeek because of the first squeek, and only when the first squeek was fixed did you notice the second squeek."

I explained that they hadn't fixed the fucking first squeek and that the mechanic who DID fix the squeek (not Midas) told us it was because they upsold us on brake pads that didn't fit our car. But he had uncontrovertable proof that I'd signed that thing so...there you go. I mentioned that they'd installed my ebrake incorrectly. His response was that this was months ago. Also known as TWO MIDAS VISITS IN WHICH THEY LET MY EBRAKE REMAIN BROKE.

I called Midas headquarters and spoke to a nice person there about this dipshit, and she wants me to fax in the bill from the mechanic who actually did take care of the problem. Hopefully, I will get a refund. I wasn't by the way counting on one so this is an added bonus. I swear to God my stomach has been upset all day because of this screaming match. What a fucker.

In any case, his name Peter Ramalho and his telephone number is (413) 330-7037. If you'd like to call him up and let him know that he's a douchebag, be my guest.