Get your Idaho Posters!

I just got this CD delivered to my doorstep. On it are 10 high resolutions photographs of me. These pictures are literally big enough to make posters from. At the same time I have three envelopes full of prints from another photo shoot done with me as the subject. I am very quickly piling up a lot of pictures of me. I think I am going to decorate my next apartment with photographs of me. It will be the ultimate statement in narcissism. I know what you are saying... that you want to see. (Oh wait, you're also asking me how I could be that conceited. It's easy you should try sometime.) The pictures that I really like are also really huge. I need webspace to post them. The others are smaller and I could post them but I am lazy and it's time for me to workout and it's approaching 12:30 AM. So I am going to leave you in suspense and I am going to go lift some weights.

I am back for the first time

Is it actually required that the titles I put on these posts actually have anything to do with what I write? I am very quickly running out of title ideas, nearly as quickly as the school children and workplace malingerers are running out of "snow day" excuses. The beautiful white ice on the ground is turning to an unattractive brown slush (well I suppose parents and frustrated managers might think that brown is a wonderful color) while children and frustrated workers weep that their unexpected winter holiday comes to an end. I have a definite job interview Friday and another Saturday. I saw Trent from the soccer team today at Express. The man was only the linchpin of the UTD defense and maybe the best player. Living where I do is actually comforting because I see UTD people quite often. I don't feel so out of my element or off balance when I am seeing familiar faces. What bothers me though are the people who I remember well enough to clearly identify as UTD students but can't remember their names. The problem is that I literally never forget a face but can't always match a name to that face because I never learned it the first time. People whose names I remember get the "glad reunion" treatment - name yelled at the top of my lungs, "How you doing? Graduated yet? No, I am looking for a job now...". People usually look startled, quickly glance around, smile, speak the customary chit-chat, and sometimes girls hug. (While I am on the subject of hugs, I have to say that I really miss getting hugs everyday. I got into the habit because one can never feel anything but better after a good hug. I think I have had maybe five hugs in a year since. I am experiencing serious withdrawal.) Sometimes you exchange phone numbers, (I never remember to ask for one. I think people feel insulted and never call for that reason, or maybe people think I am lame and really don't want to hang out with me but don't want to hurt my feelings. Take your pick.) and then you leave and try not to bump into them again. At least I do, because I really have nothing to say after the first time and I don't want to look like a stalker. Maybe, if I could get a pen and a pad and just write my conversations with people in awkward situations I'd feel more at ease. Actually speaking the words I write in my head to someone I haven't spoekn to in a year is uncomfortable.
You know, this has been a Seinfield post. A lot of verbiage produced with no significant topic in mind. I just sat down and recored for posterity a big fat jumble of words with the nutritional benefit of a cinammon bun. I'd say more about politics and world events but I am about tapped out on the issues of the moment. I have Iraq fatigue and Korea ennui. The endless babble of European diplomats demanding more time for a peaceful solution has exhausted my capacity for patience and attention. I could go on about the amazing feats of Michael Jordan's apparent successor in the hearts and minds of basketball fans everywhere, but what I could I really add that hasn't already been said. It's times like these that make you think, "Wow I just rambled on for an hour writing a post that six people will read for ten minutes, and it is now nearly midnight and you wanted to watch that simply shocking movie From Hell (warrants the adjective 'ill') so maybe it's time for people like me to actually try to get some sleep at night."

Sudden Insight

My beef with movie critics specifically and critics of the arts in general is that the criticism is unworthy. It is one thing to be criticized by a teacher of the art or someone who at the very least is capable of doing similar work, but to see something criticized by someone who is merely a lover of the form leaves me cold. Music critics should be musicians; film critics, film makers; and art critics, artists. Literary critics in general are writers themselves, (especially since writing a coherent critique requires writing skill) so on the whole I find literary reviews to be more relevant. The problem is that film makers are supposedly very bad at critiquing another filmmaker's work, even musicians have albums they are ashamed to admit to owning, and every artist I have ever heard talk about any supposed work of art is relentlessly and stultifyingly positive about even the most uninspired works. Literary criticism has the curious advantage of being a critique in the same medium as the work delivered. Not possible with say... a review of the latest Shania Twain album.

Trekking in a Wintry Texan Landscape

Anyone driving north on Interstate 75 around 11:40 PM might have noticed three men running on the icy field toward the underpass. Had you seen them you might have murmured to yourself under your breath, "What idiots!". I was one of those "idiots". The two idiots accompanying me were my roommates, Walt and Jesse.
We woke up fairy early this morning, considering the hijinks of the night before, and decided that the depravations of the previous night were not enough. Work was forsaken, (Well for the most part, I don't actually have a job and one roomie did go to work after discovering he was the only one of his colleagues not already in attendance; however, he rarely ever accompanies us) and we began to cast about for what we should do. Walt, that ever flowing fount of mischief, discovered that public transportation in our native metropolis was free. Immediately, he and I decided to go as far away as we could for free. Going far entailed going to Fort Worth again.
We quickly threw together some supplies and very nearly skated over the icy roads (the experience was exactly like skating for me since I was in fear of falling nearly every step of the way) to the nearest mall, Collin Creek. I proceeded to hand-deliver nine job applications I had toiled over the previous day while the others bought food. We caught the trolley to the train station and first rode north away from our destination after watching the train headed south leave as we disembarked from the trolley. (It is a rule carved in stone that any long journey invloving we three must involve some backtracking.)
The journey south got off to an inauspicious start when a DART employee stopped the train just shy of the station and attempted to pry the doors open. They didn't budge at all. Several attempts were made until finally were told to switch trains two stops down from our starting point. We spent the rest of the time reading magazines and playing card games that Walt attempted to teach us. I say "attempted" since it appears that Walt never properly learned them himself.
In Fort Worh, we boarded a bus headed toward TCU only to be delayed when we witnessed the bus - in suuuuuuuuuuper slow motion - hit a parked vehicle. In the minute it took the bus to slide sideways toward the Mitsubishi Montero on the side of the road, the general consensus on the bus was: barring a miracle, the owner of the Montero would soon be the proud owner of two and a half tons of scrap. Do you believe in miracles? A miracle saved the Montero from serious damage. As if by magic,the driver was able to straighten a bus that had been sliding sideways toward the disabled vehicle so that it was parallel. It was only nearly parallel. The accident was significant enough to warrant a police report, so we were delayed at least another forty-five minutes. We got off the bus on the TCU campus and actually ate the simply wonderful cafeteria offal catered by Marriot with a few friendly coeds. We even made time for a short campus tour.
The highlights of the rest of the journey were my victory over Walt at chess at a coffee shop (while Jesse explained I should have beaten him within the first four moves), Our frenzied search for an entrance to the train station as the last train from Fort Worth for the entire day made ready to leave, and the aforementioned romp through the snow by the idiots three.

Snow in Dallas!

There is something about seeing the world covered in an inch of white stuff that does things to the mind of children everywhere - especially children over the age of 21. Kids might throw some snowballs or build a snowman. An apartment full of young men is a hotbed of dangerous machismo, overflowing testosterone, and outrageous pranks. Men my age tend to have guns, alcohol, fireworks, gadgets, and silly ideas in abundance. It's not that small children don't have silly ideas, they just lack the means to carry them out. My roommates and I on the other hand...
I wanted to say something about this Iraq mess. Please can we invade them soon and just get it over with for crying out loud? Prolonging the process is cruel and dangerous. We are not helping the Iraqi people with our sanctions or by leaving the cruel meglomaniac in charge. War would almost be a mercy at this point. In fact, I think that sanctions are cruel and war is merciful by comparison for the same reason I think it is better to spank a child than it is to ground him. Prolonged punishment doesn't do more to correct the fault but it does cause the person punished to hate you. The shortest possible punishment is always the most merciful. I'd like all the peaceniks out there to ask themselves how many children have died as a result of sanctions compared to how many would die in a war? (With America's precise weaponry the numbers are actually comparable if Sadaam doesn't use the human shield strategy.)

Sundaaay Mooooorning!

Ok so it's actually Sunday afternoon, but I wanted to make the reference for those who would understand it. I need to find somebody to write a letter of recommendation for my Teach For America application should my letter of intent or my essay impress them enough. (which is doubtful and my academic record will definitely not impress them)
You know I had a Sudden Insight I wanted to post but I can't remember it anymore. The world will just have to do with that particular nugget of wisdom.