WAG - FLASHBACK POST: A GanGREnous experience

Note: I was going to make a G.R.E/GREat joke, but my friend Erin has already used that device. Flittering through my head for another “gre-“ word, gangrenous was the next one that came to mind. The adjective that is sometimes defined as “suffering from tissue death” seemed apt to describe the experience that cost me countless brain cells sacrificed in the name of higher education.

G.R.E || COLLEGE

The pair that best matches the above relationship is:

A) A.C.T. || HIGH SCHOOL

B) ROY || SIEGFRIED

C) BUNS || HOTDOG

D) SUFFERING || PAIN

E) ALL OF THE ABOVE

Let me translate for those of you who haven’t been running over practice analogies for a verbal examination. The G.R.E is to test the culmination of all you’ve learned in college and can help determine whether or not you’ll be accepted into a graduate program at an academic institution. It's not always required, but it cert

To be honest, I’m still not quite sure what the G.R.E. stands for. I’ve already recycled most of my studying materials, but let me poke through the bin that sits at the foot of my bead (or the head, depending on the position I take on my bed right before my political science reading puts me to sleep) and I’ll see if I can find anything illuminative.

Okay, the Graduate Record Examina-tions are no walk in the park, at least they aren’t based on my experience with walks in the park. The general subject test is comprised of an analytical essay writing section, a quantitive math portion, and a verbal vo-cabulary and reading comprehension segment.

There is a confidentiality clause one must sign before taking the test, so I can’t repeat any of the questions in part or in their totality, but I can describe the my mindset while going through the process in general.

First off, the signing of the legal privacy document was the most difficult part of the test. I’m not joking. There was a long paragraph that any prospective test taker must copy and reproduce, in its entirety, at the bottom of the page. It is meant to not only ensure applicants are aware of the rules it provides a handwriting sample to compare future scribblings to (it’s a holdover from the written exam, and even through I was taking the faster, computerized version of the test, it still required my John Hancock (and the equivalent of listing a few dozen of his cousins).

It sound easy, I know, but the tricky part was the following bolded direction: DO NOT PRINT.

I sat stunned in the waiting room of the MU Testing Services center (because you’re not allowed to proceed into the test room until you’ve completed all the extra forms). I haven’t written in cursive regularly since middle school when one wise English teacher, who had spent much time trying to decipher my hieroglyphics, suggested I should print when I turned in handwritten assignments. Another instructor encouraged me to develop word processor skills, as quickly as possible. So for over eight years, the only cursive letters I ever jotted were the A, B, C, E, H, I, L, M, S, and T that I would scribble when I signed a check (and if it wasn’t a check for something important, I sometimes write “Caleb,” make a “S” shape, and twist some twirls and whirls around until I feel like stopping. For this reason, I understand how six distinctly different versions of Shakespeare’s signature have been discovered and how probably more a waiting to be discovered being misplaced in a back drawer of the credenza of history.

Even after feeling foolish earlier in my test preparation trying to recall how the quadratic formula was applied and how to determine the slope of a line, I discovered previously unexpected lows. I was reduced to drawing only one or two letters as a time while I tried to visualize the long-neglected letters.

Worse yet, the document was on carbon paper, which meant I was denied the luxury of erasing my frequent mistakes. I messed up simple letters like ‘T’s. Even though I know you go up and slide back down the way you came before ducking back to cross it later, if it came after a series of loopy letters (like ‘B’s, ‘D’s, or ‘H’s) I would also make it loopy as well, making it appear like a fish with an incomplete tail fin.

I hope there is never any reason to examine the statement. I would have a hard time reading it and I was the one who put it down there in the first place. I also know I wouldn’t be able to pick out my paragraph out of a lineup, because none of the letters would be recognizable (for reasons like the ‘T’ explained above, the appearance of the letters differed even in the same sentence, or in some cases, word).

The good news, is as I stated before, this was the most difficult part of the exam. I had done some test preparation leading up to the test, especially the morning of. The only area that tripped me up was the not-so-optional extra portion of the test. I was warned that there may be an extra section inserted in the test, to help gauge the difficulty of the test and help direct future revisions of the exam. The possibility was described in such a blasé, half-hearted manner, however, I didn’t expect it to come up.

Three hours into the test, I was ready to be done. I’d finished the writing section and a math section and was on the last question of the verbal section. I was tempted to just quit before answer the last question, but I decided to stick it through and answer things properly. Wearing a smug smirk, I finished the last question and leaned back in the chair to wait for unofficial test results.

Another 45-minute 30-question quantitive section greeted me instead.

Grr…!

Forty five minutes later, and without any smarmy look, I sent my final answer spiraling through the computer to complete the calculation of my final scores. Since I was taking the test electronically and every portion of the test was being automatically scored, I had the option to immediately learn my unofficial scores. I clicked that, yes, I’d like to know.

Another window popped up, telling me it wasn’t too late to go back, and I could still back out. “Yes,” keep going, I selected.

Are you really, really sure, I was asked again. I wasn’t nervous the first time the question popped up, but repeatedly confronting the question was slowly ratcheting up the tension of the situation. I needed the numbers, even if they weren’t official, for my graduate school application so I knew I needed to keep going, but I was actually a bit nerv-ous when I tapped, “yes,” for the final time.

Big breath…

The MU School of Journalism’s page on master’s degree applicants sets the minimum GRE score to be 1,000. If your college grades have been a bit rocky, it suggests you score 1,100 to counter-balance that. Talking to a woman in the gradu-ate studies office, I was told to shoot for around 1,250. Granted, the site says reaching the minimum scores doesn’t guarantee anything, but it is welcomed like an extra wool blanket on a frosty winter’s night.

I took a long look at the scores and blinked. I think I blinked a couple more times after that, not trusting my mental calculations. I crunched the numbers, and my forehead, three times before I let myself start trusting them.

1,240! Since the verbal and quantitive points are given out in 10-point increments, I had been only one question off my goal. Considering there were moments of self-doubt in the previous week where I was worried about earning the minimum four digits, I was very delighted with myself.

I was so thrilled, after I turned in my scratch paper I even attended my next class of the day, even though it was only 20 minutes away (my first class of the day I had sacrificed for the sake of finishing the test). When the teacher asked if anyone had done anything interesting, as he often does to start our Monday class, I quickly shared my ac-complishment. I knew the applause I got from my classmates, as led by my teacher, wasn’t heartfelt, but I certainly didn’t let that hurt my ego.

Starting with a cursive curveball and ending in a sitting ovation, I had a trying experience that I hadn’t expected, but I seemed to overcome anyway.

Once you reach a certain point in life, tests become less obvious. By that I mean, one goes through a trial but there is no printed answer sheet, No. 2 lead pencils, or a matronly time keeper reminding you that the clock is counting down. College is winding down, and even if I get accepted to graduate school, the number of blatant tests I have left to take is… numbered. The examinations will keep coming, of course, but they will take the form of conversations, debates, interviews, lunches, and other less obvious assessments.

I’ve finished one of the last transparent tests and, by golly, I did well despite my brain’s attempts otherwise.

We’ll see how I do with the next one called “life.”

At least I can skip the cursive portion.

'Time_to_go_kill_some_more_brain_cells'

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WAG - An open letter to writer’s block:

To whom in may concern,

I hope this missive reaches you rapidly and in good condition.

My name is Caleb Michael Smith. I believe you’d heard of me. You’ve been harassing me all day in addition to troubling me in countless past encounters.

Remember the final draft of the research paper in Honor’s English IV in high school? The essay on entertainers of the 1910s and 20s? Recall the trial that was biological science and malaria? All the word problems in geometry? How about the fourth-grade project on the environment of ants?

Ring any bells? I thought so…

I’ve been taught to tackle obstacles straight-on when that approach seemed prudent. This does not work in every case – for there are times when the choice to use that tactic was ill advised and others times when the judgment was sound but the execution was poor.

So here we go again.

I’ve been having trouble expressing my thoughts - something that is largely your fault. I was going to compose a long, well thought out argument to convince you to direct your halting efforts elsewhere, but you stymied that as well.

Here is a select listing of some other abandoned compositions you recently interfered with:

- An emotional plea appealing to your sense of honor and honesty

- A request of boon that bases its arguments on your sexy good looks

- A directory of people who I think would be better off enjoying your “services”

- A list of the contributions to mankind I intend to make if you’d remove your monkey from my back

- A much pared down list of potential societal offerings that seems more reasonable (so much for the time machine and the machine through which you can fax a pizza – Delivered in two minutes or less, or your toner back!)

- A catalog of select personal items I would consider paying in ransom

- A complete inventory of personal possessions and the names of a few people who owe me money.

- Terms of conditional surrender

- Terms of unconditional surrender (I was halted when trying to pick the words of humility to go with the waving of the white flag)

So after all this, and as you know, I’ve given up trying to find the sensitive words to communicate this next thought tactfully, LAY OFF!

It’s been a long day, I’ve had to chase down too much trouble over the last 48 hours as it is, and you aren’t helping things.

Sigh…

Your burden further restricts me to stumpy phrases. Fine.

You try my patience! You make things so complicated! You make me agitated! You stink like skunk!

Sigh…

Only three-word phrases? Or less? Do hyphenated-words count? Okay.

I hate you! You no fun! No like you! Die, die, die!

Sigh…

Wait a minute… This formerly blank page is filled with words! Not all of them are eloquent or finely crafted, but there they are.

Hmm…

Thanks Writer’s block. It seems you’ve come through on my behalf for a change.

Heh, heh, heh.

Take good care of yourself! Say, “Hello!” to the strife and skids for me. I know we’ll meet again, but for now, I bid you good leave.

Forgive my premature departure, but I have some writing to do.

Take that, sir!

'Score_one_for_the_home_team'

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WAG - Note: I wrote a lot of this Sunday. I was in the unexpected position of being up at the same time the polls opened in the Middle East. I hadn’t planned to be up this late/early, but since Residential Life prevents me from sharing certain types of information in public, the root of the original clause of this sentence can only be explained in a forum separate from the public sphere of the Internet so ask me about it in person sometime.

There is a nine hour difference between Missouri’s and Iraq’s time zones (if the “international” clock on the wall of the Missourian [which was put up in 2003 to help us think globally in the revving up to the second round of the Gulf War. It has since had the dateline city Baghdad replaced with Tehran and Damascus, though the London clock to its right has remained unchanged – except for batteries]). Night owl Americans go to bed hearing about the budding news of the day and wake up to find out things turned out in the east. It’s like seeing the opening of an all night marathon, falling asleep, and waking up in time to catch the final 15 minutes when the guy get the girl, the bully gets his comeuppance, and the wised mentor (who may or may not have died partway through hour four) appears to smile down on our hero (either from their rustic porch or from amongst the clouds, depending on the previous sce-nario).

Iraq’s had a happy ending Sunday. However, that was only the end of this chapter. “The Next Generation” sequel is already under production and we’ll be watching closely to see what happens next.

FLASHBACK POST: Carpe diem-ed!

Congrats, Iraq!

You had an opportunity and you seized it.

Once again, you trumped the experts’ pessimistic expectations.

- Turnout was higher than previously estimated. Roughly 72 percent of the country of 14 million turned out to vote.
Granted, it was less than the 100 hundred percent turnout in the last Saddam-run “election,” but this time the num-bers and the results are less suspect than the elections that proved every single person voted for Hussein (though I might ask, what kind of jerk with an over-inflated ego expects us to buy such a vote anyway? Oh yeah… the spider-hole-hiding kind).

(Note: Once more accurate numbers came in, and were better adjusted to the percentage of people eligible to vote, 62 percent of the country was said to have participated in the democratic process. This is equal to

I have a few, different links that you could consult to look at the American voter percentage turn in 2000 and 2004, but let me summarize those numbers: Iraqi voters turned out in the same percentage as American crowds, if not a little better. Considering this was the first real election in decades, voting stations were being conjured from scratch, terrorist threats were well known, and security was a big question throughout the day, the fact that voters turned up, let alone in the millions, was a miracle.

What percentage of Americans would still strive to vote under similar circumstances? I don’t want to know the answer, but it’s certainly something to ponder.)

The violence was far reduced than predicted. It is very sad that anyone had to brave bombs, bullets, and any other form of violence to cast their vote, but it shows they believe in hope. Even those who paid with their own lives ensured their voices were heard.

The pages in the history books are turning faster than ever.

This signals the ending of a darker chapter of history. The next few papers appear to be comprised of lighter fare. Granted, it’s like when the witches show up in Shakespeare’s Macbeth; things remain dark, but at least the black comedy is a nice departure from the blood and gore of the previous few acts.

Things are changing, and while that remains a constant, it is important to note they are changing for the better in Iraq… thanks to the coalition partners who are trying to provide a protective sanctuary for the country to grow its own form of freedom from within.

May they all be successful in their endeavors.

Keep going out and seizing that good day.

'Let_freedom_reign'

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WAG - Plotting the method to the madness

I've asked myself recently, where has my time been going? What have I been up to that has sapped my extra time and rendered me a poor utilizer of my time.

To solve this conundrum, I decided to examine my own motives, drives, and code of conduct. Here, I present to you the culmination of my inner-investigation: my own personal rules.

By reviewing these edicts, you too can observe how I function, and hopefully come to the same conclusion on how I came to be where I am right now.

And without further ado, I present:

My Personal Rules of Conduct

Rule 1: First rule of personal conduct, there are rules of personal conduct.

Rule 2: Consult Rule 1.

Rule 3: Move arms more rapidly to simulate an increase in movement.

Rule 4: Paper beats rock just because it does.

Rule 5: If you don't go to bed when I ask you, the gypsies will come and take you away.

Rule 6: In a fine restaurant, always be sure to use the proper utensil, tip the waiter generously, and never lick your plate when someone is looking.

Rule 7: Lucky numbers are a farce and symbolically tying concepts to numerals based on theoretical outcomes and expectations is grossly pathetic.

Rule 8: You put your right foot in and you shake it all about.

Rule 9: Red always goes first in checkers... unless you setup the board before I could claim the red side, in which black goes first.

Rule 10: Always keep one loaded in the chamber along with a full clip.

There is no Rule 11. Get over it.

Rule 12: Don't mix oil with water, nitro with glycerin or African bees with American honey bees.

Rule 13: Giant checks are for photo ops only. Don't try to cash them.

Rule 14: If he hollers, "Let him go," einey, meany, miney, moe.

Rule 15: The white zone is for loading and unloading ONLY!

Rule 16: Embezzling millions of dollars at the expense of poor, underpaid workers is unethical, reprehensible, and something you and I will probably never be in the position to do, so we don't have to worry about it.

Rule 17: (Note: In lieu of Rule 17, I'm going to insert a random paragraph from a recipe I've recently rescued from the recycle bin to my right. It's not really a rule, but if you follow it, you should make a tasty Coca-cola cake) Combine cola, butter and cocoa in saucepan. Bring to a boil. Remove from heat. Pour over sugar. Add vanilla. Blend and pour over hot cake. Prinkle with chopped nuts if using. Cool completely before cutting.

Rule 18: The postman always rings twice. I don't know why.

Rule 19: Don't bring in da noise if you aren't going to bring in da funk as well.

Rule 20: Those who own poodles should expect to be mocked and shouldn't be so surprised when I fulfill that expectation.

Rule 21: While not calling after 10 p.m. (9 p.m. Eastern time), isn't really an official rule, it's certainly a polite guideline to follow.

Rule 22: Just because Mr. Rogers and Barney love you the way you are, it doesn't mean that I have to (though I might).

Rule 23: The sun rises in the east and a gorilla sits wherever he wants to.

Rule 24: Wear safety belts. Buck gravity before it bucks you.

Rule 25: Saying you have, "No comment," is, in fact, a comment.

Rule 26: Super-sizing your meal means your heart attack will hit 15 minutes earlier than what it would if you would had requested the regular order.

Rule 27: Don't wear white after Labor Day... or Arbor Day... I'm lysdexic and I really don't remember...

Rule 28: The "man" is refered to as singular, despite the fact he's obviously plural. That's the way he/they like it.

Rule 29: The odds are you've started scanning this list a long time ago, so I need no worry about fully formulating thoughts and completing them.

Rule 30: We were all created equal. But as George Orwell noted, it's just that some are more Equal than others (the rest of us are more Sweet and Low).

Rule 31: Disco is not coming back. Ever.

Rule 32: Whatever you do, don't drink from the glass on your left. I'll tell you why later. Don't speak of this to the cops... who may or may not be showing up shortly.

Rule 33: If someone tells you, "You have a spot on your tie," don't believe them for they just may be planning to flick you in the nose when you look down.

Rule 34: This space for rent.

Rule 53: Don't mock dyslexic people. Like it they do not.

Rule 36: Hit the save button frequently.

Rule 37: If you go on long enough, you find order breaks down and the law isn't what it used to be. Rules become suggestions, suggestions become food-for-thought, food-for-thought isn't enough to nourish anybody, so you end up doing whatever comes naturally. Chaos abounds, all of society's pillar's collapse, entropy wins so you're better off giving up.

Rule 38: If you're going to wear sandals, please don't wear socks.

Rule 39: If you get this far, though I really don't know how you could follow all of these and not have been incarcerated by now, buy yourself a lemonade and take the rest of the month of... or afternoon... whatever your boss is more likely to let you get away with.

'Rule_40__Last_one_out_turn_off_the_website'

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WAG - Aloha, cold weather

I'm attempting to counter-program the weather with my winter ensemble.

Today, I'm sporting a little orange, yellow, black, red, and white Polynesian shirt. Yes, it's tacky; what Hawaiian shirt isn't?

A casual glance around the newsroom tells me that I'm the most vibrantly dressed person. There's one or two people in bright pinks and a magenta running around, but this selection from my wardrobe definitely seems to be the sharpest outfit to pierce the drab winter grays, greens, and blues that currently populate the room.

This is not your usual outfit to step out with in 20 degree weather (to be fair, it did warm up to 30-odd degrees, but only for a few hours and you'd have to be a person like me to notice.)

The windchill was enough to keep me from going out in shorts and sandals - though I did wear such an outfit earlier this week when it was umpteen degrees warmer (I do have my limits, even if the ones I have cause my mother to worry/shiver).

The idea is to convert positive intellectual optimism into physical heat conversion. I told my girlfriend this afternoon that the idea is to, "Think warm, be warm...."

Okay, I'd wager your response equalled hers in the reaction that such a supposition is a total crock.

You'd mostly be right.

You're either warm or you're not. While psychologists have fiddled with bio-feedback over the years, which shows one does have limited control over their body's sensations (it has been proven that with practice and concentration, one can increase blood flow to an area which can heighten sensation as well as increase the temperature), one isn't going to start sweating bullets in the middle of an ice storm (granted, in such conditions you may perspire out of fear, but it won't be a recation to the body starting to physically overheat internally [it would only be mentally]).

Upbeat thinking can only take you so far, even when it's forced. I'm reminded of a scene from The Muppet Christmas Carol where Kermit and the freezing rat underlings of Scrooge humbly request more coal.

Note: Rather than just recollecting this scene, I'm going to interupt myself and present the transcript of the exchange:

Kermit the Frog: If you please Mr. Scrooge, it's gotten colder and the bookkeeping staff would like an extra shovel full of coal for the fire.

Rat #1: All of your pens have turned to inkcicles.

Rat #2: Our assets are frozen.

Ebenezer Scrooge: How would the bookkeeping staff like to be suddenly... UNEMPLOYED?

Rats: [singing and suddenly girded in island garb] HEAT WAVE! This is my island in the sun. Oi! Oi!

* * * * * * * * * * *

Note: As I shift back into the normal flow of consciousness, one final word on acquiescing to bosses' wills. A short time ago, the executive editor of the Missourian wandered over here. Articles had started to come through and I'd paused in my blogging for a while (the only reason I'm writing now is because I have eight and a half minutes left one my lunch break). Anyway, he took a look at me and told said liked my shirt. "Thank you," is all you can really say in reply, but I still think that's cool.

So, the lesson is, while the clothes may not change the weather, they may have an impact on your personal outlook and the people around you. The sun may still be hidden behind the clouds, and a serious load of snow coming our way according to the current forecast, but you can still brighten up the day by having a sunny disposition and a gaudily tacky glowing shirt.

Since the Hawaiian phrase " coming our way according to the Aloha" can be used as both a greeting and a farewell, and I'm not sure in which direction you're headed, I once again leave you with said benediction...

... and continue to be brightly dressed no matter what storm may slam us.

'So_go_on_Mother_Nature___HIT_ME'

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WAG - Dr. Frankenstein and Igor are two classic figures (even if only one had origins in the book by Mary Shelly and the other was birthed out of cinematic installments). I’ve written short bits before that imagined the interaction between these two mismatched men chasing after the “man” that time would like to forget. While I like the original dark tome by Shelly, especially when Frankenstein’s creature narrates his own tale, I think the characters could just as easily play in a more humorous matter. The two leads carry burdens, in an intelligent mind that lacks wisdom and a blindly devoted servant which a big chip on his… hump. Throw in the impact of countless rioting villagers, and you realize it can be a farcical existence.

It’s now time for

The further adventures of
Dr. Frankenstein and Igor

Today’s installment: What a Day

Two bedraggled men, seemingly wrapped in rags stumbled down a muddy county road.
“What are we going to do to catch the creature today, Master?”

The not-so-good doctor, at least in the eyes of most of the world, said nothing.

Due to the crimes of him and his creation, from the lesser offense of grave robbing ranging to, most recently the monster to hurling a mayor through the stained-glass window of the local cathedral, he and his scrappy companions had been chased out of the last six villages.

“Things always go wrong when one mixes politics with religion,” he muttered to himself.

“What’s that, Master?”

“Forget it. There’s nothing to worry about Igor.”

The wrinkles on Igor’s forehead immediately disappeared as he stopped worrying, at his master’s perceived command. His mental state, often described as “All hump, no higher lobal function” by his master – in a definition that was closer to the truth even he imagined – couldn’t bear such heavy cognizant loads, so it quickly dropped any conundrum that was taxing his weary intellect. Unknowing to Frankenstein, Igor instantly reached a state of inner nirvana. Had the doctor sensed a portion of its comforting effect, he may have envied the hunchback.

Now smiling, he continued to squish along behind his leader.

“Do you still have my watch Igor? I want to know how much darkness we have.”

The two typically traveled by day, but they also had the standard practice after being violently kicked out of a hamlet, to spend a few days sleeping by day and traveling by night. It made it easier to spy lit torches.

“Umm…”

Igor began to wiggle as he pawed his pockets beneath his makeshift shroud.

“I gave it to you right before that blacksmith’s apprentice tossed me down the well, cranked me up again, and repeated the process a few times?”

“Err…”

“I asked you to take special care of that instrument. It belonged to my grandfather. I've used it on all my experiments.”

“Master… I didn’t tell you this earlier,” he said as he pulled out a misshapen goober of golden metal. The shiny husk slowly twirled on a knotted chain. Something dark and brackish was slowly dribbling of out the exposed innards.

“But Master,” Igor said before whimpering and continuing, “some of the villagers dropped me in a pig sty. They said something about ‘spending quality time with my own kind.’”

He extended the battered nugget of a timepiece to the doctor. Just as his fingers started to close around the chain, it snapped and plopped into the mud below.
The two both halted, but only Igor bent down to retrieve the device formerly known as a watch. He stood back up, to his full 3/4s height and smiled. After scraping a large clump of dirt of the faceplate he tapped on the faceplate, which sent it flying along with a newly released springs.

“To answer your original question master, its… 5 o’clock.”

“Five o’clock, Igor?” Frankenstein asked.

The hunchback reexamined the exposed face of the clock, desperately trying to remember which hand meant what. Deciding it was easier to stick with his original answer, rather than think of a new one, he nodded.

“It says 5 o’clock, Master. In the night time.”

“Around what time were we kicked out of out the village last night?

“Five o’clock, in the night time.”

“And what time is it now?”

“It reads 5 o’clock, in the night time. The same.”

Igor’s eyes looked down and crossed like they always did when he tried to remember something important.

“Hmm…” was all Igor could add to his previous statement.

Frankenstein reached up to rub his aching temples.

“I thought that was what it would read.”

Igor started to hand the battered pocket watch to his master.

“Do you want the watch now?” Igor asked.

Frankenstein waved off his eager servant.

“No, Igor. But you may keep it as a tortuous memento of yet another trying night.”

The hunchback’s eyes widened and he bent over even farther out of glee.

“Thank you ever so much, Master!”

Frankenstein ignored his traveling companion’s joy. He looked down and considered the torn sheets that made up his makeshift bandages. His left arm was in a sling and another length of cloth was tightly wound around his right wrist. The red spots that had soaked through his knee bandages seemed to have dried, signaling they were starting to heal. He looked over at his limping partner and observed the lurch was more pronounced than usual. It was hard to tell if where he was wounded for, after assisting his master in the treatment of his injuries, he simply looped a cloth around him in random orbits until he reached the end.

“We look like two lost and confused mummies.”

Igor turned and showed the doctor his usual look of confusion.

“Mummies. From Egypt? I made many studies of the process of mummification and the preservation of man before making that cursed creature.”

Like he had started to crank a wheel to a generator, a spark grew in Igor's eyes.

“I know a lot about that too,” said Igor.

Frankenstein was surprised.

“Do you really?”

“Yep,” Igor said.

“What exactly do you know about mummies and life?”

“Well, I’ve known my Mummy almost since I was born.”

Stealing a glance back at his master, Igor mistook Frankenstein’s pained silence as an invitation to continue.

“And when I asked her where I came from, she told me all babies – mans and womans – were delivered by from flying storks.”

“Did your… Mummy ever mention the stork dropping you during the course of your delivery?”

“How did you know, Master?”

Frankenstein was no longer sure which hurt more, his head or his bruised body.

“Just a guess, Igor. Just a guess.”

His eyes searched the skies and spotted a light blue line that was beginning to grow on the horizon.

“I think it’s time for us to call it a day.”

Igor peered in the same direction his master was staring.

“But it’s just starting.”

“Exactly. I think we’ve done enough damage to ourselves today, Igor. Let the creation have a day free from us chasing. Right now our energies are best spent pursuing a recuperative sleep, rather than chasing that infernal project.”

Frankenstein turned and walked into the thick woods to the left of the path. Igor followed after the sloshing sounds of his footsteps.

“You rest, Master. I’ll stay up and keep watch.”

Already halfway to the ground and the pile of leaves that would be his bed, Frankenstein didn’t care to argue.

“As you wish, Igor.”

“What time should I wake you up tonight, Master?”

With a final sparkle in his eye before he fell asleep, Frankenstein said, “Wake me when the sun goes down a 5 o’clock, in the night time.”

'Isn_t__it__5__O_clock__in__the__night__time__already'

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WAG - The Dickens!
Grade expectations

I broke a rule I have that has guided my personal conduct concerning my scholastic affairs. I’d followed this prerogative since my first year at college. At different times, it was adhered to both cognizantly and subconsciously – through pointed and unconscious efforts. It was a violation I hadn’t looked forward to, and I took a long breath before making the deliberate decision to commit to the deed.

I looked up my grades before I started a new semester.

I know this is going to take a bit of context to place things into perspective…

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Sometime before I came to the University of Missouri, somewhere up the administrative echelon made the decision to stop sending out printed copies of the semester’s grades. This was intended to save paper, and of course, the time and cost it took to mail all of these updates, I have no doubt.

Thus, upon finishing my first semester of college, I was faced with an unfamiliar proposition.

Flashback
Me: Let me get this straight. You mean my parents won’t know my grades until I tell them? You mean my computer doesn’t have the proper patches so I can’t look up my grades? You mean the university gave me the perfect excuse NOT to find out my grades in a timely manner? I love college life!

Okay, that’s not exactly what happened, but it’s close. After years of having my public school grades delivered to the house, I had finally been given some breathing room. Before, the semester’s grades were almost instantly revealed after their arrival. My grades came printed on a telltale ream of computer paper – often delivered in tandem with my sister’s grades. Organized conspiracy wasn’t a serious option since I wasn’t the one who regularly got the mail and my sister has long gotten better grades than me. Even before she was considered, that made her an unlikely partner in a crime she probably wouldn’t want to participate in.

Stalling could only occur for a few hours, in the time it took for my parents to come home after work. Whenever I heard the phrase, “And how are your grades,” I knew I had no choice but two surrender the piece of paper without any conditions or qualifications. Granted, my grades were never too bad (Except for chemistry, but we don’t need to go there right now, do we? We’re long past talking about nitrogen. I don’t know about you, but I’m moving on…). Still, I always had a bit of regret knowing I had no choice but to volunteer my grades.
I found it easier to release my grades when there was some space and distance between me and my parents (there was also a feeling of safety in some cases, especially when I encountered a random C or two).

The practice of waiting for the semester to start became routine, especially once I became a desk attendant in the residence halls, and later a member of student staff. The crazy schedules that accompany the start of the semester made it easy for me to put off looking at grades for a couple weeks, and in a rare semester or two, months.

When hearing others talk about their grades, I can recall the look of puzzlement on several people’s faces when I told them I still hadn’t looked at my own. I’ll get around to it eventually, I’d tell them. My knowledge or lack of knowledge doesn’t affect a grade (I’ve learned it’s a matter of action or inaction).

Nevertheless, in a recent crunch, I spent time to see what my grades were this holiday season. It’s rare that I’m at a computer that has all the program patches to access MU’s grade program; even on campus I’ve had occasional trouble finding the a computer with the right set of combinations.

I was pleasantly surprised with what I saw. I had a bumpy past semester, for reasons already chronicled in the Web site, but I found that I had the best semester grades in over a year. Some of the grades were only the product of an unexpected shift of a plus or minus, but I’ll take the cumulative amount.

I’ll have to work harder to match this set of grades, especially since I’ll be taking capstone classes for my majors this year. Regardless, I’m thrilled about what has happened and for the first time, I find myself starting a semester thriving off the academic exploits of the previous season.

I don’t really have enough semesters left to make it a habit, but it’s a booster I’ll be sure to enjoy.

'And_eventually_share_with_my_parents'

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WAG - Going around the bends

While deep-sea scuba diving, one needs to keep in mind how long they’ve been under. It’s a matter of time. The depths reached and the time spent below need to be factored in to determine how long the assent will take.

The idea is that if one returns to the surface too quickly, without taking the time to readjust to the differences in pressure, one can get a case of the bends, a life-threatening condition (in layman’s terms, it’s bubbles on the brains, but since we’re switching out of the metaphor and into the main topic of this post, I need not bore you with the specific details of nitrogen gas under pressure and shifts in atmospheres as one goes deeper underwater).

I am attempting to follow the same guiding principles as I wait for classes to start again at Mizzou.

I’m working on adjusting how I spend free time, eating schedules, shifting the time I get up (not the time when I go to bed – I just need more practice getting up early in the morning regardless of how late I stayed up) and other similar details. This practice is difficult due to two factors: my environment and my laziness.

Currently it’s hard to reconstruct the parameters of college life while my surroundings and human nature inadvertently conspire against me. I lack many external cues to act like a college student. I am not surrounded by college alumni, I do not have the full access to my movie, book, or music collection I am used to enjoying. Internally, after weeks of spoiling myself when it comes to sleeping in and then not being too constructive (I’m still reading about a book a day, but even that is hard to justify when I let other tasks go unperformed), I don’t want too.

I’m still on vacation, if only for a short time longer, and my body and mind is telling me to act like it.

It’s a matter of routine. Eventually, something’s going to have to change (and unless I get some kind of grant to support the lethargic lifestyle I’ve currently become accustomed to, I think it’s going to be me.

'Wake_me_up_when_that_happens'

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WAG - Flashback post: I started this on my grandparent’s computer, but neglected to finish it before moving on down the road (well, really up the road since we were headed North, but you get the idea).

An unlikely sidekick

I’ve made an unexpected friend this evening.

It seems a lightning bug has taken up refuge against the cold in my grandfather’s study. I’m not sure how long (Note: While I am not skilled enough in the anatomy of lightning bugs to make a confident determination that the insect was, in fact, a male, but for the sake of this post I am going to make the sexist supposition that the creepy-crawly was of the male persuasion) he has hidden out in here, but I have made multiple sightings of him over the last few days.

There were a few that were up close and personal while I was reading at one of my grandfather’s work desks. Trying not to disturb any of the antiques, I carefully positioned myself so I wouldn’t disturb any of the letter openers, ink jars, or other knick-knacks. I don’t know how many chapters I had read before I noticed the bug land on my arm.

I recognized the bug from earlier, or at least assumed that it was the same insect. I don’t like quashing bugs so I decided to restrain myself and study the lightning bug as he studied me.

You can only observe a bug for so long and despite the fact I let it circle my wrist and shimmy down my arm, I positioned my arm so that it crawled on the desk. He did a half loop and started climbing on me again. Trying not to be disturbed, or accidentally tickled into squishing the bug, I tried to concentrate on my book.

Though my eyes scanned over the first few lines, I found myself thinking about my apparent insect sidekick. While sidekicks have come in many forms, from boy wonder to man’s best friend to faithful winged companions, I realized couldn’t recall anyone claiming to have an insect sidekick.

Ignoring such statistics as population size, which lists insects as one of the most populous forms of life of the planet, it seems most writers – when designing dynamic duos – seem to focus on factors such as size, strength, intelligence, and lack of multifaceted eyes.

Despite the oversight of innumerous authors, I briefly wondered how a match-up would go between a hero and his miniscule partner and their arch nemesis.

Scene: In the dimly lit cave, our hero is blindfolded and tightly shackled to a boulder with an enormous chain. The super-villain, in all his nefarious glory, cackles incessantly as he positions the supersonic-turbo-laser-cannon-off-death (patent pending) at our helpless hero. Though his restraints prevent any movement and he has ceased to test his bounds, the hero’s eyes continue to dart around the room searching for some way to stop the evil doctor’s despicable plans. Hope arrives in a tiny bundle as his faithful little companion, Speck, quietly enters the cage through a hole in the ceiling of the cavern. As long as he hovers slowly, his miniature cape muffles the vibration of his wings. He quickly takes in the scene and knows his mentor has little time left. With his super-hearing, the hero somehow senses his sidekick’s presence and looks in his direction. Even without making eye contact, there is no question in what is communicated. The time for action is now.

(Here we shift views to the darkened perspective of the hero)

“Speck!”

“Buzzzz?”

“Speck, get him!”

“Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!”

Smack!

“Speck! Noooooooooo!”

The hero’s cries for vengeance echo in the underground chamber.

End scene

And that's the reason why one rarely sees insects sharing the spotlight with the main characters. Insects may still be used in subplots in displaying a more substantial (as in more human) character’s hobbies or interests or as a minor plot complication (“Look out everybody, killer bees!”), but for now insects’ impact will be limited.

Of course, try telling that to the lightning bug who keeps landing on my shoulder.

'I_have_sidekick_all_over_the_bottom_of_my_shoe'

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WAG - Note: I know this isn’t the year 2004 for everybody. For those of you using the Jewish calendar, I realize you are well into 5765. Please accept my apology in not posting my thoughts on the subject in a more timely manner as related to your schedule, but rest assured I have saved plenty of ammo to go around.

Resolve this.

2004 is over.

Whee…

New Year’s doesn’t mean much to me. The timing of the date was arbitrarily assigned hundred of years ago and has no real meaning.

Truth be told, the major thing the arrival of 2005 means is that, I’ll now be spending countless lost seconds rewriting incorrect dates (in most instances, trying to make a 4 look like a 5, I’ll wager).

The whole late night countdown never did much for me. In the last few years, it’s only been me a few people gathered around the TV (that is if we weren’t already watching something on DVD or something). I’ve never had a holiday sweetheart to smooch when it’s midnight in the central time zone (when we get replays of how New Year’s appeared an hour ago on the East coast, or one continues to watch the warm-up parties on the West coast). That last one isn’t for the lack of trying or plotting, but the closest I ever came was late 1998 when I ended up on a bus in the middle of nowhere in Texas as Prince’s 1999 began to play on the radio. I blame it all on the Ghost of Dramatic irony – it’s a complicated story that I don’t want to get into, but suffice it to say, if you realize that’s the peppiest New Year’s I’ve had, the rest haven’t been too much to squawk about.

Resolutions are the other major part of New Years, which is also, coincidentally enough, the other main part of the holiday I don’t go for.

Why wait all the way to the start of the year to undertake a personal declaration? I’ve made Thanksgiving resolutions just as easily as New Year’s ones. I’ve also found they are just as easily broken, so it doesn’t hurt to get on the ball replace old pledges with new ones. If you work hard, you can go through a couple in only a single month.

Don’t give me the, I’m doing it because everybody else is doing it excuse. As all your mother, or other responsible guardians, proved a long time ago, just because everyone is gung-ho about an idea, that doesn’t make it sound enough to follow. They may be right (“All your friends are going to college. Do you want to be like them?”), but group consensus shouldn’t be the single, lonely determining factor.

As it is, I’ve been so run down by listening to the failure stories of other people’s resolutions that I no longer aim high in mind. Granted, I still aim for the stars in other areas, but when it comes to the promise I’m making for January 2005, I’m low-balling my pledge.

This year, I have resolved myself to getting a new light bulb for my lamp, by the end of February.

It’s nice, simple, reasonable, not cost inhibitive, and has plenty of time to be fulfilled.

And to let you know about my future plans, here’s my pledge for March of 2005: I’m going to try the “Hot” salsa at the supper market instead of playing it safe at the “Medium” level.

For the record, to let you know a bit more about my lowered expectations, when I took the ACT. for the first time, my goal was double digits.

2005 is here? No big whoop.

Let me know when you’ve broken your latest resolution, if not already, and we can co-plan what the next one(s) will be.

'Y2K_plus_Five__No_big_jive'

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WAG - Pros versus Cons

Good always trumps evil… eventually.

I have grown up believing that, and not just from underdog movies either.

I have been raised in a Christian home, surrounded by solid friends and family, who helped me as I went through life stumbling and falling and making mistakes and learning lessons and every so often improving myself in the process.

God has carried me a long way, and even though I know I still will make mistakes along the way and temporarily mess up his plan with misguided elaborations of my own design, he will see me through if I keep trusting in him.

That is why I continue to make this tactical mistake: I will keep posting to this site.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In the past this site has been used against me.

I’m talking about more than just comments ribbing me for foolish behavior. There has been hurtful comments left on message boards and private information included in these posts being used as fodder against me (I must also note that not all attacks have been from the same person or persons).

Even that I could understand if the attacks were justified and the approach straightforward and honest – at least then it would be deserved. Rather, truths are mixed with falsehoods and all are aimed at my reputation and the people linked to it (family, friends, church, girlfriend).

A lie paired with the truth makes for an even more potent and damaging lie. It digs deeper and destroys more in its deployment.

The people who have set out to inflict this harm know this and are quite talented and practiced in this craft.

I would like to say such abuses have been solely regulated to the past, but I have reason to believe it is still being mined for ammunition against me and the people I care for. Earlier attacks have been renewed, recantations withdrawn, and I can do nothing but pray.

I failed in not continuing to pray for the original attackers. That is the biggest mistake I have made. I hope I shall not make the name mismaneuver again.

I have been tempted to restructure my approach to the site. I contemplated a cessation of posting, a site that would be devoid of any personal information or accounts, starting a new site only a handful would be e-mailed the new web address to, and other such options.

I weighed the options, and even now still re-consult the scales, but I have always stuck to the same conclusion:


This site will remain as is.


I may play with links, colors, organizations, and frequency of posting, but the content is to remain the same.

I will state my mind, share my experiences (even if the policy on naming continues to shift), and make a part of myself vulnerable that otherwise would be spared attack.

In some of my college classes’ assigned readings, some ethicists propose that in the marketplace of ideas, truth always wins when equally equipped against falsehood. The idea is that in a level playing field, good wins.

Here and now, I proclaim be belief that truth pitted against lies – no matter what their appearance, combination, or advantages may be – will always win… eventually. It may take a long time, years even…, decades…, longer still, but it will rise.

I make this declaration intellectually with this philosophy and through action by the continuance of this website

It is amazing how many theoreticians downplay or totally miss the powerful influence of God. He should never be forgotten, though it should also be noted, that whether or not we remember him, his effects are still felt. That is why I strive to remember him with my heart and through my deeds.

The odds look grim at times. The attacks aimed at me are beyond my control. That is bad.

The defense and offense meant to counter all this, is also beyond my control. That, paradoxically to some, is good.

Other than praying, I’m out of the fight, and that’s the best place for me to keep from tripping up his plan. God will lead this all up, his steps will not falter and his direction will be true.

This I know for sure:

The cons shall not be ultimately successful in their attacks, though I don’t know how long I’ll suffer from their arrows. I am positive that no matter what good will win and the truth will be heard.

That’s why I will keep writing and stating the truth… and praying too.

Keep reading, for we have a lot we can learn from each other if we listen to the truth we all can share.

'May_the_Truth_be_set_free'

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