No longer "no class"

I am starting a class in a few weeks, the first step in obtaining a graduate certificate in technical writing. Technical writing isn't an easy field to break into, but it pays pretty well if you do it right. Hopefully, I will fall into that category, and thus earn much money with which to keep the gold brocade coming.

The whole thing's gotten me thinking about the dumb things I hated about college, the foremost of which were instructors who required attendance and yet didn't give you positive credit for it. I had a history class in which you got only three excused absences; after that, you lost one letter grade for every three absences that followed. Showing up 100% got you nothing, of course. Well, I complained about this to a then-coworker (I worked part-time as a foot messenger), and she suggested that in retaliation I steal the class sign-in sheet.

Could I really do that? Sure, she said. When the sheet comes around to you, she told me, just stick it in your textbook and go on with class. When class is over, she advised, just leave immediately before you have to answer awkward questions. Now, you have to remember that I used to be very quiet and shy (a long time ago), so the idea of being this "rebellious" was pretty radical to me. However, I was so angry at the attendance policy that I decided to do it. Next class, I slipped the sign-in sheet quietly into my textbook, and then trembled for 50 minutes, waiting for someone to decry me in stentorian tones. It was like "The Telltale Heart", if the heart had been a piece of paper and the protaganist a lame-ass, nervous, petty thief.

As soon as class ended, I fled the room, and on my way out I heard the professor ask if anyone had the sign-in sheet. I immediately panicked and began formulating my strategy. I knew I couldn't safely leave the sheet in my backpack, lest he search it, so I folded up the sheet and stuffed it in my shoe. Of course, that wouldn't do, because he might order me to remove my shoes. (College professors often strip-search students, you see.) So I stuffed the folded-up sheet into my underwear, craftily deciding that if he checked my shoe he was OK, but if he checked my underwear it qualified as molestation. All this folding and stuffing was going on in a crowded hallway, mind you.

Needless to say, the professor did not track me down, so I endured a morning-full of that crotch-scratching sign-in sheet for nothing. He did, however, keep a tight eye on the sheet from then on out, which validated my view of the entire matter as some kind of Indiana Jones adventure. The point of this story is...well, I don't really know what it is, except that the next time I plan to steal a sign-in sheet, I am wearing boxers.

(BTW, when I said I was a foot messenger, I didn't mean that I delivered feet. I just walked on feet. My own.)

Artists to whom you should listen

Before I get started, let me say that I've lately become very averse to ending sentences with prepositions. I realize that, in the scheme of things, a post-sentence preposition ranks just above pink lint on the Things to Eradicate list, but for some reason it matters to me.

Anyway, I've decided to list a few of my favorite artists. Have at it.

Jill Sobule: If I were a singer-songwriter, I'd write songs just like Jill's. They tell these neat little stories that don't mean very much, but then it's been said that although the things we do don't matter very much, it's so very important that we do them. I glad Jill Sobule does them. Jill's downside is that her Web site is kind of annoying, but I guess no one's perfect.

Dar Williams: She's this I-majored-in-tofu-at-Vassar kind of lady, but her songs aren't the least bit froofy. Her lyrics are intelligent, and they make you think about the songs long after the CD has ended.

Jane Wiedlin: Former Go-Go's guitarist, I have always had a soft spot for Jane, who works so hard for so little. Her last album, Kissproof World, sold only about 1,000 copies, which means that after buying one CD, I own a significant portion of the print run. Ouch. JW's not everyone's cup of tea (she has a very pixie-ish voice), but I find her a quirky delight. Given the low circulation of her albums, I also find her a secret delight.

(In case you didn't get it from context, "froofy" can be defined as snobbish, artsy, or otherwise high-falutin'.)

The Dreaded Political Rant

What the fuck is wrong with this country?!? A man with a questionable military record, a history of failing upwards in business, and a well-documented alcohol problem is actually sitting in the Oval Office and acting like he won 50 states when he needed the help of the Supreme Court to squeak into office. It's a credit to the Republican spin machine that a long-time U.S. senator who won three Purple Hearts in active combat duty is actually on the defensive in the military service debate against this man, who leapfrogged over thousands of applicants to get into the Texas Air National Guard, and whose service to that organization has yet to be satisfactorily proven.

I could go on and on, but I'll cut to the point, which is that it's all our fault. That's right. Bush may have sleazed into office via the Supreme Court, but if the voters hadn't had their heads up their asses he wouldn't even have gotten past the GOP primaries by shamelessly slandering John McCain. Bush couldn't have won Florida if every poor, black, female, and gay Floridian had realized that the GOP hates them and registered that realization at the polls. Sure, the politicians suck, but let's keep in mind who votes for them. We do. I'm not sure if that's really subtle masochism or really obvious foolishness, but there you have it.

Viva la Montreal!

It's 11:30 and I am eating biscuits in my room whilst blogging. One of the nice things about being an adult is that there's no one to tell me I can't eat biscuits a) late at night; and b) in my bedroom.

But I digress. Montreal rocks! It's very walkable (always a hit with me), its sun sets in the north, and it's filled with openminded, friendly people who become even friendlier when you make an attempt at communicating in French. I relied on a few stock phrases to get me through:

Quel est le prix? (What is the price?)
Si vou plait donne moi... (Please give me...)
Je me suis perdu. (I am lost.)

When all else failed:
Je ne comprends pas. (I don't understand)

People there are better dressed than those in the States, particularly the men. Apparently, male Montrealers understand that straight men are not emasculated by clothes that are a) well-fitted and not three times too baggy; and b) dyed colors other than black, gray, or dark blue. I saw men in pants that were pink, red, peach and even bright blue. Of course, this fashion adeptness threw off my gaydar, but I am sure that after a few weeks or months I could reset to the Montreal frequency.

The only downside to this vacation was the fact that I forgot things on a regular basis. So remarkable was this memory shutdown that I thought I'd memorialize it in song as follows. (Sing to the tune of "My Favorite Things.")

A novel for passing the time on the airplane
One brush for taming my hair when it's insane
An email reminding me what I should bring
These are a few of my forgotten things

One map of Montreal marked with hot places
Two terry washcloths for cleaning our faces
Lastly, my MAC card, left in the machine
These are a few of my forgotten things

Fortunately, I did not forget my passport, so I was at least able to get into and out of the country without too much hassle. Note to self: Next time, make a list and tape it to your forehead a week before getting on the plane.

BTW, I did indeed find a pair of leather pants that will look great with the maroon Londo-Mollari vest I got last month. Yay me!

Headin' North

Yep, that's right. Tomorrow morning I fly to Montreal, home of cheap Canadian money and (hopefully) cheap, cool clothes. I intend to shop like mad on this vacation; I've been jonesing for a pair of leather pants and Philadelphia ain't the place to get 'em.

I found out that the plane in which Ed and I will ride is a double- prop. That's a first for me, and I'm wondering if I need to settle any philosophical questions before I board. Just in case I don't come back, I want my books to go to Dan, my furniture to Sean, and I want everyone to fight over what little money I'll leave behind. Considering the paltry amount that is, I expect the conflict will be as titanic as, say, a red bolster pillow doing battle against a toaster.

If I Were A God...

Believe it or not, this came up during pickup Saturday, and it's stayed on my mind long enough to make it to the blog. Now you must suffer it! The question: If you were a god, of what would you be the god? My answer: near-successes.
 
I know that sounds odd, but think about it. How many near-successes do you encounter in your daily life? A train just missed, a lottery ticket one digit off a winner, a dropped cup of coffee almost caught...there are too many to list. Each time one of those things happened to someone, he/she would think of me, thus ensuring that My divine name would ne'er be forgotten. That's certainly a better deal than you'd get being, say, the god of space shuttle launches that happen on odd-numbered days.
 
Also, after watching my brother play Black & White, I've learned that being a deity can be a real hassle. This one wants a good job, that one wants his leprosy healed...there's no end to the demands people place upon the divine. However, as the god of near-successes, no one would appeal for My attention; in fact, they'd beg for My neglect. Think about that: Millions of people offer Me rich sacrifice on a daily basis to do absolutely nothing but ignore them. I ignore lots of people in my life, but as a god I'd get paid for it. People send Me all kinds of cool stuff just so that I'll look the other way when they're interviewing for a job or bidding on a house or what have you. No work and sacrifice? That's a deal I can get behind.
 
Being the god of near-success would not be all sloth and avarice, however; there'd be a healthy amount of whimsical sadism as well. "Hey Mr. Sleazebag Lawyer, you almost managed to blow that stop sign without incident, but here comes that truck just a wee bit early." Mortals would never know when I would exercise My divine right to bitch-slap them, thus ensuring a steady flow of rich sacrifice. See? Even sadism has its uses.

Profile of an Interviewer

I've been thinking of changing employers, and to that end I registered today with an employment agency. I don't find agencies particularly useful, but this one was free (for job-seekers) so I figured I'd give it a shot. The experience got me thinking about job interviews, and about the different kinds of interviewers I have met. I'll list 'em, and the ways to deal with them.

The Sphinx: This interviewer asks you a question, and then stares at you expressionlessly even after you've finished your answer and the silence spins out. Don't be fooled into filling that silence with more information, because that's just what she wants. By maintaining a stony silence, the Sphinx is hoping you'll volunteer something you shouldn't. Therefore, when you've sufficiently answered her question, simply return her stare and live with the silence, and let her speak first. Trust me...it works.

The Bumbler: This interviewer really doesn't know how to conduct an interview, and he sort of blunders his way along, sometimes asking you questions, sometimes talking of irrelevant things. Beware losing your focus, which is easy to do when the Bumbler has the stage. Since the Bumbler has zero control over the interview, you can use his ineptness to your advantage by politely taking control yourself.

The Chatterbox: Similar to the Bumbler, the Chatterbox isn't the best interviewer. She talks on and on about everything and anything even tangentially related to the job, whether or not you need to hear it. However, since the Chatterbox's loquacity knows no bounds, you can sometimes find out more about the job and the company than she meant to reveal. Ask leading questions and she'll give you ten times the answer. Since more information means you can make a better choice, the Chatterbox is definitely a boon to the skilled interviewee.

The Adversary: Since this is the most dangerous interviewer of all, I'll spend more time on this one. The Adversary regards you as a potential enemy, and he will do everything in his power to trip you up or twist your words into something negative. If you say you are skilled at working independently, he'll ask if that means you have a problem with authority. If you point out your extensive experience, he'll wonder if that means you're too set in your ways and open to new ideas and methods. In short, the Adversary is out to get you.

There are ways to deal with the Adversary, however, and none of them involve telling him to kiss your ass. Try these:

1) Your words belong to you. You know what you said and what you meant, and if he tries to twist either one, politely and firmly correct him. If he persists, keep politely correcting him, as many times as it takes.

2) Don't get riled up. The Adversary wants to rattle you into making a mistake, but you can cheat his hope by staying cool and collected. Take a deep breath between his question and your answer, and speak slowly and carefully. It's hard to argue with someone who's upbeat and confident, and if you are both of those it will be hard for the Adversary to provoke you.

3) Shut your pie-hole. The Adversary is ready to pounce upon any misstep, so if you keep your answers short and your comments spare, he'll have less room to prowl. Once you answer a question, shut your mouth, and if he wants to know more, he'll ask.

Hopefully, this has been instructive. If not, too bad!

Out and NOT proud

As you may have heard, there are persistent rumors that the Washington Blade intends to out gay Congressmen (and their gay staffers) who support the Federal Marriage Amendment. If it's true, I say, "Faster, pussycat...kill! Kill!"

I normally disdain involuntary outing, since it can devastate our own community, but this situation is a bit different. We're not talking about gays who vote for Bush, or who are members of the Log Cabin Republicans. We are talking about gay people in positions of power who by day strike a direct blow for the forces of bigotry, and by night expect to play in the gay scene with anonymity. Sorry, but people like that have forfeited the courtesy the community normally affords to individuals of coming out at their own time. Therefore, those gay publishers who choose to show these people for the hypocrites they are fall solidly in the "justified" column in my scorebook. Those gay politicians choose to stand behind the FMA are the enemies of the gay community, and they should be treated accordingly. I have zero sympathy for them. None.

Dear Universe,

I am dissatisfied with the current state of affairs, and I thought I'd write you a letter pointing out some improvements you may not have considered.

- Broccoli is my favorite vegetable, yet it seems designed to get in between my teeth. Please correct that, and not by making my teeth fall out.

- Littering bugs me. I recommend altering the laws of physics so that whatever refuse (of any kind) a person deposits anywhere but in the proper receptacle will immediately appear in that person's bed.

- I know that spiders protect us from an overrun of insects, but I think it's possible to design an animal that can serve the same purpose without being eight-legged, hairy, and with more eyes than any creature has a right to.

- Although I really appreciate your chocolate, it would be much better if it contained no calories. Really.

- Cinema is cool. Way to go on that one.

- Swimming in the ocean would be much more appealing if seawater tasted more like milk and less like something unspeakably horrible.

- Straight people are nice, they are, and we need them for species propagation, but do they have to outnumber us so dramatically? A 50-50 split be more equitable, and would take care of the overpopulation problem quite handily.

- Milkshakes are also cool. Yay universe!

I know you're busy, so I'll leave it at that. Thanks for reading.

Apropos of Nothing

While listening to the weather forecast on the radio, I heard, "Friday: partly cloudy. Saturday: partly sunny." What's the difference? Did the meteorologist making the forecast just feel more optimistic about Saturday?

I Am a Liberal

During the last twenty years, the word “liberal” has become an insult and a source of shame. Bah, I say! Bah! I am a flaming liberal, and unrepentantly so. I like it. As a liberal, I believe that…

- Government should stay out of private and moral matters. Private citizens should be free to marry, have sex, seek or avoid medical treatment, and otherwise conduct their personal lives without undue official interference.
- There should be a strict wall of separation between church and state. Religion has in my opinion flourished at least in part because it operates independently of the government, and government has become more evenhanded for the same reason. Keeping religion and government well clear of each other has contributed to the wonderful diversity of our society.
- Government regulation is not the source of all evil, but has been and can continue to be a beneficial influence upon our society. Child labor laws, health and safety standards, and clean air and other pro-environment regulations have without question contributed to the health and well being of our society.
- The primary goal of the criminal justice system is not to wreak vengeance, but to protect society from those members who choose to make themselves dangerous, and to rehabilitate those who choose to be rehabilitated. This view does not preclude society from taking a strong stance against crime, but should temper the laws we make and the punishments we levy.
- Equality under the law, regardless of race, sex, religion, ability and sexual orientation should be sacrosanct, and honored by government on local, state, and national levels.
- Although personal responsibility is the primary determinant in the success of each individual, government can and should implement programs like public education and universal health care that benefit us all, directly or indirectly, and make success easier to achieve.
- Taxation should be progressive, with those of greater means sharing a greater part of the burden.
- Elections are the mechanism that make our democracy work, and one of our top priorities should be ensuring that elections are fair, accessible, and reflective of public opinion.

There. That’s not so bad, is it?

Is it just me?

Has anyone ever heard the saying, "Once you pay Dane-geld, you never get rid of the Dane?" I used that one on my brother and he looked at me as if I'd suddenly sprouted a second head. In case you're wondering, it's (paraphrased) from a Rudyard Kipling poem, the name of which I don't recall. This ignorance kind of ruins my righteousness, I realize. Argh.

Anyway, in olden times it seems that Danish raiders who preyed on England could be bought off...but only for a time. Once they knew you'd pay them to stay their hand, they'd make you pay again and again. Better to resist them, even at the cost of lives, then let them shake you down. I agree with this policy, both in my personal life and in world politics, although I've never personally been attacked by any Danes. Hmm. That lack of experience kind of ruins the relevance I'm attempting to create. Argh again.

A Little Bit o'Trust

I'm not much into sharing, as is well known, but I've decided in a fit of uncharacteristic chattiness to share a few things about me you may not know. Here goes...

- I used to be quiet and shy, about 40 pounds heavier, with terrible taste in clothes. Everything I wore was too big, too wrong, and too badly coordinated.

- When I was 14 years old I got my orange belt in Tang Soo Do, which was my first-ever athletic activity and my first-ever award. During the test I had to spar a guy more than twice my age, and I put him against the wall so he couldn't do anything but defend. The heady rush of pride at this accomplishment was also first-ever.

- I have an extremely nasty temper when provoked. Fortunately, it takes alot to drive me over the edge, but once it happens I become demanding, uncompromising and harsh, with a knife-sharp tongue.

- The last fistfight I was in happened when I was about eleven. My cousin (whom I considered at the time to be ultra-cool) entrusted me with the coveted honor of guarding his jacket whilst he was smoking, and this kid threw it into a puddle. I was not and am not a fighter, but I distinctly recall putting the blocks to that kid but good. Ouch for him.

- The thought of getting old really frightens me.

Ugh...that last one was as personal as I get.

B-b-b-bad Movies!

Many people don't realize this, but despite my hoity-toitiness about movies, I occasionally willingly see bad ones. I don't mean Ed Wood bad; I mean big-ass Hollywood bad. Maybe it's that my id gets hold of me once in a while and drives me to the worst dreck Hollywood can offer. Who knows? I accept it as part of the miracle of being.

I left the office early Tuesday as I wasn't feeling well, and on the way home I stopped by the video store to appease my id. Here's what I got:

Deep Impact: Who knew a disaster movie could be so boring? Plot: Big-ass comet is heading straight towards Earth. Now, I'm not going to criticize the questionable science of "Deep Impact", because I am not a, uh, cometologist, but I will criticize the fact that the movie does nothing and goes nowhere. The characters' personal problems are annoying, the excitement isn't very exciting, and by the end I was rooting for the comet.

Jeepers Creepers 2: I rented the first one and found it surprisingly enjoyable on an intellectual level, but the sequel is idaliciously empty. Lots of cute shirtless guys under stress from a demon that wanted to eat them. Not too bad in a lobotomy sort of way.

Freddy vs. Jason: The Holy Grail of mind-candy, this was disappointingly dull. Apparently, the filmmakers forgot the lesson of the first movie, which is, "Bringing Freddy into this world doesn't kill him." This one didn't even have very many cute guys to redeem it, either, nor did it involve a bunch of cute one-liners from Freddy. ("What's the matter...feeling tongue-tied?") Also, watching Freddy fight Jason has all the tension of a Jesus-Prometheus death match. Prometheus can't die and and Jesus will keep rising three days after his death, so really what's the point? Feh, I say. Feh.

This weekend I plan to immerse myself in indie films, to cleanse the stain of Hollywood from my mind.

Advice...you ain't gettin' it!

Those who know me know that I rarely offer advice. In fact, Emmett has said on several occasions that my reservation is near Minbari levels, which I suppose is true. I am comfortable with telling people only what I think they need to know, and little else.

But back to advice. People offer advice in the same way they exhale: constantly and without thinking. Sure, they usually - but not always - mean well, but just as usually that advice is neither required nor desired, and it's often pretty damned foolish, and uninformed to boot. Sometimes people just like to hear themselves talk, and to feel important because they think they know better than you. And who takes even 10% of even the best advice? Do you know these people? I don't.

My experience is that the hardest thing about approaching a life problem is not finding the answer, but discovering the question. After that, the answer usually attends to itself. Therefore, on the rare occasions where I consent to advise, I restrict myself to helping the listener define the question, and then letting her discover her own answers. IMO that's a much more helpful approach then telling someone he should do this or that, as if I know his situation better than he does. Also, that method keeps me from sounding as if I have some direct path to the wisdom of the ages.

Let's review...

BAD ADVICE: That guy doesn't treat you right and you should just leave him.
GOOD ADVICE: It sounds as though you're not happy with the treatment you're receiving. Maybe you should think about just what treatment you'd like to receive, and then decide if you are likely to get that treatment from him.

As you can see, the BAD ADVICE assumes that the adviser knows the situation and can accurately direct the listener's action based on that knowledge. This approach can leave the listener feeling pressured and resentful. The GOOD ADVICE avoids making judgements on the listener's life, but instead tries to get the listener to reexamine the situation from a different perspective. This approach encourages the listener to rely upon his own judgement, leavened with a bit of objectivity.

I don't have a witty or inspiring way to end this post, so I will stop trying to think of one and just sign off.

If you had to do it again...

Now, don't think I'm expressing regret here, because I'm not. My life is what it is, and I'm not sure I'd have it any other way. Hell, given the way things were, I don't think it could have come out another way. Still, sometimes I wonder what I'd do were I catapulted back into my just-out-of-college self, knowing everything I know now.

I think I'd have saved up as much money as I could in six months or so, and then moved out of the area to someplace I'd never been and where I knew no one. Scary, yes, but it's a scare I could have used at the time. I would also have dyed my hair a freaky color, since at that point I could afford to work retail or for some strange publishing collective that would appreciate cobalt hair. I would definitely have come out earlier than I did, and explored the sides of my personality that at that time lay hidden.

I just realized that this post is edging close to personal revelations, so I'm going to cut it short. You'll get no true confessions from me.

A Promised Rant

You know what I don't like? SUVs. They suck, and those who purchase them should be ashamed. Here's why.

They're not all that safe. SUVs, which are built higher than other cars, have a higher center of gravity. This makes them especially prone to rollovers, which account for the plurality of the really serious injuries sustained in auto accidents. Some people think that rollovers only occur rarely or in extreme conditions, but the fact is that most rollovers occur when a vehicle is tripped. SUVs can (and do) trip over obstacles even as low as curbs, which are found on just about every street on which most people drive. Pretty dangerous, huh? Auto companies have touted four-wheel (FWD) drive, which most SUVs have, as some enormous safety feature, when in actuality four-wheel drive doesn't enhance safety. FWD doesn't help in stopping a vehicle (all four-wheel vehicles have "four-wheel stop"), but those to whom SUVs have been sold drive as if it does. That's a dangerous illusion, and one which the auto industry has been happy to promote. In addition, most SUVs lack crumple zones, which transfer the force of a collision as much as possible to the vehicle, and not the driver. Therefore, if you get into a collision with your SUV, your SUV might be fine, but you probably won't be. I don't know about you, but I like the fact that my car sacrifices itself to save me. I'm funny that way.

They are a danger to others. As I've already noted, SUVs are much higher than sedans, which means in a head-on collision, an SUV can easily climb right over the hood of a sedan to strike the windshield and the driver behind it. Same for a side collision, but replace "windshield" with "smaller, weaker side window." In addition, SUVs are built on steel frames and often lack crumple zones, which in a collision makes them big, heavy battering rams. They obscure your line of sight in traffic, since you can't see around them to notice traffic backing up ahead of you, or the changing of a traffic light. Who needs advance warning of traffic conditions, anyway?

They make the environment worse. SUVs suck down gas as if it's limitless, which it most certainly is not. Combine that with the fact that gasoline comes from oil, alot of which is held in the Middle East by people who hate Americans and you've got the perfect blend of foolishness and avarice.

They're status symbols. SUVs are touted as off-road vehicles, but how many people actually drive them off-road? (Driveways do NOT count as off-road.) Would anyone in his right mind really take the Cadillac Escalade or the Lincoln Navigator off-road? As to their hauling capacity, most of what I see hauled by SUVs are children and groceries, and these can be handled most satisfactorily by minivans. However, Americans like to feel rough and tough, so they buy vehicles they think are rough and tough. SUVs are purchased because of their cachet, nothing more. Anyone who says differently is lying or naive.

For those of you who own SUVs and are offended, too bad. I won't lecture to you in real life, but on my blog, my rules. And on my blog, SUVs are dangerous, gas-sucking, attention-getting monstrosities, and anyone who buys them should be slapped several times.

Shock and Awe

You know about the beheading video, and if you don't, crawl out from under the rock and tune into CNN. Oh, and get ready for a rant.

This administration, headed by His Fraudulency George W. Bush, has been the most destructive in my lifespan. Arrogance mixed with ignorance, with a healthy dash of political canniness, is a dangerous mixture, and that's what the Supreme Court gave us in 2000. Bush's White House makes me long for the days of Ronald Reagan, and I never thought I'd say that. We have to get George Bush out of office. If you are as brassed off as I am about the damage Bush has done to our nation, please, please, please register to vote in November and help send that bastard right back to Texas, where he can only damage a state that likes him anyway. If you don't know how to register, email me and I will help you in whatever way I can. That's a promise.

Missed it and don't care

I missed Poetry on Your Blog Day and I don't care. I don't like poetry very much, if truth be told. Poetry sometimes makes me feel superficial, as if I'm just too stupid to get the point. Take the poem Sarcasmo posted, about the damn plums in the refrigerator. I have never been able to imagine why that poem is better than any other. Is there something I'm missing, or is that poem basically a wordier version what I might scrawl on a Post-It note? I'm not faulting anyone who likes the poem, but I just don't get it.

Ironically, while I was in college I experimented with writing poetry, and I actually enjoyed it, surprise surprise. Of course, most of what I wrote was jokey, like this:

I think that I shall never see a poem fair as my ID
You point me out when I am strange
A beacon true if I should range
And if, by chance, I car should squash these outer bones and inner mush
Your firmness then in plastic tones proclaims to whom this jelly owns
Oh photo ID! Oh photo ID!
Oh grasshopper and katydid!
May nature never craft by touch a credit card I love so much

I actually turned in that poem in a college course, and to my utter shock the instructor loved it. He went on and on about the meter and blah blah, and I'm thinking, "Umm, I was just making fun of poetry." See? I didn't get poetry then, and I don't get it now.

You know what I like?

- Sweet Tarts. These are sweet, sweet, evil. They come in a variety of colors and flavors, they're packed in a handy little roll, and they have this cool chalky consistency that makes them even neater to grind between your teeth. Or my teeth, anyway.

- Jill Sobule. Her songs are simple and yet interesting, and she doesn't set out to prove how smart she is. She doesn't have to. Were I a singer-songwriter, and female, I'd be Jill Sobule.

- Chicken. Fry it, bread it, bake it, barbecue it. Put it on bread, under cheese, beside rice, or stuff it with ham. Serve it hot or cold, in a plate or directly into my grubby little hands, I don't care. I'll eat it and like it.

- Franka Potente. The star of "Run Lola Run", "Anatomie", and "The Princess and the Warrior", Potente is sexy, smart, and driven. In "Lola" she had bright red hair, too. Yes.

- Ultimate Frisbee. My one and only sport, I just can't get enough of Ultimate. It doesn't take much skill to join, the rules are easy to learn, and it's self-refereed, which helps reduce on-field tension. I've been playing for seven years, and I find it as enticing now as I did then. There's nothing quite like the feeling of a well-timed flick that skims a foot above the ground to thwack satisfyingly into your teammate's hands just inside the zone.