Suddenly Halloween has purpose.

I have taken so long to post on my blog that I do not know what to talk about. I decided to just start talking and see what spews out, so here goes.

Stream of consciousness: begin.

Aaaaaaand my mind goes blank. How NOT surprising. I'll have a chocolate until something enters...

Oh! candy! Halloween!

I experienced my first Halloween as a dad last week. Since it is the only holiday that I have David here for (his male DNA donor takes him EVERY other holiday) I wanted to make it special. I put a lot of thought into it and finally decided that, I was a failure and couldn't think of anything cool, so I would just let it pass with some generic festivities. I figured that I have about ten more Halloweens left to impress David before he becomes too cool to care.

Thankfully, the wife and friends intervened to make it more interesting. Friday night K forced me to go to Neptune Beach Elementary with the kids for the reading night/games/trick or treat thing. Mostly I was bored to death, but the kids were marginally entertained and I got to spend time with them.

And I got to eat NERDS. Best. Candy. Ever.

The kids were supposed to take two pieces of candy each. They did, and while they had the various teachers (and K) distracted making sure they didn't grab handfuls, I swiped as many NERDS boxes as I could.

Except the orange. Orange are gross.

This was not as easy as it sounds. Those elementary school teachers are trained to have eyes in the back of their heads, so I had to be sneaky. I think I only acquired ten or twelve boxes. I stuffed them in my hoodie pockets and would only open one when people were not watching, so it looked like I was nursing the same box all night, even though I was chugging them.

Eventually David finished coloring the outdated space shuttle on his make-your-own-book thing, and tired trying to outdo his friend, Max (who was also dressed as Optimus Prime, but David's was better, of course). John could have stood around in his Thomas the Train costume and popped smoke bubbles from the precarious perched smoke bubble machine all night, so we had to drag him out to head home. K had the foresight to purchase a carving pumpkin (I was unaware there were different types). I brought the lumpy gourd upstairs, spread out a table cloth and a trash bag on the kitchen table, called the boys together and entered dad mode.
I started drawing pictures of jack-o-lantern faces on a piece of paper and asked David what they should look like. "Make the mouth scarier" was the first command, then "longer eyes." He tried to make the nose look like Abe Vigoda's, so I vetoed that in favor of some awkward skull- like openings. Then I asked David to choose a side of the pumpkin to make the face on. They were all a bit off, but he chose well, and I transferred the drawing to the skin of the pumpkin with a sharpie. David tried to take the sharpie and make the nose bigger again. I distracted him by saying it was time to gut the pumpkin.
"WHAT?" he said as only he can.
"we need to pull all the pumpkins guts out so we can carve him."
"How doe we do that?
"YOU are going to do that with your hands."
"WHAT?"
After locating a knife that would NOT buckle under the immense strain of cutting a fruit, I cut I good size lid, remembering to leave a "V" to act as a guide when replacing the lid, just like my dad taught me. I wonder if someone taught him that, or if he figured it out on his own.
After pointing out the "V" to David and explaining it purpose, I told him to remove the lid. After convincing him that nothing would pop out and bite him he did so, and we found a mostly empty pumpkin.
"Ok, David, stick your hands in there and rip its guts out!"
He and John both assumed a safe distance from the table and wide eyed, shook their collective heads "no".
I was hoping to avoid getting messy myself, but that was not going to happen. So I started scraping the inside of the pumpkin and pulling out seeds and stringy goo. Eventually the boys climbed onto chairs and competed for space to watch, and then participate in the gutting.
Once gutted, I proceeded with the carving. I spent most of the time n the jagged mouth. I was going for a Frank the Bunny look from Donnie Darko. It ended up looking more like an irregular heart beat monitor, but slightly scarier.
By the time our jack-o-lantern was done it was well past the kids bedtime. K took them upstairs while I cleaned up. I couldn't help but put a candle in it right then and sat it on the coffee table looking at me.
The next day was Halloween, and I started it off with an unusual event... a car show.
I'll talk more on this later, but I have Zorak das Wunderwagon back after a three and a half year hiatus. While at the show I joined a car club called "Suicide Machines." I was not sure at first if my car was appropriate, since I intend for it to be shiny again. The other members assured me that the primary qualification was if I could die in it. With a turbo the size of my head and goofy horsepower, yes, yes I can.
That evening Joe K invited us over for a cookout. Jenny K offered to take the kids Trick or treating in San Jose. Burgers with friends and candy from rich people; WIN.
Ben, Kim, and Tommy also showed up. We all had a blast just chillin', something I don not get to do often anymore.
Our pumpkin survived outside for two more nights. Tuesday morning David said the pumpkin needed to come inside because "it got cold." There was a layer of white on top of it that looked a bit like frost. It wasn't. Fuzzy white spores were growing all over it and black mold filled its mouth and eyes. One side had started to cave in and a swarm of fruit flies flew out the nose when i taped the side with my foot. I have never seen anything go from "cool" to "gross" so fast.

After I dropped the kids off at their respective schools I came home and disposed of our jack as far into the woods as my gloved hands could chuck it. He exploded honorably.

Not a bad first Dad Halloween. I sure I will get better at these things.
The next task will be a preemptive strike on Christmas. I want David to have a blast before he has to go up to NC. I'm thinking it time for a bike.

Since I do not publish books yet go read Wil Wheaton

I feel totally fried, I have a fever again, and I did not get my paper written today. Oh, and tomorrow I am driving eight hours to Tampa and back to pick up my car that I have not driven in over 3 years. Not feeling 100%.

BUT it is a good day. "Why" you ask? Because Wil Wheaton released Memories of the Future: Volume 1 today! My order is placed, and I can hear the print-on-demand machines whirring away as some distant AI takes my money and replaces it with geeky goodness in ink-and-paper form. It is for sure awesome and full of win.
But now, off to bed... early... so I can ENGAGE in some productive dreaming.

Oh, but first I need to make some Tea. Earl Grey. Hot.

UNF parking FAIL

100609 078
Originally uploaded by godspeedm3

Ok, UNF parking services, I tried to be nice. Then when I brought this picture in, you accused me of faking it. So no more Mr. Nice History Dude.

Just before my 6pm class last night I stopped by my car that had been parked in lot 9 all day to get my hoodie, since with all the rain I was a bit chilly. This picture is what I found. It is a UNF parking ticket that says "No UNF Permit", place on my windshield about a foot from my UNF Parking Permit.

It would be pretty funny, if it didn't cost money and time.

I took the picture and went about my business. Today I went in to parking services in a jovial manner and showed the girl behind the glass the photo. I expected her to laugh along with me and take care of it. I mean, who could deny how ridiculous this is? She looked perplexed, and walked back to talk to her supervisor.
When she returned she said I would have to fill out an appeals form and attach a copy of the picture and the appeal board will have to decide because, "how do we know you didn't fake the picture and just put your permit in there?"

What?

1. I am being called a liar over a $30 parking ticket.
2. I am being given a $30 ticket, even though the system knows I paid for a $160 parking permit, and my tag is on file.
3. This is the second time.*
4. WTF!?!

Then the supervisor comes out and explains that this was his best officer that gave the ticket, as if that was supposed to convince me that I was wrong somehow, and I deserved the ticket, even though the frakking $160 permit was right there in the windshield!

If this is his best officer, I'd hate to see his worst. And by best does he mean 'most accurate' or 'makes us the most money'?

*Yes, this is not the first time I have received a UNF parking ticket even though I had the permit displayed. The last time was eleven months, one day prior to this one. I tossed the permit on the center of the dash as I always had and returned to find a ticket casting a shadow on my permit. When I appealed the one I asked where I was supposed to put it, since it doesn't fit on all mirrors. The person said "I dunno... some people stick it in the side thingy by the windshield." It has been in my A-pillar ever since.
There are two problems with the UNF permit design.
1. they don't fit around every car's mirror.
2. It is ILLEGAL to drive with one on the mirror.
UF has there permit in the lower left corner of the windshield, where I have my UNF permit. This is legal and not distracting, but can still be removed if need be.

(I appear to have rambled in my footnote. I apologize.)

If you smoke, don't exhale.

I promised Karen that I would post today, and I said it would be about smoking... so here goes.

Smoking sucks.

There, now back to reading all these books I am marginally interested in.


What? Not good enough? You REALLY want to know what I think about smoking? Fine, here goes.

Smoking should be banned in all public places. At the very least, it should be banned on state university campuses like UNF.
UNF built a lovely courtyard in front of the Brooks Health Education (or whatever it is called)building. They opened it up to the students this week. The first day they opened it, I was the first to occupy bench 2 behind the little foot-deep pool. It was a beautiful morning and I took out a book that I wished I didn't have to read and decided to enjoy the fresh air. My actions inspired others to do the same and soon all the benches were occupied. It was all very pleasant and quiet...

Until the bro-dudes sat on the bench next to me.

They were rather loud as they dramatically described how "drunk that girl was last night," and "dude, I totally drank way more whatever than so and so," and other fascinating topics. I put on my headphones and played Madball loud enough to drown them out. The quiet was gone, but my serenity returned as I ignored them thoroughly.

Then bro-dude number two lit one up.

I am no cigarette expert (or "fag" as they say over the pond. Maybe if we called them that here the bro-dudes wouldn't buy them anymore) but this one seemed particularly stinky. I ignored it the best I could. I breathed through my teeth, trying to forget the carcinogens that were surely turning my lungs into cancer-ridden black goo just like in those pictures from health class in middle school. Finally he extinguished the death stick under his foot with a twist, leaving the butt on the ground. I was disgust again by the trash, but relieved I could breath again.

Then he lit up another one.

I slammed my book closed, not even marking the page I was on, shoved it in my bag, and marched inside to wait for the freshman Core class I observe to begin. I may have muttered something profane as I walked by the bench with the bro-dudes. I doubt they heard me amidst their riveting conversation about that "F'ing sweet" party they were at.
I forgot about it until the Core class started, and two bro-dudes walked in and sat in the back.

Sheesh.

Today I tried it again. The weather was even more hospitable. As I sat down one pleasant looking girl was seated on the opposite end of the bench arc. I smiled at her as a sat down and she smiled back and went back to her book. "A kindred spirit" I thought as I pulled out whatever book I was slogging through today. Two minutes later the bar-like stench hit me. The girl now had her book in one hand, and a cigarette in the other.

Not a kindred spirit.

She finished her first cancer stick just in time for a buff, crew cut dude in a USMC shirt to sit down between us and light up. Then she lit up another one. And the wind blew gentle the combined smoke, directly into my face.

Slam book, mutter something insignificant, walk inside.

All Baptist Medical facilities in the area are smoke free. There is no smoking allowed anywhere on the properties at all. Why not the same for schools? Or malls? or parks?

Or anywhere I might be?

Obviously if someone was doing meth in the courtyard, it would be frowned upon. But meth is illegal in every sense, so that is not a good analogy. Urinating in public is illegal, and that is a biological requirement. People can only pee in designated areas that the facilities are required to provide. Smoking is only a requirement in the sense that it is addictive.
I do not think peeing in public should be condoned, and even if it was, I wouldn't pee in someones face. So why is smoking still allowed?

I am not one for bigger government, and I am all for liberty and the pursuit of happiness and all that good stuff. But smokers are impinging on the freedom of non-smokers everywhere. I should be free to breath the air without it killing me. I should be able to stop and smell the flowers and actually smell them, not the smoldering Marlboro someone flicked into the shrubs. I am not saying everyone should be Straight Edge (but maybe I should). If someone wants to smoke, fine, but they should kill themselves in the privacy and containment of their own home or car.

Windows closed please. I can still smell you three cars back.

Carrel? Carol? Carrol? Woody?

So I typed up a 5 page paper in between classes today. It felt good to actually get something done like that. Previously most of my writing took place at night and usually in large, continuous chunks. With my current schedule and current family, that is no longer a viable option. I took about 4 hours to write a 5 page paper, which is not that great of time, but I imagine I will get back into the swing of things and be back to my 2 page per hour rate by mid semester.
I wrote the paper on my little Asus netbook, which is the best college tool I have ever bought. I take all my notes on it and type my papers using Google Docs. My calender is the google calender which syncs with my iPhone. The battery lasts 8 hours. It's blue. I haven't paid for a lick of software for it. I was going to wipe it and go full on geek and run Linux, but I decided to keep it Windows for now, just in case I have some compatibility issue at school, since UNF is run by the evil Microsoft empire.
Oh, I wrote my paper today in my "carrel," which is a cute word for a closet in the library with a desk and 2 chairs crammed in it. Supposedly I am sharing it with another grad student named Woody, but he has yet to appear. I assume Woody is a he, but I suppose it could be a girl named Woody. What would that be short for? Woodella? Heck, what is it short for with a guy? Woodrow? Who names their kid that anymore?
Anyway, I like my closet... er... carrel. It has a window, which certain other students are jealous of. I am quite glad it does. If I had a non-window unit I do not think I could stay in there long without getting claustrophobic and possibly injuring someone. It is located on the fourth floor in the back corner. I walk up the stairs to the second floor, past the reference desk, past the "common students", through the periodicals, back to the old elevators to the 4th floor, and back to the corner, the whole time with the theme from "Get Smart" running through my head (I tried "Mission Impossible" and it was not as much fun).
I could tell you about some of the (many) books I am reading, but that would be too obvious... and too boring for me at the moment. So I'll just say this... Kanye West, You're no Joe Wilson. Any wuss can snatch the mic from a little teenage girl. It takes serious kaaa-hoo-neeess and a huge lack of class to heckle the president.

Suggested Reading

Excuse the absence. I have been "otherwise occupied" as they say.

Who says that? Really? I mean besides me just then?

I have to read... a lot. so I don't have time to write. This grad school thing is sucking the life out of me.

So here, read this. I will be referencing it in a paper that I write someday, and the book that comes after it.

Why we need science fiction.

Oh, and if someone wants to do a Star Wars tribute band that sounds like Tool and dresses in SW costumes and plays conventions... just a thought. I get to be Boba Fett.

Ms. Steak punches me in the face.

I just found out that I am fallible.
This is probably not news to most of you who know me, but it is a revelation to me today. I screwed up something so basic and so important that I am now questioning myself about everything. Before I knew that my interpretations may have lacked enough information to be completely plausible, or my theories needed more basic evidence in order to be believed, but I could not just make a dumb mistake.
No. No I could not.
I am too thorough, I am too much a perfectionist. I recognize my limitations and compensate for them to insure a lack of error.
I have spell check.
But today I received an email that derailed me. I sit here presently... derailed. It went like this,

"Chris,

You did not make it to the Readings class last night. I'm sure you know that it is mandatory for GTAs; I am worried that some emergency might have kept you from class. If you want to come in and talk about what you missed, I will be in my office tomorrow morning from 10 to 12."

Not the message I was expecting from a professor on the Tuesday of the first week of class. I immediately checked my calendar. "Readings in European History" was clearly shown on Wednesday, so there must be some mistake, right? (And surely it's not MY mistake)
I went to the UNF website and checked my class schedule there. It read,

"Class 6:00 pm - 8:45 pm M 8-Arts & Sciences 2213 Aug 24, 2009 - Dec 11, 2009"

Now, can you see that nice, capital "M" right in the middle? That means "Monday," not "Wednesday," or even "Mednesday." I dont know if my overtaxxed brain flipped the M into a W or what, but I should have caught the error. Even if the single-letter-indicating-day thing confused me, I should not have missed "Aug 24, 2009." But I did. Big time. And I missed the first class of my graduate career. Big time.

I am attempting to sound jovial for the sake of my readers, but trust me, I am anything but jovial right now. I get upset if I receive an A-, and whatever god you believe in, have mercy on the professor who gives me a B+, because clearly they did not communicate with me effectively. So I am very upset at myself right now. I was prepared to adjust my personal expectations due to the increased difficulty of Grad school work, say, from all A's and maybe an A- to A-'s and maybe a B+ or two. Now I am starting off in the hole. I'll meet with the professor tomorrow to see how bad this effects my credibility. Hopefully he is more lenient with me than I would be.

And the realtor just called and wants to show the house tomorrow between four and five.
Great, because I do not have enough to do.

It's a good thing I don't drink.