Well, I made a post out of Glen Beck's Rally, so I may as well write something about John Stewart's rally, in order that I might remain, as they say, fair and balanced.
But its not something I take on easily. You may have noticed a lack of posts lately. There are two reasons for this:
1. I've been ridiculously busy lately. I have been too strapped for time/too tired to really sit down and write.
2. I have recntly suffered from a....how should I put this? A loss of mojo? A loss of confidence? Writer's block? I realized that I had let myself get too wrapped up in politics, and I also realized that on some of the issues I really have nothing to say becuase I don't really know what I am talking about. Of course, that doesn't stop most pundits...but I don't want to be a pundit. So I have had nothing to write about, and I don't know where this blog is headed. But if there are less politics, it may be going to a better place.
That being said, I need a few minutes to gush over this rally. Aside from the fact that the first hour was pretty much a concert by "The Roots", I really enjoyed it, at least the parts that I got to see.
Like Beck's rally, Stewart's rally was, on the face of things, not overly political. At least I would say so. Sure, there is no question Stewart and his cohorts are at least left of center. But if these guys were satirizing anything today, it is the tone of the rhetoric, not conservative opinion or a subset of that population. Stewart didn't attack ideas or opinions but rather the way they are being presented on 24 hour news channels and by our leaders. And if Fox News is a part of that, well, they deserve it. But CNN and MSNBC are also a big part of that too, and they desrve a shot across the bows as well. I'd say Stweart was pretty even handed.
The similarities end there. Beck's rally was perhaps for a higher purpose. Stewart's was really just his show in a rally format. But Stewart's had way better music, cooler guests (hotter guests? Depends on how you think Sarah Palin stacks up against Cheryl Crow), and was way, way funnier.
A lot of people have been asking just what John Stewart is these days. Is he a mere satirist? A comedian? A journalist? A pundit? A sort of a mix of all these? I don't know about all that, but I will tell you what I think he is: awesome.
Huzzah to you, John, and I hope you stick around at the Daily Show for a few more years.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Books You May Not Like -- Pride and Prejudice and Zombies
When I first heard that some dude (a Mr. Seth Grahame-Smith) had taken Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice and added a liberal dose of violent, gory, zombie mayhem, I was naturally incredulous. How dare someone sully a great work with such terrible kitsch, all in the name of making a buck! I was actually angry that NPR mentioned it on that awful "Wait Wait Don't Tell Me" show I used to listen to, and almost became one of those equally awful people who have nothing better to do than write angry letters to editors, producers, and talk show hosts. And when I say letters, I mean letters. Signed, sealed, and delivered by liveried servants.
So I forgot about it. But it seemed, after a year or so, that it was everywhere I turned. When I was trying to find my wife a book she might enjoy for Christmas, I searched on Amazon for things other people who liked Jane Austen purchased, and there it was. And it was a New York Times Bestseller!
Still, it was a book I was too prejudiced to pick-up, but at last my pride (ha-HA!) was overcome in a Walmart when at last the medium sized volume and I came face to face in the form of a paperback. I couldn't resist. I was horrified by some of the prints of zombies eating Mr. Bingley's household staff, but when I flipped ahead a bit and found out that Lady Catherine's character was attended to by a host of ninjas, that sealed the deal. For you see, my cultural snobidity has only one real weak point, one chink in the armor of aloofness: Ninjas.
So I bought the book, and I held off on reading it until Halloween, as it seemed appropriate.
So...how was it?
Well, pretty good, actually. This is more than a [insert Zombie attack here] kind of job. The characters themselves and the very landscape have been altered by a zombie plague that has held England hostage for over fifty years. Elizabeth Bennet is striking, witty, and extremely proficient in the deadly arts, which she learned from her father and from time in the Orient. Mr. Darcy, likewise, was trained in Japan and is reknown for the many Zombies he has killed for King and Country. Lady Catherine is haughty old bitch of a Zombie fighter, who instead of chiding Elizabeth for her family's lack of a governess instead belittles her for the fact that they trained in China. All of them have their characters and diaologe in the book altered to account for this different, more violent history.
And it is shockingly violent, even though all the dinners and teas are still charmingly formal. Elizabeth manages to strangle one of Lady Catherine's ninjas with his own entrails. Mr. Wickham is rendered lame by Mr. Darcy as part of the deal that secures his marriage with Lydia Bennet. Lady Catherine and Miss Bennet duel to the death. And so much more.
That being said, the zombies are hardly scary to read about. What is scary about this book? The cover. Christ have mercy on us, the cover. I couldn't leave the book face up at night, for fear that the half-eaten young woman on the cover would stagger out of the book and enjoy me for a midnight snack. Even now it's turned face down on the table, and I am casting a wary glance over my shoulder, as if writing this unspeakable horror would make it come true. And if it's like half light the cover looks even worse....It freaks me out. Seriously.
But the truly amazing thing about this book is that in general much of Austen's words are left and the general plot is all her own, and at the end of the book as Mr. Darcy and Miss Bennet declare their love for each other I felt as mesmerized as I did when I read the regular Pride and Prejudice. Even when pretty much ruined as a classic by a horde of the undead, Austen's writing and her general story shine through, and that is a true testament to her work.
I'll close by answering some the disucssion questions in the back. After that I'm going to toss this book into a bonfire and sprinkle the ashes with Holy Water. You just can't be too careful.
#3.
The strange plague has been the scourge of England for "five and fifty years." Why do the English stay and fight, rather than retreat to the safety of eastern Europe or Africa?
Answer: Becuase they are the fucking Enlgish. It's just the way they are.
#6. Some critics have suggested that the zombies represent the authors' views toward marriage -- an endless curse that sucks the life out of you and just won't die. Do you agree, or do you have another opinion about the symbolism of the unmentionables?
Answer: I disagree with the marriage argument, becuase the amount of zombies in the book decreases as marriage for Elizabeth and her sisters becomes more likely. It is when they are most likely not to be married well, at the beginning of the book, that the zombies are at their most AND, incidentally, at their worst. At the end, when all is settled, there are fewer zombies about and they are easier to quell.
I think instead the zombies represent the social change about to be wrought by the industrial revolution. No matter how hard the aristocracy fights against the tides of history, no matter how hard they try to keep burying the emerging middle class, they just keep coming back and eventually the entire landscape of Britain will be changed. The aristocracy is doomed in this book by a zombie horde. In real life the steam engine sounded its death knell. You know it will take a while, but it will happen eventually. Graham-Smith and Ms. Austen obviousl realized that, and this book is taken as a warning to them.
#7. Does Mrs. Bennet have a single redeeming quality?
Answer: No.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
You're Ruining it for Everyone
Once, when I was a lad, studying engineering at Virginia Tech, my relatively bleak college life of studying and agonizing over exams and eating and occasionally hiking and less often partying (though I'm not sure I would ever say that I really "partied" in the classical sense of the word) was punctuated by the bacchanlistic madness of attending Virginia Tech football games. I tried to go to as many games as I could, because I loved the atmosphere (especially if the game was a real nail-biter) and it was a great experience to share with the friends you were sitting with.
Yes, in spite of the opening of this post, I had plenty of friends. Actually, college really wasn't that bad. It's called hyperbole. If you want to see a good example of how it is used (though I wish this wasn't the case), turn on any cable news network.
Anyway, Tech Football. Decadence on a grand scale. I used to look out over the parking lot in front of the engineering buildings on the edge of campus, and the sight reminded me always of the bivouac of a tremendous medieval army. Flags flying everywhere. Multi-colored tents and awnings set up adjacent to RV's and SUV's that have an uncanny resemblance to the regal wagons of yore. And the smoke! Good God man, look at the smoke! Smoke billowing out from hundreds of grills and cooking fires. I'd be staggered at the thought of the mass quantities of flesh being roasted, the huge flagons of beer being downed! All you need is a few jesters, some trumpets, and some sacuy wenches fit for sporting and you'd have a scene fit for a King!
So tailgating wasn't for me.
And yeah. That's the post for this week. Thanks for coming. We'll see you next time.
Excuse me? You've never been to a tailgate? Seriously? Well, its easy enough to recreate. All you have to do is go out into the parking lot, fire up a the ol' grill, toss on some meat (preferably circular in nature) and crack open a beer. If anyone looks at you funny just shout at them that Tech is going to kick their asses this afternoon, and give a hollar.
Sorry? You've never been to a GAME?? Well, that is something we shall have to rememdy. Here, take this copy of Slaughterhouse 5, click your heels three times, and say "Billy Pilgrim is unstuck in time, Looking for another word that rhymes, When I cook chicken I like to use thyme!"
You like those dope rhymes I just busted out on your assess, motha fuckas? I got plenty more, or at least one more. Beastie Boys: you got my number.
But not know. We've gone back in time to a cool, November afternoon, with maybe an hour to kickoff. And yeah, it's overcast, and it might rain later. I'm sorry. I can take you back in time, but I can't change the weather. Dude, who do you think I am? The Pope?
So I'll try to give you the experience from my persepective, and we better hurry. But we do have time to Shotgun this beer! Ready.....one...two...three....GO!
...That was awful. Anyways...
IT'S GAME TIME! LET'S DO THIS!
So you and your buds stagger down to the stadium and find your seats among a polyglot of plastered plebians but don't sit down becase REAL FANS DO NOT SIT DOWN! COME ON ALUMNI!!! STAND UP!!
And now it's time for team to come out, and this is actually really cool. No doubt you have seen it on TV, but if you haven't, basically when the team lines up in the tunnel the PA system starts blasting the openening few 20 seconds or so of "Enter Sandman-uh" by Metallica and everyone starts actually jumping up and down, keeping time with the song (I reckon its around 100 beats per minute or so). And then finally the team bursts out, charging onto the field to a thunderous roar and the quaint, old fashioned raising of caps by the Corps of Cadets.
It is awesome to be a part of, but if you are an engineering major you might be a little worried the first time you experience it. After all, most engineering students learn about resonance (if you excite a structure at its natural frequency bad stuff can happen. Just do a video search for Tacoma Narrows Bridge. You'll get the idea) So what gives?
You might start pointing your fingers at other people. But history majors who really immerse themselves in their history and veterans who are now in college will know that when an army marches across a bridge they break their step so as not to induce collapse due to resonance phenomena, so the concept isn't foreign to them. You think maybe you could blame English majors and theatre people, who probably wouldn't know about resoance. But there are not many of them at Tech and you wouldn't expect them necessarily to come out to the game anyway (too busy reading/participating in consensual thespian activities).
Failing to place blame, you think maybe you should inform those around you that if we are not careful we could bring down the whole stadium. But come on dude. Don't be a killjoy dork AGAIN! Besides, that beer you shotgunned has caught up with you and you are too buzzed to really care. At any rate, the moment has passed, the stadium is still standing, and all is well until next time.
So the game has begun, Tech winning the toss and electing to defer. Those hoping to see an epic clash of "Heads v. Tails" leave the stadium happy, Tech being victorious.
For those still at the stadium, Tech kicks off the ball and we're off! And you scream and shout at the top of your lungs as 22 men smash into each other with the force of small killer whales, their pads popping like the distant boom of cannons. On the thrid down you jingle your keys becuase that's what we do...no one knows why. But it works, becuase in no time at all it's fourth down and now you start praying to God that you will stop masturbating if only, IF ONLY, Tech blocks this punt, and admist a cacophany of sound God lifts his Garfield pencil to write your prmoise in his Hello Kitty Notebook, and he grudingly suspends the laws of physics for just a moment, forcing the punter to kick a few inches to the left of where he wanted so that number 52 can block the kick to the ground and Tech recovers on the WVU 25.
And you are happy. Oh! So happy! But you will be sorry later when your eternal soul is at the door to the Pearly Gates and St. Peter opens the Hello Kitty notebook. Trust me.
Well. Eternal damnation can wait for another day. While the teams are changing up and you exchange some high fives with your compatriots, let's take a Billy Pilgrimesque jaunt through time and look at number 52, hero of the moment. The announcer says his name but its quickly forgotten as the day goes on. He is a special teams grunt in his last year of eligibility with two degrees who is studying German to maintain his eligbility. He will foresake a Rhodes scholarship to join the Army, spending the next decade fighting for his country with the utmost valor. While you are waiting in line on November 26th to purchase a big screen TV at ridiculously low prices, 1st Lt. Number 52 will be killed by a road side bomb in Afghanistan. His name will be in the paper a few days later, and you will remark that that name rings a bell, and your heart will ache for a moment when you read about the wife and daughter that he left behind. But the heartache will pass like a little indigestion, and his name will be forgotten again by you and by most others.
Gosh. Its too depressing. Let's get back to the game!
A quiet, almost reverent hush falls over the crowd as the offense takes the field, led by the quarterback, the Great Number 8, who's name you can't ever forget because it's plastered onto the back of the jersey you are wearing over a VT sweatshirt. And even though he leaves Virginia Tech after two years without hardly setting foot in a classroom, and even though he never really buys into the altruistic stuff that most other NFL quarterbacks do, and even though his name is splahsed across the media for sex scandals and a bluegrass album that totally flopped and his comments concerning Upper Malakvian Refugees, he's still a hero because he can throw a ball and run pretty fast and, damn it, he wins football games. After stumbling a little he's back in the game on a new team and with a second chance you and I will never have becuase we can't throw and we're slow and damn it we DON'T win football games. You're convinced of his sincerity. You just bought the new jersey last weekend and ironically enough you're wearing it as you wait in line on November 26 for that big screen TV while Lt. Number 52 is picking his way down a road in Helmand Province...
Oh look! They hand off to the fullback and he pounds his way through to the 15 yardline. We're in the red zone baby! WHOOOOO!
You might notice now that the band is playing a saucy rhythm and everyone around you is waggling their hips and yelling "stick it in! stick it in! stick it in!". This is the infamous "stick it in!" cheer, which was in vouge a while back and, honestly, is something you find embarassing. But you do it anyway, because you shotgunned a beer and you have a low tolerance for alcohol.
A few years after I left college the Athletic Director got the band to stop leading the cheer and it eventually died. When I heard about his proposal I was in an uproar. It's outrageous!! How dare the Athletic Director in his big, cushy office tell those poor students what to do at the football games!?
Well I, for one, have certainly changed my tune. Why? well, not long ago I was at my computer with my daughter, watching Jack Black describe an Octagon to Elmo on You Tube, and I saw that someone left little gem of a comment:
I wish Jack decided to go ahead and play himself... except how he did it in "Tenacious D: Pick of Destiny"
"ELMO DUDE! Stop being such a cock block I'm trying to find a wonderful god fucking damned octagon for the mother fucking KIDS, Elmo!"
I'm glad my daughter can't read yet, because I would have had a lot of questions to answer. What really worries me is that some 7 year old kid on his parent's computer is going to see this comment and turn to his mom and say "Mommy? What's a cock block?"
You guys are ruining the internet for everyone.
And the kids doing the pelvic thrusts and yelling "stick it in!" do the same thing, or at least they did. If I really could play the Billy Pilgrim card and time ceased to be linear so I could take my daughter back in time to see some cool Tech games she'd see people doing that and I would have to make up a few quick lies. One day she'll figure it out though, and I imagine it will yield the same sickening feeling I had when I figured out what the song "Afternoon Delight" really was about. So many good memories irrevocably damaged.
BUT. You don't care about any of that right now. We're on the 7, and they can't stop us. This is football, bitches. So you keep thrusting that pelvis and acting most uncouthly until at last
AT LAST
TOUCHDOWN! WHOOOOOO!
The crowd goes wild, naturally. The Corps of Cadets fire a cannon (A Cannon!) and the band erupts into a fight song that no one knows the words to. Number 8 pumps his fist into the air and God, closing his little Kitty Notebook with about 70,000 new debts, so many of which cannot be repaid in a million lifetimes, sighs with exasperation. But you all wanted it. Just don't complain when you realize you traded eternal bliss for a touchdown against a mediocre opponent. Left to their own devices, Tech would have probably scored anyway.
And this happens again, and again, and again. Finally the buzz from that beer wears off and you realize it's cold, and Tech has the game well in hand. Your mind begins to fill with all the things you have to do and the exams you have next week and you decide to retire. You say goodbye to your friends (though true friends wouldn't call you a pussy for leaving at halftime. Don't worry...when you bust the curve on the exam next week they'll be sorry. No one insults you with impunity!) and make your way to the exits.
It's a long walk home. You think maybe about popping into one the bars on the way back, but you think better of it and you keep walking along. When you get home you toss your keys on the table and turn on the TV to see how much Tech is winning by.
And you can't beleive it, becuase winning Tech is not. Somehow WVU managed to pull a fast one on Frank Beamer. You call up the NCAA to report some violations they must be committing, because nobody does that. Nobody.
Its going to be a rough one. So you pull out the vodka and cigarettes, and forget about those books....this one's going down to the wire.
Yes, in spite of the opening of this post, I had plenty of friends. Actually, college really wasn't that bad. It's called hyperbole. If you want to see a good example of how it is used (though I wish this wasn't the case), turn on any cable news network.
Anyway, Tech Football. Decadence on a grand scale. I used to look out over the parking lot in front of the engineering buildings on the edge of campus, and the sight reminded me always of the bivouac of a tremendous medieval army. Flags flying everywhere. Multi-colored tents and awnings set up adjacent to RV's and SUV's that have an uncanny resemblance to the regal wagons of yore. And the smoke! Good God man, look at the smoke! Smoke billowing out from hundreds of grills and cooking fires. I'd be staggered at the thought of the mass quantities of flesh being roasted, the huge flagons of beer being downed! All you need is a few jesters, some trumpets, and some sacuy wenches fit for sporting and you'd have a scene fit for a King!
So tailgating wasn't for me.
And yeah. That's the post for this week. Thanks for coming. We'll see you next time.
Excuse me? You've never been to a tailgate? Seriously? Well, its easy enough to recreate. All you have to do is go out into the parking lot, fire up a the ol' grill, toss on some meat (preferably circular in nature) and crack open a beer. If anyone looks at you funny just shout at them that Tech is going to kick their asses this afternoon, and give a hollar.
Sorry? You've never been to a GAME?? Well, that is something we shall have to rememdy. Here, take this copy of Slaughterhouse 5, click your heels three times, and say "Billy Pilgrim is unstuck in time, Looking for another word that rhymes, When I cook chicken I like to use thyme!"
You like those dope rhymes I just busted out on your assess, motha fuckas? I got plenty more, or at least one more. Beastie Boys: you got my number.
But not know. We've gone back in time to a cool, November afternoon, with maybe an hour to kickoff. And yeah, it's overcast, and it might rain later. I'm sorry. I can take you back in time, but I can't change the weather. Dude, who do you think I am? The Pope?
So I'll try to give you the experience from my persepective, and we better hurry. But we do have time to Shotgun this beer! Ready.....one...two...three....GO!
...That was awful. Anyways...
IT'S GAME TIME! LET'S DO THIS!
So you and your buds stagger down to the stadium and find your seats among a polyglot of plastered plebians but don't sit down becase REAL FANS DO NOT SIT DOWN! COME ON ALUMNI!!! STAND UP!!
And now it's time for team to come out, and this is actually really cool. No doubt you have seen it on TV, but if you haven't, basically when the team lines up in the tunnel the PA system starts blasting the openening few 20 seconds or so of "Enter Sandman-uh" by Metallica and everyone starts actually jumping up and down, keeping time with the song (I reckon its around 100 beats per minute or so). And then finally the team bursts out, charging onto the field to a thunderous roar and the quaint, old fashioned raising of caps by the Corps of Cadets.
It is awesome to be a part of, but if you are an engineering major you might be a little worried the first time you experience it. After all, most engineering students learn about resonance (if you excite a structure at its natural frequency bad stuff can happen. Just do a video search for Tacoma Narrows Bridge. You'll get the idea) So what gives?
You might start pointing your fingers at other people. But history majors who really immerse themselves in their history and veterans who are now in college will know that when an army marches across a bridge they break their step so as not to induce collapse due to resonance phenomena, so the concept isn't foreign to them. You think maybe you could blame English majors and theatre people, who probably wouldn't know about resoance. But there are not many of them at Tech and you wouldn't expect them necessarily to come out to the game anyway (too busy reading/participating in consensual thespian activities).
Failing to place blame, you think maybe you should inform those around you that if we are not careful we could bring down the whole stadium. But come on dude. Don't be a killjoy dork AGAIN! Besides, that beer you shotgunned has caught up with you and you are too buzzed to really care. At any rate, the moment has passed, the stadium is still standing, and all is well until next time.
So the game has begun, Tech winning the toss and electing to defer. Those hoping to see an epic clash of "Heads v. Tails" leave the stadium happy, Tech being victorious.
For those still at the stadium, Tech kicks off the ball and we're off! And you scream and shout at the top of your lungs as 22 men smash into each other with the force of small killer whales, their pads popping like the distant boom of cannons. On the thrid down you jingle your keys becuase that's what we do...no one knows why. But it works, becuase in no time at all it's fourth down and now you start praying to God that you will stop masturbating if only, IF ONLY, Tech blocks this punt, and admist a cacophany of sound God lifts his Garfield pencil to write your prmoise in his Hello Kitty Notebook, and he grudingly suspends the laws of physics for just a moment, forcing the punter to kick a few inches to the left of where he wanted so that number 52 can block the kick to the ground and Tech recovers on the WVU 25.
And you are happy. Oh! So happy! But you will be sorry later when your eternal soul is at the door to the Pearly Gates and St. Peter opens the Hello Kitty notebook. Trust me.
Well. Eternal damnation can wait for another day. While the teams are changing up and you exchange some high fives with your compatriots, let's take a Billy Pilgrimesque jaunt through time and look at number 52, hero of the moment. The announcer says his name but its quickly forgotten as the day goes on. He is a special teams grunt in his last year of eligibility with two degrees who is studying German to maintain his eligbility. He will foresake a Rhodes scholarship to join the Army, spending the next decade fighting for his country with the utmost valor. While you are waiting in line on November 26th to purchase a big screen TV at ridiculously low prices, 1st Lt. Number 52 will be killed by a road side bomb in Afghanistan. His name will be in the paper a few days later, and you will remark that that name rings a bell, and your heart will ache for a moment when you read about the wife and daughter that he left behind. But the heartache will pass like a little indigestion, and his name will be forgotten again by you and by most others.
Gosh. Its too depressing. Let's get back to the game!
A quiet, almost reverent hush falls over the crowd as the offense takes the field, led by the quarterback, the Great Number 8, who's name you can't ever forget because it's plastered onto the back of the jersey you are wearing over a VT sweatshirt. And even though he leaves Virginia Tech after two years without hardly setting foot in a classroom, and even though he never really buys into the altruistic stuff that most other NFL quarterbacks do, and even though his name is splahsed across the media for sex scandals and a bluegrass album that totally flopped and his comments concerning Upper Malakvian Refugees, he's still a hero because he can throw a ball and run pretty fast and, damn it, he wins football games. After stumbling a little he's back in the game on a new team and with a second chance you and I will never have becuase we can't throw and we're slow and damn it we DON'T win football games. You're convinced of his sincerity. You just bought the new jersey last weekend and ironically enough you're wearing it as you wait in line on November 26 for that big screen TV while Lt. Number 52 is picking his way down a road in Helmand Province...
Oh look! They hand off to the fullback and he pounds his way through to the 15 yardline. We're in the red zone baby! WHOOOOO!
You might notice now that the band is playing a saucy rhythm and everyone around you is waggling their hips and yelling "stick it in! stick it in! stick it in!". This is the infamous "stick it in!" cheer, which was in vouge a while back and, honestly, is something you find embarassing. But you do it anyway, because you shotgunned a beer and you have a low tolerance for alcohol.
A few years after I left college the Athletic Director got the band to stop leading the cheer and it eventually died. When I heard about his proposal I was in an uproar. It's outrageous!! How dare the Athletic Director in his big, cushy office tell those poor students what to do at the football games!?
Well I, for one, have certainly changed my tune. Why? well, not long ago I was at my computer with my daughter, watching Jack Black describe an Octagon to Elmo on You Tube, and I saw that someone left little gem of a comment:
I wish Jack decided to go ahead and play himself... except how he did it in "Tenacious D: Pick of Destiny"
"ELMO DUDE! Stop being such a cock block I'm trying to find a wonderful god fucking damned octagon for the mother fucking KIDS, Elmo!"
I'm glad my daughter can't read yet, because I would have had a lot of questions to answer. What really worries me is that some 7 year old kid on his parent's computer is going to see this comment and turn to his mom and say "Mommy? What's a cock block?"
You guys are ruining the internet for everyone.
And the kids doing the pelvic thrusts and yelling "stick it in!" do the same thing, or at least they did. If I really could play the Billy Pilgrim card and time ceased to be linear so I could take my daughter back in time to see some cool Tech games she'd see people doing that and I would have to make up a few quick lies. One day she'll figure it out though, and I imagine it will yield the same sickening feeling I had when I figured out what the song "Afternoon Delight" really was about. So many good memories irrevocably damaged.
BUT. You don't care about any of that right now. We're on the 7, and they can't stop us. This is football, bitches. So you keep thrusting that pelvis and acting most uncouthly until at last
AT LAST
TOUCHDOWN! WHOOOOOO!
The crowd goes wild, naturally. The Corps of Cadets fire a cannon (A Cannon!) and the band erupts into a fight song that no one knows the words to. Number 8 pumps his fist into the air and God, closing his little Kitty Notebook with about 70,000 new debts, so many of which cannot be repaid in a million lifetimes, sighs with exasperation. But you all wanted it. Just don't complain when you realize you traded eternal bliss for a touchdown against a mediocre opponent. Left to their own devices, Tech would have probably scored anyway.
And this happens again, and again, and again. Finally the buzz from that beer wears off and you realize it's cold, and Tech has the game well in hand. Your mind begins to fill with all the things you have to do and the exams you have next week and you decide to retire. You say goodbye to your friends (though true friends wouldn't call you a pussy for leaving at halftime. Don't worry...when you bust the curve on the exam next week they'll be sorry. No one insults you with impunity!) and make your way to the exits.
It's a long walk home. You think maybe about popping into one the bars on the way back, but you think better of it and you keep walking along. When you get home you toss your keys on the table and turn on the TV to see how much Tech is winning by.
And you can't beleive it, becuase winning Tech is not. Somehow WVU managed to pull a fast one on Frank Beamer. You call up the NCAA to report some violations they must be committing, because nobody does that. Nobody.
Its going to be a rough one. So you pull out the vodka and cigarettes, and forget about those books....this one's going down to the wire.
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