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There are people in the world who actually justify their refusal to vote by claiming that franchise is an opiate for the masses. That's so sad and frustrating I want to retch.


"Coma Girl", by Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros, is damn near everything a rock 'n roll song should be. The Towson college station has it in furious rotation, and this fact confirms my notion that said station kicks ass. It is barely an exaggeration to say that I can't get enough of that song, because it makes me fucking giddy.

Of course, this giddiness is tempered by the knowledge that Joe Strummer (like Johnny Cash, Warren Zevon, and a frightening number of Ramones) is dead. As I've said before, I hope some of these folks enjoy a posthumous career as lucrative as Tupac's; Strummer seems off to a solid start, at least.


I went by the comic shop today after work, and came home with JLA/Avengers #2 and Superman/Batman: Worlds' Finest #3. Both lived up to my expectations in a big way. The former demonstrates why Kurt Busiek is amazing: it's filled with interactions among characters, ranging from the obscure to the iconic, that display a deep knowledge and love of said characters -- while also making for a great story. It also manages to find some surprises in among the familiar: folks expect the Batman/Captain America and Superman/Thor showdowns to be fun, and they are; but the issue almost gets stolen by Wonder Woman/Hercules.

The latter title is generally more predictable, but still manages to throw a few curveballs. But really, the draw for this one is the interaction between Bats and Supes, and it doesn't disappoint. Again, I'm really pleased when I read comics written by folks who love and understand the characters. (Of course, I use a very odd definition of "understanding" in this case -- some of my favorite depictions of these characters utterly contradict each other. I suppose I just dig on authors that find one aspect of the characters that they can relate to, and produce powerful and consistent renditions of the character in that light. I could start rambling about mythological parallels and modern-day demigods and what not, but I feel that I've probably geeked out enough for this post.)


Our weekend has begun in earnest. We're getting a Margaret visit next weekend, and a Trevor visit sometime this month. My dad and I are trading book recommendations. We're going to see my family for Thanksgiving. There are amazing movies out right now, and more to come. My boss is more than willing to shift schedules around to get me more time in front of classes and/or trainees. Nina and I get to sleep in tomorrow, and get an extra hour of it at that. Samson is willing to be used as a pillow, for short naps at least. And did I mention that I get to spend a weekend with Nina? I think I might've. :-)
niwandajones: (Default)
First Warren Zevon, and now Johnny Cash. Jesus, but the world just lost so goddammed much cool this week.
niwandajones: (yes.  It's a dagger.  Move on.)
I have purchased the IKEA furniture, and assembled it. Though I had the assistance of my wife and Eric for both endeavors, I feel that the brunt of the responsibility is mine. Though, in my defense, the coffee table isn't a hideous yin-yang symbol, and the bookcases are so fucking huge that they manage to dwarf even our over-large collection of reading materials. This is good: now I can buy more books. :-)

Eric also gets a round of applause for providing the stabilizing influence during my sit-down with Nick. Though, honestly, it was pretty cool from the start. Being only one of the parties involved, I'm not going to go into details: hopefully it's enough for everyone for me to say that, in my opinion, it went really well, and I left feeling much better about the whole thing than I have in over three years.

What I'm feeling worse about with each growing week is teaching the SAT. It's not that I feel like my teaching's getting worse; it's that the fact that many of these kids are being forced into attendance by their parents is becoming more and more blindingly fucking OBVIOUS with each passing class. Getting answers out of anyone other than two or three attentive nerds (and I use the term with great affection) isn't at all like pulling teeth: it's far bloodier, and more painful. Kids fall asleep (which assures that they're getting called on next). For many of these punks the most conscientious behavior they display is reminding me that their watch says it's time to go, when I've got a solid two minutes left of teaching to do (which assures that everyone's staying put until I'm damned well finished).


I am extremely grateful for my LSAT class. They're intelligent, attentive, and enthusiastic. I'm sure much of that is due to the fact that they're choosing to take the LSAT, and not having forced upon them; the rest is mainly that they're at least four years older. But teaching that class is a goddammed oasis in my week.

Last thing for tonight (maybe): as I sit here and try to figure out if I've got the disposable income this week to grab Warren Zevon's last record in a non-pirated format, it occurs to me that, in a just universe, this wouldn't be his last record. If Tupac and Biggie and Jimi can keep churning out records from beyond the Veil, why not Warren? Death didn't stop Roland, why should it stop his creator? Surely Heaven cannot be this indifferent?

But I know, in my heart, that the morbid good humor running through every note of the final recordings will have to be enough. God damn it.


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August 2009

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