Well Put Tim Minchin...

I heard Tim Minchin give an interview on the Skeptic's Guide To The Universe Podcast. He referenced this very funny/insightful poem. It's about publicly disagreeing with illogical people. Please watch.

Fail You Will

Ok, so I made this poster for my classroom today. It took about 3 hours and was a HUGE pain in the ass to get hung, but all in all I'm pleased with it. It's meant to encourage the kids to finish what they start, but after further reflection I realize it might discourage them from even trying. That's the learning environment I want to cultivate: if you don't succeed the first time, quit. Even so, I bet no one's tried fighting illiteracy with the FORCE yet. We'll see how it goes. Yoda's never steered me wrong before.

Matt

About Michael Phelps and That Bong Picture...

Hey, person at the party taking pictures of Michael Phelps smoking pot, fuck you. I'm guessing you probably went to that party specifically to try and mingle with the guy. Don't lie, it's O.K. to be star struck. But now you wanna take your little picture and make some cash by exploiting a 23 year-old having a good time at a party? What did they pay you for that picture? Was it enough to ruin someone's career?

Oh, by the way, what the fuck were YOU doing at a party where people were passing around a bong? Handing out Chick Tracts? Michael Phelps smokes pot. So what? It's not like he was hurting anyone, or anything, or even himself, he was at a college party smoking pot. Get a fucking life. At least he doesn't have to go to bed tonight feeling like he snitched out someone for 15 minutes of fame and a few bucks.

By the way, I'm not a sports guy. I watched about 15 minutes of Beijing Olympics. I'm not defending the guy because I'm a fan. I don't even smoke (pot or otherwise). I just hate seeing these finger-pointing, holier-than-though cocksuckers making a buck off of someone's misery.

Snitches get stitches,
Blake

About fifteen minutes into "Taken" I turned to my girlfriend and said "This movie gets an F minus".

I imagine Taken's writing team did their research on the partying habits of 17-19 year old girls at a nursing home. This might explain why the plot involves two teenage girls going to Europe to follow U2. U2, really? According to the American Journal of Scientific Analysis of Teenage Girl Listening Habits, there are currently three high school girls in America who give a fuck about U2 so the idea that two of them were even able to find each other is quite hard to swallow. The writers also decided (after shooing that neighbor boy off the lawn again) that after finally getting away from their parents, the teen ladies of Taken celebrate by inviting strangers to the house, turning the music up to 11 and jumping on the furniture. Oh, and did I mention that the 17 year-old LOST HER SHIT when she got a pony for her birthday? Yeah...a fucking pony. Hey Hollywood, I have an idea. If you want to make a movie with teenagers in it, hire someone who might have been an actual teenager at some point in their life. However, is wasn't until I watched a vengeful Liam Neeson's attempt to blend in on the streets of Paris by carrying around a huge bag of french bread that I was ready to give up.

Oh, but I'm so glad I stuck with it. Let me pull my pretentious head out of my ass for a second to say that I loved this movie. Yes, the first 20 minutes or so are shit. But Liam Neeson as a throat-chopping, steel-nerved hardass is truly inspired. In fact, Neeson is such a force in this movie that at times you truly feel sorry for the bad guys. There are no James Bondesque criminal masterminds detailing the intricacies of their plot. No windy monologues at gunpoint. No deadly-as-they-are-beautiful love interests. In fact, once the action starts rolling (and after the aforementioned hideous first act) there isn't really any filler at all. Just Liam Neeson, hellbent on getting his daughter back from eurotrash assholes who want to drug her and put her virgin ass to work on the street corner.

Great film? No. Worth seeing? Absolutely.
Blake

Obama, Guantanamo, and the Doo Doo Conspiracy

We are now living in a very important period of history. The past several months have seen some of the biggest events of our generation. This week, President Obama has hit the ground running, and put into motion the closing of the prison camp at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. This held a special relevance to me and my classroom. Weeks ago, my students and I discussed Cuba's history. We talked at length about the Cuban prison and many students responded with outrage. Not only does the prison break UN charters, reportedly violate human rights, torture inmates, and holds political prisoners (who are never formally charged for a crime) for years. These kids are only 11 and 12, but I feel many of them had a truer understanding of the issues than many adults. So when I saw that Obama put the wheels in motion to close the camp, I couldn't wait to discuss it with my class.

Fast forward to first period the next day. I wrote an awesome lesson, had some great discussion questions and couldn't wait to get started. Before my first class started, I took the kids on a bathroom break. That's when all hell broke loose. One young man had to go number two. He was very discreet. He got in, did work, and got lost in the crowd of kids again before anyone knew what was about to hit them. The shit smell soon wafted a good 15 feet from the entrance to the bathroom. It was godawful. Kids and teachers were evacuating the area like there was an anthrax scare. I've smelled some nasty shit in my day, but I must admit this was exceptional. But hey, that's part of life right? People shit. You might giggle a bit, but eventually it's back to business. We return to class and the kids act like it's Christmas, New Years, and the 4th of July all rolled into one. The room is buzzing. I start to tell the kids about Guantanamo's closing and what a huge deal it is. I remind them of the outrage they expressed when they learned of the prison camp's tactics. All in vain. Despite being in the midst of a potentially world-changing event, their only concern was "who doodooed?".

One young man, Shaun, was steadfast in his determination to discover the culprit. He was unwavering in his attempt to uncover the poop plot. With genuine concern, he questioned his classmates. "Hey Akeem, did you doodoo?" "No, but I saw Marcus and Justin walkin' out all fast and nervous and stuff". Now Shaun turned good-cop. "Marcus, do you know who doodooed? You can tell me, I just want to know, but I won't tell anyone." I was getting angry. These kids were missing a huge world event because some kid dropped a deuce in the boys' room. But something strange started to happen. I was completely wrapped up in the mystery myself. I wanted,...dammit I HAD to know who had done it. Luckily, Marcus didn't leave us in suspense long. He timidly whispered to Shaun, "It was me, I really had to go". Shaun responded in typical fashion. "AH LAWD!!! MARCUS DOODOOED!!!!". The class erupted in laughter (I myself had to face the wall to hide my hysterics). When the class (and myself) had regained our composure, I pulled both boys in the hallway (which still smelled like shit by the way) and gave the obligatory lecture. Shaun apologized and they shook hands, but still, I think Marcus learned a valuable lesson about trust that day.

Thinking on the event now, I can't help but be proud of the how the kids handled the situation. You have to hand it to him. Marcus is a ninja. Maybe more like Jason Bourne (The Bourne Lavatory?). He slipped in, planted his payload, and slipped out while no one was the wiser. His actions were as efficient as any covert CIA operative could ever hope to be. Shaun impressed as well. His determination, heartlessness, and interrogation skills helped him find his mark. He was willing to use all means necessary to convict and execute his target. The more I thought about it, both of those kids could have a promising career in the CIA. In fact, they both would have been right at home in Guantanamo Bay. Now, they'll never get the chance.



Oh yeah, and my students have a new comeback. When someone rags on them, or tells a "mama" joke, they respond with, "Oh Yeah?....OBAMA!!" I guess as if to say, "I don't care what you say about me or my promiscuous mother, I have a black President mofo!!" And it works! The other kids nod approvingly, like its the best comeback ever. I have to admit, it's better than anything off of "White Men Can't Jump". Incidentally, this statement has found its way into my conversations with adults. It's firmly planted in my vernacular now. I encourage you all to do the same.

OBAMA BITCHES!
Matt

Domesticating Olic (the cat)

Domesticating Olic (the cat)
By: AJ Brantley

I know you don’t want to be here.
You stare at me like a dog
wide-eyed wanting desperately
to go outside where you spent your youth
patrolling a peaceful apartment parking lot
from pigeons and squirrels who feared
your confidence and natural efficiency.
But the streets are far too busy in this new place
so I’m asking you to save your life-ending bite
for canned meat and dry dwarf caricatures
of whole ocean white fish and turkey legs
salmon fillets and the severed wings of fresh
chicken. This gritty new substitute
taste as satisfying as morning spit. Here
I’m asking you to shit and piss
on gravel shards in a designated box
several sizes too small for you
in the corner of the bathroom. Sometimes
you forget to use the box and paw
embarrassingly at the unrelenting carpet.
This forces you to reconsider your understanding
of things as simple as the ground.
You are confused here. Likewise
the window above my desk has a screen
that separates air—something you never
knew was possible. In the mornings when I read
at my desk you can hear through the screen
the pigeons of your youth mocking your plight
though we both know you’re still strong enough
and quick enough to pounce them dead. At night
when I’m writing, you sit hopelessly on my desk
subjected to the judgment of squirrels. By word of mouth
your past has followed you here. They torment
you, I know they do—those
ghostly apparitions of those you've ended
squatting in the fog
chattering through the window
all night long of your steady and painful undoing.
Each night you turn to me and in a high pitch groan
beg for human mercy. But to your chagrin
my reply is a father’s warning to his child,
a preacher’s prophecy to his flock—
If I let you leave this place,
giants will crush you.

Left 4 Dead

If you pay any attention to the world of video games, you have no doubt heard that Valve's "Left 4 Dead" is an exceptional game. I fully agree and at the same time, I appreciate the game on a different level. For years, I have been terrified of zombies. Since watching "Night of the Living Dead" with my dad at the tender age of nine, zombies have been a staple of my dreams. In fact, the only nightmares I ever have are zombie flavored, and I have one at least every other month.

This kinemortophobia (thank you Urban Dictionary) has fueled a life-long obsession with zombie movies, novels, comic books, video games, even music. I share my undead obsession with many friends, and we often have heated debates over which course of action to take in the event of a zombie apocalypse. (Sorry Blake, I still think Wal-Mart would be the worst place to go. I don't care if they have shotguns or not, go in there after 1 AM and see how many mouth-breathers are in there. That place would be a shit-storm.) That being said, you can see how "L4D" had my full attention when I first read the previews several months ago.

My review of this game is not concerned with graphics, or sound waves, or bit-rate, or texture-mapping or anything on the technology end. While the game is beautiful to play and well-made, professional magazines have done an adequate job explaining the games technical accomplishments. Instead, I want to focus on this game's appeal to zombiephiles.

First, L4D is made for zombie geeks. Each level is based on a movie putting you in classic zombie-nightmare scenarios. You’ll hold up in farm houses, closets, break rooms, and warehouses. You explore labyrinthine sewers, abandoned apartment buildings, hospitals, diners, and loading docks. You fight your way to rooftop helipads, through foggy corn fields, through devastated airports (careful not to set off the metal detectors), and even parking garages. It’s as though the developers sat down and thought of the best moments from every zombie movie and included them in the game. You can even carry and detonate propane tanks, one of the most awesome parts of Zack Snyder’s “Dawn” remake. This game was obviously made by fellow followers of zombie-lore.

The game’s realism also lends to its appeal. There are no “boss” battles, back-story, or sub plots. You must simply survive from one safehouse to the next, all the while helping your teammates survive the ordeal. Basically, it’s what the real zombie apocalypse would be like. No other game (not even Resident Evil) has successfully accomplished this. L4D places you in your favorite movies and the result is as satisfying as any Romero film. Now, take this incredible game idea and add the online element. Not only can you live through world annihilation, but you can do it with three buddies in the comfort of your favorite chair. It’s fun, it’s terrifying, and it’s the realization of a lifelong dream….. or should I say nightmare. I’m already getting excited over the inevitable sequels and implore any studio to give it a big-screen treatment. If I have one gripe, it’s the lack of music. Yes the sound effects are scary as hell, but the loading screens and menus are begging for a Goblin song or two. Maybe in the sequel. Either way, I still love this game, and my current insomnia has been a small price to pay.

Aim for the Head,

Matt

Update: Upon further reflection, I realize my zombie terrors began much earlier. Around the age of 4 my dad bought the family a state-of-the-art, wood-grain, top-loading Beta-Max player. Turtle's Music (the Grandfather of Best Buy) only had a handful of cassettes, so one of Dad's first purchases was "The Making of Michael Jackson's 'Thriller'". That video was very ahead of its time and I'm sure it kindled the fear of the undead in many of my generation.