Entertain Me

I’m not a big TV guy. I loathe commercial television for the most part. Just when I get enthralled with a program invariably five minutes of ads that I don’t give a shit about will interrupt my former pleasant viewing experience. Thankfully I have satellite television. This affords me the opportunity to channel surf through hundreds of channels of mind-numbing drivel. Woo-hoo!

I’m a big music guy. No, I do not have an Ipod or similar device where I can listen to my favorite tunes non-stop totally oblivious to anything occurring in the universe. All the people I see with earbuds constantly hanging out of the sides of their heads remind me of people who clutch their omnipresent bottles of water as if at any moment global warming will instantaneously turn everywhere into a giant desert. The need for the constant drone of music in one’s head must somehow keep alien radio signals from entering the brain, hence warding off any chance of mental abduction. That said, I do however, have Sirius satellite radio.

The thought of enduring any more commercials than is absolutely necessary, fills me with a sense of trepidation that makes having my mind taken over by aliens seem almost welcoming. My son Cory got me Sirius several Christmas’ ago because I so missed Howard Stern. Little did I know how much I’d like the endless variety of music at my fingertips. I don’t listen to talk radio. I rarely listen to sports radio. I will listen to a sporting event of great interest if I can’t watch it on TV. I don’t tune in for the weather or traffic updates. If I lived in Oklahoma I might keep the weather station on twenty-four seven. That would then necessitate me getting an Ipod and earbuds because I love Rock and Roll so much. I’d just keep one eye peeled on the display for weather alerts.

I don’t listen to the stations that feature excerpts from various comics stand-up routines, though several people say I should because of how entertaining I’d find them. I find so few comics really that funny that I’d spend my time in the car listening to them rather than music. However, if I did listen to comics, I would then have to purchase an Ipod and earbuds so I could listen to the music I so enjoy.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not averse to owning an Ipod and earbuds, I just see the need. I park in handicapped spaces thereby limiting my walking anywhere. This is one of those times when I see Ipods being utilized; when people are walking somewhere. They also use them when they’re running. I don’t run anywhere. I see people use them when they're driving. Which is handy is if an ambulance is speeding toward them with the siren screaming and one of their kids being hauled to the hospital. I see people at the gym using them to…motivate? Pump up? Ignore those around you. Avoid conversing with anyone. Act snobbish with an excuse. Maybe it’s just a societal thing.

There are DVD players in cars so parents don’t have to talk to their kids and they won’t be interrupted when talking on their cellphones about nothing to people who aren’t as important as their children. We can watch TV and computers for those who don’t think fourteen hours of viewing isn’t nearly enough to expand their limited horizons. And you can fuck around with your laptop while watching TV with your Ipod and earbuds so you can listen to music without the annoying drone of worthless TV dialog. Unless you’re a movie buff like I am.

I am a movie buff by default. I hate seeing commercials so much that rather than endure any reference to investing money no one has; watching two assholes sitting in separate bathtubs on a deserted beach with their wife to ignite their amorous yearnings that they need to take a pill for; endless ads to entice folks which beer to drink; I watch movie channels.

Sometimes I watch movies. Other times I have them on for background noise, or if it’s a movie I like a particular scene, I’ll leave the movie on until the scene is over. Sometimes I watch for the dialog, that’s a rarity. Other times I watch because the cinematography is great. Sometimes I watch because I like a particular actor.

There are contract movies that go right from the can to video that have a really terrific cast; I’ll watch those movies. Afterward I’ll rue the two hours I wasted. I’ll watch movies because I like the trailers. These also sometimes make me want to disconnect every movie channel I have, and I have them all.

When I signed on with DirecTV, I wanted all the sports stations that were offered without buying seasonal sport packages. To get them all, you have to get them with what they’re bundled with. I wanted ESPNU, I’ve got to take The Movie Channel and Showtime. I wanted FSN, I had to take Starz, Cinemax, and HBO. The only movie channel I don’t have is MGM and who gives a fuck anyway. I refuse to pay for the one channel that happens to be running movies I don’t own on DVD and haven’t seen for awhile and wished I had, just on general principle.

There are movies I will watch anytime day or night when they happen to be running on any of the eight kabillion movie channels I pay handsomely for. Shawshank Redemption and Hoosiers are two that come to mind. There are other movies that used to fall into that category, but no longer pique my interest. Field of Dreams used to be one. Now I can take it or leave it. It is no longer a "must see." Mind you, I own all of these.

There are movies I want to see, but they’re never run, or the gap between showings is too long. Man on Fire with Denzel Washington, not the lame ass one with Scott Glenn, and Master and Commander are a couple. When they finally do come on, they’re run so often that if I even hear two notes from the soundtrack I want to puke. Someone once suggested I sign up for “ON DEMAND.” Sounds urgent and important doesn’t it? The only TV I find urgent and important is sporting events. And the day TV becomes so urgent and so important in my life, that I just can’t go on unless I see a particular movie RIGHT AWAY! is the day I know I’ve watched too much and it’s time for me to get an Ipod and earbuds.

Afterthought

This is the eighth fall of my life in which I make my annual trip to Gainesville to see a University of Florida football game. My son Cory is a student there, and has been the entire eight years. Before you start to chuckle and make fun that Cory is on the eight year plan, I'll have you know, when he is finished he'll have his undergraduate degree and two post graduate degrees. No small feat.

This is my third year writing this blog and each year after the trip I write about it. The focus has always been on the game itself, and all the hoopla surrounding it. This year I went up when "Gator Growl" takes place. A kinda Homecoming on steroids.
I had never been to "Gator Growl" weekend. Cory used to be concerned that I'd have a difficult time with the sea of people that floods the campus. However, since I'd been there for an LSU game that had National Championship implications, and I'd been there for last year's Tennessee Lane Kiffin hatefest; Cory knew that I'd have no trouble navigating "Gator Growl." How did we manage to avoid overstuffed sardine can of humanity? We didn't bother to attend any of the things that people attend when they go to Gainesville for "Gator Growl." You might ask, "then why make the trip at all?" then again you might not, or just not give a shit. To those people, humor me if you can summon the patience.

I've written before that each Spring when the Florida Gator football schedule comes out, Cory asks me to pick the game I'd like to go to. I make my reservation with Tom Bodette to make sure he'll leave the light on for me...and then I wait...for months.
This year the wait was much longer. Cory did not come down to sunny South Florida for an extended visit making things for me a little less sunny.

Oh, Cory came down for Opening Day this year. And he was kinda enough to breeze through August twenty-third, the day I got back from my trip to Ohio to see to my father. August twenty-third is also my wedding anniversary which made the visit even more special. But more special still was the fact I got to meet Cory's girlfriend Cathy.

My son has been fortunate enough to remain untethered for his entire high school career and up until now, his college years as well. I always wondered what the girl would be like Cory would bring home to me "meet the parents." I was absolutely thrilled to say the least. And as I drove up to Gainesville last Friday, I thought how happy I was to be seeing my son and his girlfriend.

This is one of those things assholes used to warn me about when Cory was growing up. They used to say I was too attached to him, that I wouldn't be able to cope with each phase of his life. Fuck them. The dynamic may have changed, but for the better as I see it.

I felt a little anxiety when I got to his new digs "The Funhouse." Cory was at work and I would be conversing with Cathy without the help of a safety net.
I hope I don't say anything that will embarrass Cory.
I hope I don't say anything that will make her feel uncomfortable.
I hope there isn't a pregnant silence.
Don't drone on.
Don't bore her. Christ! My fears were unfounded as they most always are.
I think we had a splendid visit. Cathy may beg to differ.

As the afternoon wore on Cory appeared as well as some of his old friends in town for the weekend. There were also some new friends as well. Many I hadn't yet met. Some I met briefly when ten of them went on a cruise recently that left from the Port of Miami. I am here to say that each one is nicer than the next. My boy is one fortunate young man to have such a stellar group of friends. I did miss the recently wedded Zeenberg, and the also wedded Linden; and I wished I'd seen P Scott as well, but you can't have everything. But the everything I did get was near perfect.

Fera came over from Tampa, Will Pelzer as well, and the younger of the Brothers McCoy. Ian, who was on leave, was also there. When I saw him goosebumps came up on my arms. He'd been serving overseas in Afghanistan. After greeting him, all I could say was "Thank you." I met so many new people this trip I really had to focus to remember all their names. One name I was very familiar with, Mike Flannery.

Cory has mentioned his name numerous times during our many phone conversations this past year. I met Mike briefly as he was one of the booze cruise crew. I had fully intended to take them all out for dinner, but instead Mike cooked everyone present a feast. There was much laughter and the townspeople rejoiced. After sating ourselves we all went to "Grog," a midtown watering hole frequented by "The Power Structure." They drank and we laughed some more, a lot more.

I left "The Power Structure" to their own devices since the following morning brought Gameday and I needed my continually unsuccessful beauty sleep. When I arrived back at the motel -Tom wasn't anywhere to be seen, but the light was indeed on- the nervous anticipation of the following day's game was MIA.

Saturday morning, after making my way to the local Krispy Kreme and waited patiently for the bright red neon "Hot and Now" sign to come on, I gorged myself on five of the artery hardening delights before I even left the parking lot. That left seven for the ten or so people that would be at the house. I was never too good at math.

Once everyone got their bearings, we went back up to midtown for pregame food, libations, and frivolity; oh yeah, and more laughter. The game seemed very far off. As each hour passed with it went a little of the game's significance. I was starting to think it wouldn't be so bad if I didn't go and just hung around with Cory, Cathy and the rest. However, there was a small surprise in store for me.

Cory's freshman year I went to see the Arkansas-UF game. Cory's friend Jason, who I've known since he was nine, was a cheerleader which entitled him to tickets to each game. I got one of those tickets that year. I also got them the year my friend Gregg came up with me to see Alabama play the Gators. I got that same seat again for the third time, only this time I got to sit with Jason.

Sadly, UF lost. They played sad. They looked sad. I was a little sad since I'd never seen the Gators lose a football game even during the Ron Zook years. Yet, all in all, I was happy. It's kinda hard to explain.

After so many years of "The Game" being the thing upon which all other things were predicated; this year the game was almost an afterthought. There was no tailgating. There was no scrambling to stock up on supplies. There was no three different TV's going simultaneously. This year it was about the company I kept, and hope to keep for many year's to come.

Unsettling

As some of you know I've returned to school to get my PhD. in Educational Leadership at Florida Atlantic University. The main campus of the school is located in the well-to-do city of Boca Raton,which means loosely translated "Rat's Mouth." Not quite the image you want to conjure up when you want to entice others of means to move there.

FAU has satellite campuses in Jupiter, Port St. Lucie, Ft. Lauderdale, and Davie, Florida. Two of my classes meet on the Davie campus. When I first began this academic sojourn nine years ago, I needed to start from scratch since I had little or no idea as to how to study, do homework, etc. The place they would give me these tools was Broward County Community College, now known as Broward College.

I started there because that institution has an "open enrollment" policy. Meaning, if you apply you're in. BCC also has satellite campuses doting the landscape of the County. One of them abuts the FAU campus in Davie. I took many of my pre-requisite survey courses at the Davie facility.

In January of 2002, the spring semester had just begun.. I still felt the uneasiness of being one of a handful of non-traditional (older) students on the Davie campus. My micro-economics class was letting out. I made my way to the small quad located two non-descript, institutional, two story buildings away. Benches were situated on all four sides, each facing in a different direction. Each day when I attended class in Davie, I would make my daily phone call to my wife from the bench that put my back to the library and facing the FAU campus; keeping an eye on the future you could say. But before I sat down, something happened that I have rarely given any thought to these past eight and half years. However, I think about it now every Tuesday and Thursday.

I watch the local news in the evening. Kinda a comedic respite from the days mundane events. Yes, I'm being sarcastic. Many times when there's been a shooting, a witness will say they heard a pop that sounded similar to a firecracker. To them I say, you're idiots. That day in 2002 I heard a gunshot and it sounded nothing like a firecracker.

Above five paces from my designated calling area, I heard a gunshot, then moments later I heard another. The sounds came from about fifty yards away. The rapport echoed making the shots sound closer still. Uh-oh I thought.

In the blink of an eye a rushing torrent of students came racing around the corner of one of the non-descript two-story buildings. I had already placed the call to my wife and started to describe the mayhem.

As I told her of the gunshots I had just heard, watching the panicked race to unmarked finish line only they could see, I thought what if the person wielding the gun came around the corner. My heart raced. I remained seated. Since my amputation, my days of racing pell mell to anywhere were over. As I unfolded the scene to my wife, I didn't even think that I may be causing her great angst. I knew at the moment , If there were more individuals on the gunman's hit parade, the best I could muster is hitting the deck.

I have always been a realist. When your number comes up, your number comes up. Your perspective is altered a bit by a near death experience and my motorcycle accident certainly qualified. I did not fear dying that day at the hand of some crazed Charles Whitman wannabe. But I'll tell you, I wasn't thrilled at the prospect.

A disgruntled boyfriend -that's how they say it on the news- ("disgruntled" just doesn't seem strong enough) had shot his estranged girlfriend as she exited English Comp I. Then he put the gun to his own head and saved the taxpayers a ton of dough.

Several weeks ago when classes began, just as I was about to enter the Liberal Arts building where my class was held, I glanced over at the Broward College Davie campus quad. I saw the bench I regularly sat at. I then glanced to the corner of the building from where the tide of students rushed forth. In 2002 I was angry at what had occurred. In 2010, I'm saddened by the events of that day. I feel sorry for the victims and their families. I wonder when there'll be closure.

Each Tuesday and Thursday since that first week of class, as I make my way into the Liberal Arts building, my eyes are drawn to the bench. I can't help myself. Try as I might, my gaze goes to the bench then the corner of the building as if being pulled by some magnetic force. I almost expect at any moment a brand new mass of humanity will spew forth. But all is quiet on the western front. It may be quiet, but it's still unsettling nonetheless.

A Day in the Life

Yesterday I woke up, got out of bed, and no, I didn't drag a comb across my head, and I haven't for quite some time. It's said everyday is an adventure, but I'd rather they be the self-discovery kind of adventure, or a long journey, not the "what a fuckin' adventure that was" kind.

When you get right down to it, keeping things in perspective, I really never have a bad day. My friend Ralph occasionally sends me a quote that he thinks I might enjoy. A couple of weeks ago the quote was "If you think you're having a bad day, try missing one." At least I thought it was clever. Yesterday was one of those days when I need to take a step back, breath in and out, and try to grasp just how fucking obtuse some people can really be.

I admittedly don't play well with others. That's why I never want to work for anyone. I'll keep a positive outlook on the path to self-actualization, unless they decide to foreclose on the house, then I'll go to work for some dipshit. But in the meantime, I'll try to learn to play better.

At the start of the day I'm usually pretty upbeat. I get up at 4:45, do my thing, and visualize what I want to accomplish. I get pretty excited about what lies ahead. I knew something didn't bode well when I went out to get my daily rag The Miami Herald and found it hadn't been delivered. My heart started to beat a little faster. My anal retentiveness was already in full swing.

I don't have my goddamn paper. For Christ's sake, is it too much to ask to have my fucking paper delivered each morning. That's why I pay for home delivery. Now what will I read on the crapper?

I waited until the designated past due time (6:30) to call to get a paper delivered. I had to call three times to get the proper recording, the helpful electronic information system decided to be as reliable as the delivery. When I finally got a human -the heavily accented recorded voice told me to "prez" one- a cheerful gentleman with a heavily accented voice told me my paper would be there within an hour. So I waited. Fuck him too. So I went to campus.

I had registered for a seminar about the new updates for Blackboard, a computer learning site utilized by universities. If it isn't exactly Blackboard, it's something similar. The professor I'm a graduate assistant for wants me to do some stuff on the site, so I thought attending the seminar would be a good idea. It was. Then everything turned to shit.

One of my duties (I used doody heh heh)was to have some fliers get stamped so I could post them up around campus. They need to be approved by some governing body before they can be put up. As of yesterday, what governing body that is, is anybody's guess. After an hour and twenty minutes of driving from building to building around campus, the proper authority remains a mystery. Like a good soldier I did what I was told, and went to where I was directed. Not once, not twice, not three time; come to think of it, fuck that "third time is a charm bullshit;" it was at my forth stop I gave up the ghost. Exasperated, I told the women who assisted me I wasn't moving until someone could be reached who knew anything, anything at all, that had to do with fliers being approved. Eventually, the first person I was sent to earlier that afternoon appeared before my eyes to rectify the situation, all the while reminding me she really wasn't authorized to do what she was doing. Who was you may ask, no one knows. It's one of the current great mysteries of life that I will ponder...but not for very long. Talk about the left hand not knowing what the right hand is doing; I was dealing with a fucking octopus here.

Look, I get paid the same whether I'm doing important research, taking out the garbage, or just jerking off. So it didn't matter to me I was jerking off mobile. Just my way of still seeing the glass half-full. And then I went home in bumper to bumper traffic for thirty-six miles... only to find my paper had not yet arrived nearly eleven hours later.

I had the pleasure of calling the infamous "customer service" line. As with most industries in America "customer service" is a very loosely defined abstract term. It's more like a virtual unreality video game.After I was told to "prez" one, I got a not so pleasant heavily accented gentleman who was neither "gentle," and "man" depended on your definition. In this case "spineless shit hiding behind a phone" could possibly fit my definition of "man."

When I came to the realization that the barely intelligible talking asshole on the other end of the line neither cared about me "the customer" or "service" unless you count "lip service." Finally, knowing a paper was not in the cards this day, without thinking, I was dumb enough to ask "why was there no delivery today?" Big mistake.

All he had to attempt to say was "I don't know" and I would have been happy. But no, he had to go into some verbal diarrhea about computer malfunction; though he didn't use the word "malfunction," I'm giving him way too much credit that even that word exists in his limited vocabulary.Then it was I needed to speak to home delivery blah blah blah. He may have even really said "blah blah blah" I couldn't really tell. I asked to be transferred to home delivery when I could finally get a word in. He told me they had gone home for the day. Of course they did. Disgusted, I hung up. I went into my office to do homework that wasn't done until nearly 11:00.

I didn't eat yesterday. Didn't have the time, dealing with all the incompetency in the world and all. As I made my way to bed I reflected on the day's events. What was there to be learned? How will I grow from my experiences?
God save The Miami Herald building if I don't get my fucking paper tomorrow morning. How long does it take to manufacture a firebomb?