I was googling around for an image of a maze I could use for an upcoming project when I stumbled on this page with a bunch of JPGs and animated GIFs. Even though some of them are definitely off-color (and a lot just aren’t that funny) it’s a quantity over quality issue here and I found myself laughing out loud (sorry, LOL) and couldn’t stop until I’d clicked on every one.

Two clean ones:

Many more dirty, violent, and cruel ones in the mix, the very definition of Not Work Safe (sorry, NWS).

Current Mood: Okay |

Recap: The number of guys fluctuated today, starting with twelve but soon swelled to the dreaded twenty-four, which meant two simultaneous games (four teams, six-a-side) with no subs. It topped out at twenty-eight (one sub per team) but that didn’t last that long.

Health Report: Good. Ankles held up well but the big problem today was sheer exhaustion. I actually stopped playing after 90 minutes because I was too pooped to continue and I was afraid I would injure myself.

Performance: Quite good. Lots of hard running and the guys playing were on the younger and fitter side, but that meant for good passing too. As time wore on the elastic in my legs wore out, meaning I lost some snap to my passes and I stumbled quite a bit. Balance is something I have a new appreciation for, as it goes quickly once the legs start to fatigue. But I pinged the ball pretty damn well before that.

Rating: — I’m being generous with the four-star rating here, but my drop in skill towards the end had everything to do with fatigue. I had a few zipping passes that warped the space-time continuum, two deliberate nutmeg passes, a number of decent goals, and my favorite—squeezing a few passes through a crowd of players that hits the feet of the striker on my team in front of goal with pace and accuracy that they’re not expecting it. (It’s actually quite funny when this happens: the guy runs to goal, calls for the ball, then lets up because he doesn’t think it’s coming. Then zip, the ball smacks him on the instep, and everyone razzes him for blowing a sitter. It’s much less funny when it happens to you of course, and it happens to almost everyone sooner or later.)

No wundergols today, though I did hit two beauties that each smacked the foot of the post, one a volley from distance, another from a tight angle. Until next week…

We were asked to watch Tarsem Singh’s The Fall for one of my classes and I have to say I was pretty disappointed with it. First off, I don’t think it does much new as a nested story of a hospital patient telling a story to a little girl and (predictably?) the story changes in the telling. I also found it to be a major miscue for the characters in the fictional story to have “real-life” counterparts and for the girl to be taking things from “reality” into her fantasy world. Problem number one: this has already been done in The Wizard of Oz, and Singh’s not adding anything new by using this technique.

Problem number two, and the real reason I didn’t like the movie, is that the fantastic becomes “just” a story, one with no real consequence. Compare The Fall with a far superior movie, Pan’s Labyrinth, and the contrast is striking. In Pan’s Labyrinth, there is no wall separating the fantastical from the real, which means that the fantastical has the same set of consequences as our perceived reality—to put it another way, fantasy danger is real danger. Die in that world, you die in this one.

The Fall continues a long and fairly insulting tradition of infantilizing fantasy. Fantasy becomes escape for adults and a way to metaphorically relate “adult situations” to children; fantasy has no direct consequence in this world, the version of reality championed by a strict rationalist viewpoint.

I much prefer dangerous fantasy, the kind in Pan’s Labyrinth, where the division isn’t between the “real” and the fantastic, but rather between layers of reality that we choose to see or not see. Fantasy is not the “other” but rather the here, the now, the real—just a different kind of real that should not be taken lightly, and is not fare for children.

Just a thought.

Current Mood: Bleh |

This site gets severely neglected in crunch times, and it’s crunch time. I was freaking out earlier about how I was going to get everything done by the end of the semester (Dec. 12 or so) but after mapping it all out I think I’ll be good to go. I realized today that a slow, steady approach is not what’s called for. I have about three major projects that I need to care of, and it makes way more sense to dedicate about a week to each while abandoning nearly everything else. This plan should keep me sane.

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I love my Packers, I really do, and to see them mercilessly whip up on the Bears was a joy to behold. They looked like world-beaters, even though I’m convinced that the NFC North has three average teams that aren’t going to the Super Bowl.

The Badgers have been so god-awful this season that I can hardly stand to watch. The only consolation this weekend was that you can always count on the Golden Vomit to botch things up worse than Wisconsin. Their complete capitulation inspired much laughter in my house.

Speaking of the corridors of Hergenrader echoing with laughter, how great was Aston Villa’s Arse smacking on Saturday? A fairer score probably would have been 4-0 as Villa played their hosts off the park. Seriously, to put in such a limp performance at home…why are there still headlines saying “Ars*nal Title Chances Dented”? I suspected that their win against Man Ure last weekend did more damage to the champions’ hopes of retaining the title than it did about Ars*nal’s credentials for staying in the race, and this result suggests I was right.

For the yutzes who haven’t yet come to grips with how these European leagues work—it doesn’t matter how pretty you play or the big teams you beat, it all comes down to the season-long table. If you’re like the Arse and you’re nine points off the pace with a third of the season gone, not only do you need to basically be flawless from here on out, you need to have the three teams ahead of you all drop more points than you do. For a side that’s already lost four (two at home), that doesn’t seem too likely, does it?

The major misconception is that unlike baseball, basketball, or American football, there is no “peaking at the right time” in regards to the regular season. Mediocre teams like the NY Giants managed to get hot in December and that paved the way to the Super Bowl. Not so in the league for footie. That holds true for the cup competitions, but it’s quite often that teams are mortally wounded by November and December and there is no coming back. The only recent exception is Kevin Keegan’s Newcastle blowing a ten-point lead in the ‘95-’96 season, but I can’t see Benitez’s Liverpool or Scolari’s Chelski wobbling that badly. Nor can I see this Ars*nal crop making up the ground.

Still awfully tight, tight, tight though.

Current Mood: Sure |

Recap: A sparser showing today, two teams with about three subs each. Teams were generally equal in talent, although the opposing side had two college-aged guys that really helped carry their team.

Health Report: Fine. My ankle is sore from more from the brace I’m wearing, and man are my muscles sore but no kicks, knocks, or bruises.

Performance: Okay. The first two or three shifts were diabolical but I gradually got into the groove and by the end I was playing pretty well. I scored twice with my left foot and that doesn’t happen often, and I cheekily lobbed the goalkeeper from about eight feet out. That got quite a few laughs.

Rating: — The day averaged out to three stars—two to begin with and four towards the end. Really, I was pretty awful for the first twenty minutes or so and it didn’t help that I kept get on the same shift with a mouthy guy who is quite good but is very temperamental and stops running when he doesn’t get the ball where he wants it, when he wants it, and another guy who is a classic pickup stereotype—the guy whose friends are incredibly good and he’s average at best, but likes to think he’s just as good as they are.

He liked to shoot. A lot. From distance. From impossible angles. Through crowds. Through brick walls. And he seemed to be under the impression that if he could hit the ball hard enough that it somehow made up for the fact that it was generally off target. And if you’re me and you’ve just run thirty yards to join in the attack, I certainly don’t want to be told that I should make a better run to pull defenders away so this guy can (you guessed it) get a clearer shot. Nope, generally not a way to endear yourself to me.

Still, the footie makes me very happy. Even if I will be condemned to wheelchair by the time I’m forty.

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Ironic as it may be, being in a graduate writing program and actually writing seem to be antithetical. Looking at my submission stats for 2008 I discovered that they’re way, way down: 26 subs for the year, down from a career-high 51 in 2007 and 39 in 2006. Worse, it’s really the same batch of stories going round and round without a lot of fresh stuff mixed in to liven things up.

The problem is one of balance. The struggle is to find time to prepare for the classes I’m taking as well as for the class I’m teaching. Add to this the admin position I hold and the time I’m dedicating to preparing for my preliminary exams next year and the brain is getting close to maxed out. Then subtract time for eating, sleeping, and commuting (8 hours—the equivalent of a full workday lost) and there’s not a lot left over for the time consuming process of proper manuscript preparation and submission.

The situation is also worsened by the fact that I’ve spent the last couple summers working on a novel rather than cranking out new short stories. I do have a set of stories that need some final revisions before they go but it’s a real challenge to carve out the time necessary to get them up to snuff, and I see no good reason (and plenty of bad ones) to send out sub-par work just to pump up my number of subs and feel good about sending stuff out.

Impatience is probably the word for what I’m experiencing. The Ph.D. program I’m in is intentionally front-loaded, meaning they pile on the work in the first couple years so you can have the remaining years to work on your writing. I’ve also been advised to rearrange my workload to reflect these priorities, in this order: my writing, my classes, my teaching. Maybe it’s because I’m a perfectionist, or maybe it’s because my writing doesn’t have the immediacy of the other two, but I can’t allow myself to do that.

And this has been my least-favorite semester thus far. The required “teaching composition” course I’m taking is a lot of work, preparing for classes for the first time is a lot of work, keeping track of administrative details for my part-time job is a lot of work, and I’m on the road more than ever. I’m done with required coursework next semester and should have my prelims behind me by next Thanksgiving, so things should relax a little by then. School-wise anyway…

I’m almost done with Haruki Murakami’s Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman on audio and I’ve been enjoying it. I found out relatively early that this collection of short stories demands your complete attention and isn’t the best choice for audio, but as long as I can focus on it (read: not at 6:00 AM while driving to school) then everything is okay. If I’m prone to daydreaming or needing to split my attention, I lose what’s going on almost immediately.

I guess what I find most interesting is how I really enjoy some stories (the title story, “Chance Traveller,” “A Folklore for My Generation,” “Tony Takitani,” and others) and how some really fall flat (”Aeroplane” and “The Ice Man”) as they feel too straightforward, almost allegorical. Still, there are far more hits than misses here and I plan on moving to Murakami’s novel Kafka on the Shore next.

Current Mood: Okay |

I’m kicking myself because on Friday I was thinking, “You know what’s going to happen on Saturday? Ars*nal is going to beat Man Ure and all the bandwagon jumpers will exclaim with delight that they’re back in the title race. Of course, this is exactly what happened even though lots of folks were expecting a 6-0 thumping by the champions. However, I contend that this game will mean more for Man Ure’s season than Ars*nal’s, mostly because both of these teams still trail the front-running Chelski and Liverpool by six-to-eight points (although Man Ure has a game in hand).

These opinions are supported by this article on Soccern*t that statistically shows that the head-to-head results of the top four have not been the deciding factor in determining who wins the title, but rather it’s the results against the smaller teams that make the difference. Ars*nal may win the Big Four “mini-league” with their slick attacking soccer, but as long as the Fulhams, the Hulls, and the Stokes of the world can shove them around, I see them dropping points all over the place—and the weather hasn’t even gotten bad yet. Man Ure don’t have that same kind of frailty but they do seem to be going through the motions a lot of the time. They appeared to be on auto-pilot for long stretches against Celtic in the Champions League. The big difference for me is that unlike last year, Chelski is not stuttering. And then there’s the question of whether Liverpool can keep (or set) the pace.

For my money, I think Chelski wins the title and Liverpool and Man Ure split second and third. The bigger question is whether the Arse can finish fourth. I think they can, but mostly because I don’t see Aston Villa finding that next gear. It’s still early days but these teams’ natures seem to have taken shape.

Oh, and for all the doubters out there, Spurs have now won three and drawn one in the league and are out of the drop zone. They’re still too far out to make a realistic charge on the UEFA Cup spots but it’s hard to see them making a serious U-turn and heading back down. The bottom half of the table is separated by a grand total of three points—the 20th team has 11 points whereas the 10th has 14. Tight, tight, tight.

Recap: My first outing of the fall/winter/spring noon/pickup/indoor season, which will probably be limited to Wednesdays and maybe some Mondays based more on businesses than anything. Started late (per usual) with about 16 guys that grew to a max of 22 (two teams of 6 plus five subs). Pretty good numbers all around and a good spread of age, and generally high quality of play.

Health Report: Good, although I have my left ankle wrapped up to the point of being just short of a plaster cast. No knocks, strains, or stretches. No foot stomps, blisters, or kicks.

Performance: Actually, quite good. In my first shift I had not one but two nifty backheel passes that earned me the vaunted “ooohs” from the players on the bench. I had one awful shift, but managed to squeeze in some good tight passing and scored on a friggin’ Howitzer from distance that kissed the post. One of the best—if not the best—goal I’ve scored in indoor. In fairness, my performance was enhanced by the fact that my team was better and the demographic was a bit older than the norm, but it was a good day.

Rating: — A solid four-star performance. I had a shift that was dire and two handfuls of bad touches here and there, but more often than not I found myself getting the job done for our side. And remembering the echo of the ball smacking the plexiglass behind the net on my wundergol will keep me pleased for days.

I received word from the UWM English Department that Professor James Liddy passed away this morning at Columbia Hospital, aged 74.

Not being a poet and not being Irish, I hadn’t heard of Liddy before beginning my classes as a grad student at UWM, but it wasn’t long until I figured out that James Liddy was a very large figure in poetry circles indeed. He has published many books of poetry, and has had critical works and tributes written about and for him. I also know his presence was a big reason why some of my fellow grad students came to UWM.

On a more personal note, James was my advisor when I started classes. He took me out to lunch and told me numerous stories about UWM that would have made university administrators blush. I took two of his classes, and he served on my Masters committee. He pointed me to authors I otherwise would have never known, and was very complimentary of my fiction (less so of my attempts at poetry - ) and for that I am very grateful.

It’s too bad the word maverick has been thrown around so much lately because the word describes James very well. He was genuine in everything he did, and the department will be something less without him.

Current Mood: Suddenly Very Pensive and Sad |

Wow. I followed this election on and off throughout the night, but mostly on as time went on. Mr. President Elect, you had me at Ohio. And Pennsylvania? Colorado? Florida? 338 to 156 at present.

I wrote eons ago about Obama’s utopian rhetoric, and after hearing his acceptance speech tonight (not to mention these final months of campaigning) I have to say that my respect and admiration has steadily grown, and I’m greatly looking forward to seeing what comes next. My one request would be, “Hard left on the tiller, sir,” but I don’t think that’s going to happen. And I know the rhetoric is working when I’m left thinking that maybe that’s for the best.

One other thing as I watched NBC’s coverage. The shots of the crowd in Arizona were pretty striking. Old, white, and wealthy seemed to be the overwhelming population—not surprising. The folks in Grant Park? A bit more representative in terms of age, race, and if I had to guess, class. And for me, the most moving thing of the whole night were the scenes from Howard University, where the African American students and their advisors were too overcome with emotion to find words.

I’ve been thinking all week: was it worth eight years of Bush for this? After tonight, I’m pretty sure it was.

Current Mood: Ecstatic/Relieved/Exhausted | / /