And Now, A Brief Public Service Announcement

The sinister nature of fast food advertising never ceases to amaze me.

Most will agree that the McDonald's Dollar Menu (and its ilk) is one of Man's greatest innovations. Most would not consider it a stretch at all to declare the Double Cheeseburger one of the yummiest possible uses of a dollar.

Most Dollar Menu veterans will note the recent introduction of a new Dollar Menu item: the McDouble. Just a renaming of the Double Cheeseburger. Or is it?

I learned the dastardly truth last night, when I was hit head-on by a snack attack. I had quite the DC hankering. When I glanced at the Dollar Menu at the nearest site of the Golden Arches, I noticed that a Double Cheeseburger was now an infuriating $1.19! Confused and a little troubled, I inquired as to the difference between the McDouble and the Double Cheeseburger. My braces-toothed order-taker informed me in a splendidly lazy drawl that "the Double Cheeseburger has two pieces of cheese and the McDouble has one piece."

This move by McD's is really pretty stingy, in my opinion. As one of the few stocks that has felt relatively little to no heat from the recent economic downturn, the decision to quibble by 19 cents over a single piece of ultra-processed cheese-type matter is quite silly. But that's the way it goes, I guess.

Anyway, I just thought I would warn those of you who have not yet been duped by The Man (none other than that bastard Ronald McDonald, in this case) that he is fixing to fleece you out of 19 cents per DC if you're not careful.


You'd better run, Ronnie. We're on to your little game.

Corporate pigs.

Pictures of Odd Things in Public Places, Part 2: Mall

...at long last. I've been a killer combination of busy and lazy since I returned to school, so forgive the blog pause. Anyhoo...

One afternoon when my family was in South Carolina, we went to the imposing Coastal Grand Mall. Still a giddy new iPhone owner, I snapped some pictures of amusing things in the mall, just as I did at Piggly Wiggly. Again, captions will succeed the pictures.




I'd put five-to-one odds against Gianni Bini and Antonio Melani even existing as real people. One of the funniest things I see in malls is department store in-house brands with faux-elegant Italian names that are clearly meant to remind would-be consumers of bona fide fashion names like Giorgio Armani and Donatella Versace.



I'd say it's pretty ironic that a brand called Hobo International is trying to sell fine leather handbags.



My instinct is to stay away from women dressed like the one in the above ad. It's a strong instinct.



Shameless self-humiliation, to show you that I put it all on the line for my loyal blog readers.



Though I am a contented owner of quite a few articles of Polo clothing, the people in their ads never cease to evoke feelings of bewilderment. Not only do the mannequin-like poses and facial expressions (and, no doubt, masks of makeup and airbrushing) disquiet me, their outfits are almost always ridiculous. I can't say I see many young men wearing bow ties under zip-up sweaters, but perhaps I don't run with the right crowd.

In conclusion, where's Don Draper when you need him?

Cheers.

Pictures of Odd Things in Public Places, Part 1: Supermarket

One of the most useful features of my new iPhone is the ease with which I can transfer pictures I've taken with it to my laptop. That has allowed me to go a bit hog-wild in taking pictures of things I find odd or amusing where'er I go. A few nights, I did so in the local Piggly Wiggly, a supermarket prevalent in parts of the South (we've been staying in Pawleys Island, SC for the better part of the last week). Captions will be under their pictures.


Gotta love seeing a package of cookies using the last name of a very famous philosopher. I think the company missed an opportunity to extend the association with Leibniz. The obvious motto for the cookies should be "Leibniz: the best of all possible cookies." Oh well; advertising just ain't what it used to be.


This pretty much sums up why I would never want to be a huge pop-culture celebrity. My obsession with Angelina Jolie is very intense and very private, and I'd like to keep it that way, thank you very much! (Note: I am not obsessed with Ms. Jolie)


I can only imagine some of the lines in this one:
Captain Bluebeard caressed her so gently and tenderly that the callouses on his hands melted away to nothing but ecstasy against her rost cheek.
"Yarrrr, dear Elizabeth, I could never make ye walk the plank."
Et Cetera, et cetera.


I wrote of the monosyllabic-detergent phenomenon some months ago, but I thought I'd capture it in its natural habitat, as it were.

Supermarkets can be really interesting studies of advertising, I've always thought. There are head-scratchers and laughs around every corner. Part 2 will be a similar format, but from the Coastal Grand Mall in Myrtle Beach, SC, at which my family spent a couple hours yesterday afternoon.

'Til then.

Anew

How my 2008 ended: watching the movie Traffic and then watching "Deal Or No Deal."

How my 2009 began: watching Robbie Knievel jump over a fake volcano at the Mirage in Las Vegas on FOX .

Nowhere to go but up, eh?

Happy New Year, y'all.

'Tis The Season, Ain't It?

Merry Christmas everyone.

I know I know, I am always protesting my adopted culturally Jewish identity, but I have great respect for the secular virtue of Christmas. Sure, the over-consumerism of it all can get a little overwhelming, but honestly, who doesn't enjoy presents? I know I do, and I made out pretty durn well this year, with the highlight being my ill-as-all-get-out iPhone--really the ultimate mass-produced tech gadget.

Anyway, while I am sure most of you, dear readers, are familiar with "Yes Virginia, There Is A Santa Claus," I want to share it here for those who've not encountered it before.

~ ~ ~
Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus

By Francis P. Church, first published in The New York Sun in 1897. [See The People’s Almanac, pp. 1358–9.]

"We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:

Dear Editor—

I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.” Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

Virginia O’Hanlon

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood."

Merry Christmas y'all.

Unproductivity

I realized shortly before I fell asleep last night that in the week that I have been home since finishing up my Fall term of my sophomore year in college, I have done appallingly little to enrich myself. After chatting with someone who reads a great deal more and a great deal faster than I, I decided to try to do something about how poorly-read I feel I am this vacation. After tumbling out of bed at quarter past 11 this morning (great start, eh?), I splashed my face, brushed my teeth, and--eyes still somewhat crusty--went downstairs into our living room and plucked the "Comedies" book from the three-volume collection of Shakespeare's plays. I was pretty excited not only at the prospect of filling a critical hole in my 'Shakespearience' (I apologize; I had to do it) with A Midsummer Night's Dream, but also at the prospect of reading out of a book printed in 1886 (I've always thought that the best way to read something old is from as old a version as is obtainable). As perhaps the best-loved Shakespearean comedy I have yet to read, it was a no-brainer first choice play. And so I sat down at the table, caressed the tome open, and began...

And naturally, as soon as I tried to do something studious and intellectual rather than something unstimulating and couch-potato-like, I was distrcted by the latter to the detriment of the former. I had just made it into Act II when my mother came home and informed me that my sickly Motorola RAZR had been disconnected because my father had gotten me an iPhone 3G (really the only significant item I desired for Christmas, and one I am extremely thankful to have) earlier in the morning. And so much of the rest of the afternoon was devoted to hand-entering my contacts from my old phone into my new one. And wouldn't you know it, as soon as I was fixing to return to Athens and Fairy-land, my mother informed me that a piece of software I had ordered (Age of Empires II Gold Edition, a very intriguing strategy game; just when you thought I could get no nerdier...) had arrived. And so I spent the remaining time before dinner installing and fiddling with it. So in almost nine hours, I have made it through 45 minutes of Shakespeare. Jolly good show, Tim. Jolly good show.

I believe I am ready to return to Mr. Shakespeare's play for a little while. I aim to opine in the near future about foxy Shakespearean ladies (ooh la-la!); so do stay tuned if you are so inclined.

Ta-ta for now.

~~~

P.S. I have recently become a Twitter-er, just for the heck of it really. But I have found a way to put my 'Tweets' up alongside my blog (for those of you who read it in its Blogspot form, as opposed to its Facebook Notes form). If you wish to follow me (usually a bad idea, but in Twitter-ing, I trust it's minimally detrimental), I am timgolf2002 on Twitter, as on AIM and Gmail.

"You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means. "

I should be studying for my Aristotle final, so naturally I'm blogging instead. Funny how I'm most productive on this thing when I really oughtn't to be...

First of all, brownie points to he or she who can name the movie, character, and actor from which the title of this here post originates (without cheating, of course). But that's not the point (I may be a light poster of late, but I'm not so starved for ideas that I'd merely have a "quote of the day"-type thing going on in place of my actual Musings (though they be few and far between; apologies for that).

Anyhoo, what I'm really itchin' to say is that I find myself thinking that splendid quote oftentimes when I hear people speak. I am moved to give two examples of English language items--one written, one spoken--that make me think my title.

1. "Siked"
Ladies and gentlemen, the above is not a word. A phierce aphinity phor phonetic phonation is phriggin' goophy (sic, duh). Those of you who are guilty of its erroneous usage are looking for a homophone of that word: "psyched," meaning "excited" or "eager." Just an eff-why-eye.

2. "I could care less."
Some people get jolted by the scratching of nails on a chalkboard or babies crying. For me, it's the misuse of this phrase,which--if you pause for one fast second and think on it--is valueless. I daresay what you mean to say is that you could not care less about whatever you don't seem to care about. I hear this one at least every day. I hate being a jerk and pointing it out to people (and I heartily apologize to she to whom I did just that last night), so there y'all go.

Cheers.

(Post-) Thanksgiving Meditations

1. I assume most of you know about the man who was trampled to death at a Wal-Mart in Long Island around 5AM this past Friday. What sad irony that the holiday on which we're supposed to recognize what we have was ruined for this poor man because of dozens of people who were viciously eager to get more stuff...

2. I like juicy breasts. Of turkey (and chicken and duck too).

3. Shane MacGowan was and is a wild man. A genius, but a wild man. Listen to The Pogues, for heaven's sakes (my favorite song of theirs is "If I Should Fall From Grace With God"..worth a Youtubing)!

4. It's no wonder the American automotive execs flew in private jets to Washington to ask for help from the federal government last week. Having spent 10 1/2 hours trying to make a 7 1/2 hour trip today, there is no need for (m)any more cars on the road.

Short one tonight; more soon, I hope. Do stay tuned.

Cheers.

Simply, My Day

Today was a pretty interesting one.

I woke up at 7:45 today and made the 10-minute trudge through the cold rain to campus. On my second stride outside the King Kong of all raindrops fell right into my left shoe (a caution: don't wear loafers in the rain), soaking my sock. So despite the fact that I was bundled up, I was chilled to the bone from my extremities. The discomfort reached the point where I was surely not going to be able to do my Politics exam in shod feet. So I took the test in bare feet. Despite a slight distraction from the foot freedom, I was able to proceed competently. After an hour and a half, my sock was still as wet as it was when it first met that blasted raindrop-from-hell, as was my left shoe. I charged across the Colonnade, my feet dampening with each miserable second, to Tucker Hall, where my Shakespeare class takes place on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Again, I went barefoot because the absorption capabilities of my loafers are matched only by that of a SuperShammy (http://www.simplygoodstuff.com/super_shammies.htm). Heck, it's still damp 15 hours later.

I returned to the fraternity house, ate lunch (pretty good pulled pork sandwich and some really crisp, tangy mayo-free cole slaw--a wonderful complement), and headed upstairs fully intent on beginning my ~6 page Philosophy paper, due in class tomorrow (more on that shortly). Naturally, I found myself helplessly drawn to all manner of procrastinatory activities--TV watching, video games, eating, Facebook, etc.--so profoundly so that I found myself in the fraternity house dining room at 7:15 PM having made scant little progress on my paper. So what did I do? That's right, dear readers. I went to play poker.

I had been looking forward to the IM poker tournament (I seize nearly every chance I get to play) all week, and no pesky little paper was going to come between me and the tournament; no sir! So I brought my Philosophy wares with me to campus, intent on finishing my paper in the library after I bowed out of the tournament. Murphy's Law took over, and I played some of the best poker I've played this year, finishing 4th out of a field of 15.

Now let me back up a moment. I declined to say above that I was dog-tired at 7:15 PM. I remedied that fatigue by doing a very uncharacteristic thing--I purchased a high-potency energy drink in the Co-Op. Now, I usually abhor such devious liquids, but there was no way I was going to make it to the finish line with my paper if I didn't get a pick-me-up. So I walked out with a 22-ounce gas canister-cum-bottle of Grape flavored Nos, a bottle of water (to try to dilute the energy potion, I figured) and a little box of Junior Mints (in case I found the Nos so revolting that I'd need to get the taste of it out of my mouth in short order). But the Nos was palatable. Check that--the Nos was de-freakin'-lectable. And like any halfwit energy-drink rookie, I made the mistake of drinking about half of the bottle between approximately 8:05 and 8:25. In that short period, I went from a barely-there zombie to a hyper-Herman with an interior stream-of-consciousness monologue going on that would tongue-tie James Joyce. And at nearly 2 AM, I still am feeling jittery and full of energy (as if the sheer volume of this blog post did not tip you off).

At any rate, after about 20 minutes of aimless lurching around trying to find a good entrance into the library and then an open study room in the library, I was able to isolate myself and do my paper. I ended up starting over from scratch (an extreme rarity for me) because my previous effort was so scatterbrained and unfocused that it was unsalvageable. I ended up mentioning David Bowie (ch-ch-ch-ch-changes) and mathematics (graphs with holes) in the space of 1667 words allegedly devoted to an outline and defense of Aristotle's views on time in his Physics, which I thought was pretty neat (I am appallingly nerdy, after all). I handed the paper in at 12:45 AM, a full 10 1/2 hours before the deadline of 11:15 AM. Ohh yeah.

It was as beautiful a nighttime scene as I've ever walked through as I strode from the library to Newcomb Hall and then back to the fraternity house. A rich blanket of fog covers the town of Lexington right now, softening the rim of every light, obscuring borders. It's pretty cool, to say the least (according to one nerd's opinion).

Anyway, here I am at 2:05 AM, still nowhere near sleepy enough to go to sleep. I'm going to catch up on my Shakespeare reading ("Othello") and hopefully shuffle off this sugary coil enough so that I may rest myself.

Nos is a heluva drink.

Good night.

--Timothy R. Gavrich, Madman

Moving Forward

I try not to let my personal politics get into this blog because for as often as people (at least the crazy kids I hang out with) debate such matters, one's own beliefs are just that: one's own. But, I would be remiss to neglect to reflect publicly about this evening's events.

I fancy myself a moderate Conservative. In this election I found John McCain to be the most viable candidate because I believe in his experience and judgment in matters of foreign policy. Furthermore, I just have never bought into the anti-"Four More Years!" mantra. If someone like Mitt Romney--a Bushier Republican than McCain--had run against Obama, then I might have been more leery. But while I respect Obama's cultivation of an image that really transcends politics, I disagree with the general foreign policy and economic sentiments of the Democratic Party. But that's just background to the real guts of my post this evening.

Watching Barack Obama's confident acceptance speech sent a slight chill through me, though probably not the same sort of chill as surely gripped millions of my fellow Americans at the same moment. It got the ol' wood burning in this wacky brain of mine, and what's come of that is a little advice (from my humble perspective) for both Republicans and Democrats. And I don't mean politicians alone; I'm talking about Joe the Plumber, Lionel the CEO, Sally the Shopgirl, and Bob the Builder too.

Fellow Conservatives: I would stress that while we did not believe Barack Obama was the man for the job, we need to at the very least show quiet affirmation of his victory. If people are to take the line "Country first" as a serious motto for the Conservative American, we need to stick by it and accept Barack Obama as our president. Knowing the line about a house divided, it is obvious that unity is the best policy. And we can be united in differing ideology; we just need to accept that not a whole lot is going to go our way for a while. But, we must also hope and trust that the victorious party will be gracious in victory and therefore mindful of the merits of the loyal opposition.

Democrats: You won fair and square, obviously, but you too must live up to your end of the bargain. If you are really committed to bringing about significant "change" in American politics, you will have to start by tossing out the tempting notion that just because your party now has a great deal of clout in the government, it means that the Republicans can be disregarded. If you really are serious about this "change" business, you'll have to extend a friendly hand across the aisle. Your new leader, Mr. Obama, would do well to make an overture to such a relationship by including a Conservative mind or two in his administration. I'm not talking about the converse of Joe Lieberman (a respectable fellow for sure, but he's not really a Democrat anymore); I'm talking about a real, live Conservative presence. It doesn't have to be equal, but Mr. Obama, if you are really going to sell "change" to us in the long term, you'd better back it up with substance, rather than rhetoric and the rock star ethos.

Obama is correct in saying that there's a hard road ahead. It'll eventually prove unnavigable if his newly-invigorated party is not wise. But if "change" is coming and it has been a lack of wisdom that has marked the last few years after all, then the only possible alternative to a lack of wisdom must be wisdom, mustn't it?

Let's hope so, for everyone's sake.

Good night.

*My name is Timothy Russell Gavrich, and not only do I approve this blog post, I will always be proud to be an American.

Assorted Thoughts

Crap, I'm not very good at this whole updating-my-blog-often thing. My apologies, dear (and dwindling in number) readers!

Having registered to vote (so I thought) back in May, I sent for my absentee ballot a few days ago. Well, I was returned a notice today in the mail saying that the great state of Connecticut did not have me registered. Wonderful. Oh well, my increasing knowledge of global politics and my abject weariness of this campaign lead me to feel a little less disappointed than I would have been...in the state where O Boy, Ma (it's the new guy!)! carries his biggest poll lead outside of his home state of Illinoying, my vote will have as much impact on where the Nutmeg (with emphasis on nut!) state's electoral pittance will be sprinkled as would a fly splattered on the Death Star. So much for new politics!

~

Even though I had to do it in disgust today, I find a certain satisfaction in mailing letters. There's a certain romance to pulling something out of your mailbox and opening it up and reading it old-style, rather than clicking for it, as is customary now. I only wish my handwriting were better; I might actually write some letters if it were.

~

Why do people (read: my fellow young Americans) dis Canada so much? I attended high school with a great many Canucks and have found them to be, on the whole, friendly and of good humor. Sure, they may be a bit socialistic and fond of marijuana, but what Americans aren't, these days (not me!)?

Enough for one afternoon.

Cheers.

Bummer

Two of my close friends and fraternity brothers headed their respective sides in a debate between the Washington & Lee College Democrats and College Republicans last night, held in the beautiful Lee Chapel. Granted, a lot of midterm exams are going on this week, but for there to be only about 60 people in the room for a lively, well-fought debate a few weeks before an extremely important presidential election struck me as pretty discouraging.

I wonder how many people will watch the real debate tonight on TV...

Juicy Campus: The Ultimate Subversion of Accountability

In case you've not heard about it (this is for those of you, dear readers, who do not attend Washington and Lee University with me), my college is a recent addition to a growing forum-type website called Juicy Campus (www.juicycampus.com). Juicy Campus touts itself as "the place to spill the juice about all the crazy stuff going on at your campus." Website users are enticed by the fact that Juicy Campus (heretofore called JC, at least in this post) allows them to post whatever they want, about whomever they want, totally anonymously.

It doesn't take much to come up with the main consequences of JC. I could post a hateful, slanderous diatribe about someone--anyone I feel negatively about--and that person would never know the snake from whose fangs that venom sprung. Therefore, posting some hurtful nonsense--true or not; it makes no difference whatever--about someone is the ultimate declaration of cowardice, the ultimate sucker-punch. In this blog, I made my identity very clear from the beginning, because I expect to be held accountable for everything I say here. If I posted anything anonymously, it would signify that I had not the spine to back up what I had said. In my view, any power that posted ideas would have would be neutralized that the person who had them could not shoulder the burden of accountability for them.

Now, what is the best course of action vis-à-vis JC? I will admit that I have found some of the sentiments posted on it humorous, but such proclamations are so absurd as to be innocuous. I will also admit that I would be curious to see what others would post about me (forgive the apparent narcissism, but I think it is human nature to be so inquisitive). However, that perverse curiosity is far outstripped by the sentiment that JC is a menace. One's private affairs should not be aired by cowards. If someone wants to spread rumors about me, they had damn well better stand by their words.

If you are thinking about casting a pebble into the eye of one of your peers with the invisible slingshot of JC, you are but a lowly vulture. And remember: a vulture never looks into the blinking eye of its prey...

Good night.

~ ~ ~

I am Timothy Russell Gavrich, Washington and Lee Univerity Class of 2011, and I approve this blog post. I stand accountable for each word I have typed above.

Guitar Zero

I'm just going to come right out and say it: the Guitar Hero video game series is ridiculous. To me, it is a prime example of the decline of society as we know it.

Put simply, there is really only one reason to play Guitar Hero instead of buying an inexpensive guitar, learning chords, and developing proper guitar-playing technique. That reason is a disinclination to work for the satisfaction of actually creating music. I play the alto saxophone, and the satisfaction and sense of accomplishment I gain from progressing in that skill is wonderful.

What is to be gained from playing every song on the "Expert" level of Guitar Hero? Whatever it is, it is at best a hollow, cheap knock-off of the actual satisfaction of playing those songs in front of a crowd of ecstatic fans. Just a brief high attained through lazy means. It's rather the same reason why some people use drugs recreationally. Instead of achieving true happiness or intellectual or spiritual enlightenment, they settle for the cheap, easy imitation--a knock-off that provides a fleeting glimpse without the need to do what it takes to achieve the real thing the right way.

I see and hear of people who can move their fingers over the plastic guitar/game controller with an impressive agility, and I can't help but shake my head at the waste of potential talent. What the hell good does such raw ability do in that application? Why the hell didn't the kid learn to play the guitar, practice it for hours on end, and become a REAL guitar legend?

Why waste such a huge amount of ability and time? Because learning the guitar might have required a little bit more work. Never mind the absurdly huge upside to investing that little extra effort; it's enough just to pretend to make music, rather than make music itself.

The next time you think about playing Guitar Hero, consider the fact that the most famous guitar player of our generation is John Mayer. Then listen to some Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, and Eric Clapton. The reason why we have been stuck in a tremendous musical (in terms of guitar-driven music, at the very least) doldrums for the better part of a decade ought to become clear to you.

Good night.

~ ~ ~

PS: Do feel free to comment on any of my blog posts, be it anonymously or otherwise.

Behaving (Gentle)Manly--Whoa! Post #100

I have now arrived lethargically in the triple digits for numbers of posts. Hoorah.

Did I miss a memo somewhere? When did it become socially acceptable to--in a place where we supposedly are groomed to become gentlemen--speak vulgarly in the presence of a lady? I feel as though I have heard an awful lot of crass words said with ladies present, and I for one find it detrimental to one's image as a "gentleman."

That, and being totally disrespectful and noisy to a young lady working a Taco Bell drive-through window late at night, while the driver of the vehicle (who is doing people a favor) tries in vain to promote a sense of order.

A rather lackluster hundredth post, but it's 1:30 AM. Could be worse.

Good night y'all.

This May Only Make Sense To A Few People...

I like to think that I am reasonably good-humored. I have a pretty thick skin, most times--I can take nearly any amount of ribbing, jokes, people poking fun at me, etc. My own humor is often self-deprecating, so I don't mind when others join in.

However, as I am very sensitive to my own concepts of honor, this means that when the troubles extend to my own personal property, I tend not to have such a thick skin. "Typical schoolboy pranks" don't much amuse me, for whatever reason. Call me stodgy; oh well. It should have been made clear when I was not at all amused earlier today when I returned to find that my mattress had been flipped over on my bed. The escalation and second incident was what caused me to react violently (embarrassingly, as I reflect). Perhaps I overreacted a bit, but I'm going to sleep on it.

Good night.

(If this doesn't make too much sense to you, don't worry about it. I haven't snapped. I'm just a bit annoyed is all.)

College Life Q & A #1

Q: What contains 870 mg of sodium, 380 Calories (170 Calories from fat) and makes you feel like a third-grader again?






Give up?







A: A "Turkey & American" Cracker Stackers Lunchables.

I swear, the older we get, the younger we get.

I Don't Often Talk About Politics, But...

...I feel I should say a quick few words about this matter of Governor Palin's daughter's pregnancy.

If anyone uses this as an indictment on Gov. Palin's worthiness as a potential Vice President, they are nuts. Period. End of story. Obama agrees. As politico.com's Ben Smith's blog brought to my atention:

"Politico's Carrie Budoff Brown reports: At a press avail in Monroe, Mich., Barack Obama on Palin: "Back off these kinds of stories."

"I have said before and I will repeat again: People's families are off limits," Obama said. "And people's children are especially off-limits. This shouldn't be part of our politics. It has no relevance to Gov. Palin's performance as a governor or her potential performance as a vice president. So I would strongly urge people to back off these kinds of stories. You know my mother had me when she was 18 and how a family deals with issues and teenage children, that shouldn’t be a topic of our politics."

For one of the first times, I am impressed by something Senator Obama has said. I'm a McCain man through and through, but I am relieved that there won't be any dirty politics made from this news story.

Of course, I can't say the same for some of Obama's wayward supporters. I'm sure many of them will knee-jerk the hell out of this story, and that will be very sad, and also more reason (though I really don't need any) for me to vote Republican on November 4th. But my political views are the stuff of another blog post, maybe.

Cheers.

Heading Back

I am heading back to W&L in the morning. I'm sorry I haven't blogged much; if you're still reading, thank you. I should be able to blog more as the school year gets under way. But now, I suppose I ought to take this opportunity to reflect a bit on things as Year Two nears.

I have been thinking a bit on if and how I've changed, relative to this evening a year ago.

I now have the first quarter of a Washington & Lee education to stand on, which is a nice feeling. I am certainly feeling less apprehensive about going back, because I know what awaits me. I'm excited for the classes I'm going to be taking this Fall Term (one on Shakespeare and one on Aristotle especially). I'm excited to be getting back to competitive college golf--I'm on a mission to become more even-keeled and more consistent as a golfer. I'm going to be living with roughly a dozen and a half of my brothers in the Lambda Chi Alpha house, which is going to be a blast. Believe you me, dear readers: I did not think I'd be in a fraternity at this time last year. Narrow-minded, I thought I was above the "Greek scene." How foolish of me to generalize fraternities as havens of alcohol slurping and little else! I have found much, much more in my band of brothers, and I am excited to be living with them.

I surprised myself today as I was packing. I was looking through a closet downstairs for something (I don't remember what...it wasn't there, anyway) when I spied a box of my old toy cars and some old toy racing track that I'd not laid hands on in at least three or four years. Seized by an enormous urge to play, my eyes went wide. I pulled the bag of tracks out, threw together a little loop-de-loop and had a bit of fun watching the wind-up Darda car whiz around for a few minutes. The experience was extremely invigorating, but a little eerie as well. It reminded me that I am the same as I was a year ago in a very fundamental way: I still cling to the past in order to artificially delay the future for even a few minutes. My yearning for my comfort zone reared its head subconsciously. Instinct took over in the form of a little adrenaline rush at the sight of the cars and the tracks. Ten years old again, I crawled around on the floor, assembling my little track, eager to watch the car zip up and down and around. But after three years idle, the little wind-up motor wasn't as energetic and the wheels weren't as friction-free as they were all those years ago. I left the tracks strewn about the floor and came upstairs to continue getting ready to reluctantly distance myself a little more from that rambunctious little kid who didn't quite appreciate the awesome simplicity of his youth.

UGH!

My mom's best friend and best friend's daughter came up from an hour away to have lunch with us yesterday.

As we were walking down the street in West Hartford, CT yesterday, we passed by a woman in her mid to late 20s, holding the hand of her four or five year old (presumably) daughter. On the mother's t shirt was the slogan "I got the SKILLS to pay the BILLS." Un-freaking-believable. Don't even try to pass that off as an innocent pun. Puh-lease.

That's all I've got for now.

Sweet Irony

As y'all well know, I am a bit of an opponent of alcohol's reign and reins over my generation. I was just now making use of the very amusing stumbleupon.com, when I encountered a list of practical uses for vodka--the clear favorite hard alcohol at parties. See below (from http://www.divinecaroline.com/article/38/45476?CMP=DC_0024_TAG):

#7. Spray vodka on vomit stains, scrub with a brush, then blot dry.

I really find it funny that the very substance which causes so many vomit stains is useful in removing them.

Good night.

On Macho

I was having difficulty sleeping the other night, so I decided to do something that I don't do nearly enough--read. A novel (dear me; no pun intended) idea! I decided to find a good short story after whose reading I might be able to go to sleep. I recalled that I had a book of some short stories of Ernest Hemingway's at hand, so I thumbed through it and selected the book's final story, "The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." Without spoiling it, I will say that it is characteristic of Hemingway's oeuvre in that one of its central themes is the struggle to be properly "manly." The story is set on a safari holiday with its main characters being Francis Macomber, his wife, and their safari hunting guide, Wilson. Macomber finds himself in conflict with his inability to land the big game that his concept of masculinity seems to dictate as easy. The story leaves the audience wondering about the meaning and value of "manliness."

Being the pensive dude that I am, I've got further thoughts on this idea. I found Francis Macomber to be a victim of harsh societal expectations. Perhaps there is a connection between my sympathy for Macomber and the fact that I'm never going to win any wrestling matches or wow any women with six-pack machoness. But even so, I think it is a huge factor in what seems to be deteriorating male behavior. High school is the ultimate stage for male chest-puffing, and having spent four years observing such animalistic attempts at courtship, I feel somewhat qualified to put in my two cents, hopefully in parody of old-timey animal documentaries.

"We turn the camera to the adolescent male, intent on garnering the attention of the adolescent female. It is that brief respite between class periods. They sit in the upper foyer of their academic building. We turn our eyes to our female lead, apple of our young man's eye. See her toss her shiny hair, making his eyes grow wide with desire to go out with her, perhaps to "hook up" with her at a party sometime! In order to command her attention, he makes fun of another boy, sitting nearby. He continues to joke brashly and slightly vulgarly with his comrades, hoping that his use of profanity--against school rules--is seen as bold and alluring. She laughs nervously, but being the arrogant pretender to the Alpha-male rank that he is, he interprets this as success. He smiles mischievously, thinking he's "in."

Et cetera, et cetera. Call me crazy, but it's just funny to watch my fellow young men do silly things because of some perceived masculine directive.

I know it's been a while since I've blogged. If this is a bit incoherent, I apologize. I am glad I've roused myself to return to the blogosphere. Hopefully this is the first step on the road to Musings normalcy.

Observation

A Red Lobster commercial, followed by a Dulcolax stool softener commercial. Coincidence?

I'm sorry for not blogging much. Summers are a bit of the doldrums for TVM. I'll try to find something blogworthy.

A No-Go At Flo's

My life has taken a horridly un-blogworthy turn of late, so I have resorted to complaining about a restaurant. I am very sorry, dear readers. You deserve better, and I will try to deliver soon. This will need to do for now.

I have been in the lovely, low-key, Lowcountry town of Pawleys Island (a Gavrich family vacation spot for the last eight years or so) for a few days now, playing golf, experiencing potent thunderstorms, and eating a lot (the standard Gavrich summer, really). Two nights ago, my parents and I decided to have dinner at a Cajun-inspired eatery in nearby Murrells Inlet (renowned for its seafood) called Flo's Place. They tout their blackening seasoning as "famous," which excited me, since I am a fan of the taste of blackened things, especially blackened shrimp. Just dump on the blackening spices, put 'em in the pan and toss 'em together. Simple as that. "BAM!", Emeril might say to such a proposition. To my curiosity, there was no specific "blackened shrimp" entrée on the menu at Flo's. However, there was a "blackened fish" entrée, however. No matter, I thought to myself, they'll have no problem doing some blackened shrimp. After all, this is a popular restaurant, so they obviously please their customers.

Well, dear readers, it turned out that blackened shrimp was too much to ask for the folks at Flo's. I suppose that a restaurant whose entrées are in the $15-30 range should not be expected to have much room for flexibility anymore. For shame.

I was forced to order a combination platter of grilled shrimp, scallops, and oysters over rice. It was stupendously disappointing, sad to say. The shrimp were small, the scallops tasted less-than-fresh, and the oysters looked like the testicles of a steroids-abuser. I know that shellfish isn't in season now, but it could have and should have been much, much better. Oh well; won't be going back there anytime soon.

PS: The nametag of the cashier who scanned my parents' groceries tonight read, "Lexus."

Good night, blogosphere.

Boeing Culture

Two days ago, I finally returned from a vacation in the UK of nearly three weeks. Our flight was a 7 1/2 hour affair on a Boeing 777 Continental Airlines jet. It's a huge plane, with three sets of three seats on the left, right, and center of the aircraft (in coach--"Economy" class). My parents and I were in the middle cluster of seats, midway back in the cabin. Long before we boarded the plane, I noticed an always-amusing sight--a Hasidic Jewish man of only 30 years or so in full dress--long black coat, white undershirt, hat and tightly curled strands of hair (called "peyot") on either side of his head (look up "Hasidism" on Wikipedia or do a Google image search if my description wasn't too good). He was sitting in front of my father, in the left seat. To his right (directly in front of me) was a dark-skinned young man with a shortish, ragged beard which indicated that he was a Muslim. To this man's right was a woman, also a Muslim (though these two were not acquainted with one another). What transpired between these three gave me a spark of hope for civility in a world that seems to be fleeing civility at an alarming pace.

From about ten minutes after the plane took off, the Hasid and the two Muslims engaged in what sounded like a cordial but at times quite animated discussion of their respective faiths and how they factored into world politics. Unfortunately, I can't be any more specific about the conversation as I didn't hear it very well and didn't want to eavesdrop. Simply noticing this discussion got me thinking about a tangential term that I learned in my sophomore year (high school) European History class--the term "tavern culture."

From what I understand, tavern culture developed fairly early on in Europe. Taverns served as an alternative meeting place to churches; a place where people of a wide range of socioeconomic classes would eat, drink, and socialize. What resulted was a rise in lively debate of all matters of life--religion, politics, culture, etc.

As we hurtle deeper and deeper into the iPod age, people tend to close themselves of from others when in public. Walking down the streets of London, the amount of people wearing iPods was as awe-inspiring for negative reasons as for positive. On the good hand, the product market-share Apple has created in the last five or six years is simply astounding. They've allowed music to flow from creator to consumer as never before. But now that everyone seems to have an iPod or some such (myself included), there emerges the tendency to descend into music and ignore all others around. It makes us as societies look like hoards of individuals, rather than an interdependent whole. Thank goodness the Hasid and the Muslims didn't wall themselves off with iPods. As nice as music is and can be, they wouldn't have been so enriched as they were when they left the plane had they put themselves in the iPod cocoon.

No lyrical selection this evening.