My First Guest Post

My co-writer on the currently-dormant (but not-quite-dead) SleepingPoliceman, jz, had a story to tell me recently. Being an occasional commenter in this space (as the simply monikered "Joseph"), jz knows the format of how I approach things. Since his re-entrenchment in the academic world has separated him from his blogging life, I wanted to give him the chance to get back out there with the first ever Awesome/Not Awesome Guest Post. (Sponsorship pending.)

I hope you enjoy.

From: jz
To: ptm

So last night I had my statistics final. About half and hour into the exam, the teacher announces to the class that none of the potential answers to question #24 were correct. Just do the problem, and show your work and he'll grade the question accordingly. Which was perfect timing, because I had been going over the question for about five minutes, trying to see what I'd done wrong and why my answer wasn't option A, B, C, or D (multiple choice exam).

A few minutes later, one of the students goes up to the front of the class to ask a question about #24. All the class hears is the teacher saying, "No, that's not right. I just did it, and the answer's not there. Go back and try it again. And just show your work."

The kid goes back to his desk. The teacher looks straight at me.

Professor: Did you do #24 yet?
Me: Yeah.
Professor: Let me see it.

So in front of the entire class, I had to get up and show the professor my exam so that the he could make sure his answer was correct.

We both had the same answer.

If the class didn't already hate me (my grades on each of the four exams in the class were: 96, 94, 97, and 97), they certainly did after that point.

Why I am awesome: the teacher and the entire class know that I fucking own statistics.

Why I am not awesome: turns out the kid was correct, and both the professor and I had made the exact same math mistake and the answer was, in fact, there all along.

When I'm Part Of The Problem

In general I hate when the media focuses on sensationalized "news" stories that, in the grand scheme, have nothing to do with anyone's life. The "missing blond kid du jour" kind of story and that sort of thing. But every once in a while, against my better instincts, I fall off my high horse and get completely sucked into one of them. For the past week, I've been really digging the "Craigslist attacks" stories coming out of Boston.

At first, it was a drag - a woman who was either a legit masseuse or a prostitute is shot in a fancy hotel, and we should care not because a desperate woman died but because of the sophisticated locale. There's nothing there except a garden variety murder and the kind of unnecessary fixation to stir up the class warrior inside me.

But then things got real interesting when the suspect turned out to be a young medical student. Who was engaged and had a wedding website. And who may or may not have had a gambling problem, and who may or may not have pronounced mood swings. And who, of course, definitely has the unswerving and potentially misguided support of his fiancee and family. (I can only hope that, if I were to ever be accused of a horrific series of crimes, my loved ones don't throw me under the bus and say something like, "Oh, yeah - he was always such an asshole. I'm not surprised one bit.)

Throw all that in with the details of stakeouts and email traces, and this is just a winner all around. It's like watching an episode Law & Order, except someone actually died and a few more people's lives were totally ruined in order to bring it to me. So, news media, while I normally hate you for blurring the line between news, entertainment and voyeurism, I just can't be mad at you this time. I'm too busy staying fixated on the latest developments to lament the death of journalistic integrity.

Why I Am Awesome: I'm a wonderful boy, just absolutely wonderful, and couldn't be better.

Why I Am Not Awesome: I'm just not right in the head, and you knew it, and probably other people did, too.

For Some Reason, They Never Released A "Game Man"

As Kotaku reminded me, twenty years ago today, Nintendo released the original Game Boy.

Which means that it's been about 19.5 years since I convinced various family members to pool their resources and get me one for Christmas.

Which further means that, given my current age, I've had this little piece of plastic around for two-thirds of my life.

Why I Am Awesome: I proved all those family members wrong when they said this would be a passing fad that I'd grow out of after a few months.

Why I Am Not Awesome: I've still never completed Gargoyle's Quest.

No Lotion Can Salve This

While going out and about in the city of angels recently, I ended up in a conversation with a friend-of-a-friend. (According to Facebook, he is actually my friend directly. However, since I have to this point only ever see him via a mutual acquaintance, I think describing him as a FOAF seems most accurate.) It was one of those situations where a big group of people standing around had broken off into a few different conversations, with he and I left on the outskirts. We had temporarily become like the remainder table at the wedding, the one made up of the three friends from work, the extra cousins, and the two guys from college who don't get along with anyone they actually know.

Our conversation began with the exchange of pleasantries. How was your day?, Yeah things have been good, oh man nice weather huh?, etc. It then somehow, naturally but randomly, got to this point:

Him: How old are you again?

Me: I'm 30.

Him: Really? Huh. You don't look 30.

Me: Thanks, it's because I moisturize.

Laughter, a decent joke, well played and timed. Nothing too remarkable, but solid. Then, after the awkward silence of "what the hell else do we have to say to each other?" fell over us for a few seconds:

Me (cont): Yeah. I do. It helps the skin.

Him: Yeah, it definitely does.

Me: I didn't realize, how...uh. How much it would. Until...but, it's good.

Him: Yeah.

Me: Yeah.

Why I Am Awesome: I no longer have dry, flaky facial skin.

Why I Am Not Awesome: I continue to have conversations that make me feel like an awkward 8th grader trying to pick up the girl with big boobs at the school dance.

Laying The Groundwork For This Summer's Decrease In Blog Posts

Yesterday, I met with the professor who will serve as my adviser for my thesis preparation work. She will work with me over the course of the summer as I figure out the idea(s) for my book, flesh them out, and get about 50 pages into a first draft.

Why I Am Awesome: I have no idea what it's going to be about, but, holy shit, I'm totally going to write a novel.

Why I Am Not Awesome: Holy shit, I totally have to write a novel, and I have no idea what it's going to be about.

We Did Not Use Enhanced Recording Techniques

Included in the monthly rent for our new apartment is a full boat package of DirecTV. (I only just now, after years of commercials, noticed that there's only one T in there. Huh.) Part of this glorious celebration of televised goodness: my very first DVR. The potential for recording countless episodes of mindless television shows and movies to completely destroy my life will be examined at a later date, provided my life has not been, up to that point, destroyed.

Once we had everything all hooked up, the TV watching started. And, lo, it was glorious. Until the screen made a little popping sound and text came up telling us that the channel was about to change. But, uhh, we're knee-deep in an episode of Tough Love - you can't deny us our trash escapism.

Turns out the reason for this interruption was that the DVR still retained all the settings of the previous tenants of our place. Before we moved in, our landlord had told us that these people had spent all their time smoking weed with the blinds drawn. They were so filthy that in 11 months they put six years of wear on the brand new carpet, what with the footprints and the cigarette burns and the soy sauce stains. So it was not surprising that the DVR looked like the lineup for a stoner marathon: South Park, Adult Swim cartoons, and a bevy of random nature shows. (Do you know how many episodes of the Simpsons aired on L.A. television in the past month? Almost a hundred. It's a popular show.)

Going through the season pass settings and the shows still in the library, I felt like I was intruding somehow. Sure, when we agree to have a piece of technology controlled by a third party record and save things for us, we know that some stranger might see it. I'm just not used to being that stranger, eavesdropping in on someone else's life. And judging that life. Don't forget the sweet, sweet judging.

Why I Am Awesome: I'm a great tenant, and I treat all floor-coverings with respect.

Why I Am Not Awesome: I replaced those admittedly great cartoon shows with CBS sitcoms. I'm apparently 45-59 years old.

These Changes Always Hinge On Something

Before heading home tonight, I went into the main campus library to get some work done. I sat down at one of the tables in the East Asian Library (which has the best mix of quiet areas and available outlets, in my ever so humble opinion). When opening up my computer, I thought, "Huh, that's weird. Why does the monitor feel so loose?"

The answer: because the right hinge on the laptop had somehow separated from the keyboard base. Not fully broken, but definitely damaged. The computer is almost four years old and has been, shall we say, "quirky" for the better part of the past year. Given this latest development, it looks like I need to seriously explore the market for a new laptop.

Why I Am Awesome: I might become a Mac person.

Why I Am Not Awesome: I might become a Mac person.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

As part of my whirlwind tour of seeing friends and family during my time back home, I arranged to spend some time last night Olde Magoun's Saloon, a bar in Somerville. It's a spacious place, and they serve amazing fries. Highly recommended if you are in the area.

Besides being centrally located to a lot of people I know, it was also chosen because when I worked in the area I had spent many a day there, during lunch and after-work hours. How much time did I spend there, you ask? Well, mind you, I have spent a total of about 20 days on the east coast since mid-August. This was my second time in the establishment since I stopped working at my local job in late July. I haven't set foot in there since mid-December.

When I walked in and sat down last night, the waitress came up to me and said, "Diet Coke and fries, right? And did you get a haircut?"

Why I Am Awesome: It's nice to be remembered.

Why I Am Not Awesome: Utter predictability.

The Third In The Trilogy Usually Disappoints

As referenced earlier, we moved out of our old apartment over the past few days. We finished around 5pm on Friday; at 6pm we left to go to the airport to fly to Boston for a long weekend. This puts us in the awkward position of coming back home on Tuesday and going to a "home" we've never lived in. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. (It will probably be the bridge over Glendale Blvd, when 1st Ave becomes Beverly.)

Because we moved, there will no longer be any stories centered around the building elevator, which has come up once or twice before. As a parting gift, I present to you the picture of the big red sign that hangs in the elevator. I read every day I lived there, and every day it amused me.

[NOTE: I have to figure out the best way to upload this picture. Once I do so, you'll be able to see what I'm talking about. I'll try to not leave you hanging for too long. See what I mean about disappointment?]

[NOTE II: I think I got it.]

[NOTE III: I don't got it.]


Why I Am Awesome: I never had to push the button marked "alarm."

Why I Am Not Awesome: In an emergency, I would have become alarmed.

One Ticket, Not To Paradise

When I got back to my car after leaving class Thursday evening, I found a parking ticket on it. I found this strange, as I have a valid parking pass for the garage I was in. So, what the hell?

Turns out that I got a $50 ticket for parking over the double lines in my spot. I looked and, OK, I was technically parked over the lines. By about two and a half inches. That's about ten dollars per half inch.

The ticket also smugly (and loudly, I guess) states that "PHOTOS WERE TAKEN" of the incident. Standing in the garage, I wondered out loud if photos were taken of the white Mazda that had been parked in the spot next to mine, the one parked so crooked I had no choice but to park my car the way I did. Did that guy (or gal) get a ticket? Or am I alone paying out of pocket to cover his (or her) crappy parking job?

I was unhappy.

Why I Am Awesome: I have drafted a letter to send to the university parking department along with my check, letting them know how I feel about the situation, and stating that I look forward to the first time someone from the alumni association calls me asking for a donation to the school. I will tell them no, and I will explain that it is because I already donated fifty dollars unnecessarily to this place.

Why I Am Not Awesome: I'm only going to send the check.

Such as "Today he became a True Angel"

Last night, Nick Adenhart, a pitcher for the Los Angeles Angels (of Anaheim), died in a car accident. Two other people died with him. The driver of the other car involved apparently has a long history of drunk driving, and had had his license revoked.

The accident happened about a few hours after the end of the best start of the 22 year old's young career, pitching six scoreless innings in a game the Angels ultimately lost.

Apparently about 36 people died yesterday due to drunk driving. More people died needlessly in the world thanks to war, genocide, guns, drugs, domestic violence, etc etc. Nevertheless, there's something especially gut-punching about some kid who had it all at 7:05pm and lost it all less than six hours later. Especially in the unfortunately rare circumstance when it was completely and totally not his fault.

Why I Am Awesome: I am the permanent designated driver.

Why I Am Not Awesome: Despite the sadness of the incident, I still laughed at the gallows humor.

We Will Likely Use Large Trash Bags Too

This week we move to a new apartment. The time-frame for this move developed a while ago - Lisa's contract (mercifully) ends tomorrow, so our free housing runs out on Saturday. We've had a lease on the new place for a few weeks now. We set up furniture there a while back and have it all ready to go once we get our stuff over there.

(Full disclosure: Lisa set the furniture up. I lifted things when necessary, and mainly stayed out of the way by reading a book on the new couch.)

The issue now is getting our stuff over there. Because the stuff remains scattered throughout the current apartment. Sure, we said during the past few weeks, "Well, we have access to the new place; we'll just move stuff over there a little at a time and it won't be a big hassle at the end." Yeah. We didn't do that. And it's the end.

So for the next few days, we will frantically throw together duffel bags and boxes full of random shit we've collected in the past three months. And we'll make a bunch of trips from the Los Feliz humongo apartment complex to the quaint little Echo Park house to dump stuff on our new carpets. All while we also battle class assignments, work commitments, application deadlines, and the looming Friday night appointment with a plane back east to Boston. We'll get it done; but a certain degree of whining and squabbling will be prominently featured.

Why I Am Awesome: I've done a little bit more packing than Lisa has. Even minor victories are still victories.

Why I Am Not Awesome: I keep forgetting I still have to do my taxes too. Dammit.

Someone Said Something About Sausages

Last night, I went to an event at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. The event had readings, video displays, DJ sets, and two cash bars. The night explored a special exhibit about Germany in the Cold War. People I know read their poetry and prose to a crowd of arty people who could pose for pictures in a fake igloo or a giant pair of lips. I enjoyed myself.

Why I Am Awesome: I go to art museums.

Why I Am Not Awesome: I almost never go to art museums.

I Preferred The Comfort Of The Lie

At the university where I work, like the last university where I worked (the cycle remains unbroken), two barrels sit by each desk. On the right, your standard office gray, with a green trash bag in it. As the name of the bag might indicate, trash goes into this one. To the left, the other one is a July-sky blue, more brashly advertising its use: a big white triangle of arrows above even bigger white letters spelling R-E-C-Y-C-L-E. In smaller letters underneath: "...paper only..."

(Which does not stand as a demand to only recycle paper. But that you shouldn't put plastic and cans and whatever in there. They, instead, go in the green bins, of which there are approximately zero around campus. Unless you have a copy of the student newspaper in your hand and want to get rid of it; then you have green bins swarming around you like narcs at a Dead concert, with nary a blue bin in sight.)

I like having the barrels. It helps provide a small bit of order and sense in a usually chaotic situation. And you can feel good about yourself, because every day you do a little bit to help save the world. Maybe we're just rolling the rock uphill, but at least we aren't Sisyphus' jerky friends who just stayed at the bottom of the hill, smoking and littering.

The other day, I got to work earlier than usual. The janitor, who I usually never see, came by while my computer booted up. She smiled and we exchanged some light pleasantries. As we did so, she picked up the gray barrel by my desk and dumped the contents into her big bin of trash. She put the gray one down, picked up the blue one - and dumped all its paper into the same bin. She smiled again and rolled the bin down the hall, heading out to empty every other color-coded pair into the same place.

Why I Am Awesome: Despite having my faith in humanity, society, and College Recycling Services completely shaken, I continue to put all paper products in its proper blue receptacle. My silent protests will encourage them to amend their ways; eventually, they will see the effort people put forward and will start actually recycling the contents of the recycle bins.

Why I Am Not Awesome: That's completely delusional.

History Through A Pillow

I don't sleep normal hours. When I announced earlier this week that I would head to bed early, I went under the covers at 1:30am. And that is early.

On most days, I stay up until around 3 in the morning. Which is fine - I like being awake at night, working and reading when most around are still and quiet. It's less fine when I have to get up at 8 the next morning to go to work.

Because of my immature desire to not let the "real world" stop me from doing what I want to do (have I really changed that much from the four year old kid who wanted to stay up to watch Dukes Of Hazzard every Friday night?), I end up napping. At least once a week, in the late afternoon/early evening hours, upon arriving back home after a medium-length day of work, I catch up on two or so hours of sleep.

Today, while the sun shone in the late afternoon sky, and the pool outside and the park nearby called out to me, as the collected pent-up energy of a week teetered at the edge of the weekend release, when I had the time to do anything I wanted to in this new city I yearn to explore, I napped. If I had been a kitten in a hammock, I would have looked like this:

(yes, I can haz nap. easyart.co.uk)

Two and a half hours of time I will never get back. Restful, yes, and very refreshing. But, to a degree, somewhat regret-inducing. At least until I hit up a German beer garden to celebrate a friend's birthday and I forget all about my time-wasting ways.

Why I Am Awesome: While I slumbered, another state legalized gay marriage.

Why I Am Not Awesome: Last November 4th, I stayed awake all day.

The Best Arguments For Random Sequence Generators

While driving the streets and freeways of Los Angeles in the last few months, I have seen the following California license plates:

1. "2-VETT-4-U"
This was on a Corvette. It was not a classic Corvette. A recent model whatever-style Corvette. Which means this lived up to its billing: it was, indeed, too much Corvette for me.

2. "GREG-[Heart]S-DAWN"
(Where [Heart] is an actual heart symbol. On the license plate. An official state license plate.)
That's very cute. It will be less cute when a serial killer easily lures Greg and/or Dawn into his white van by addressing them by name. Why would you want any complete stranger to immediately and without question know what to legally call you? And these aren't just any complete strangers; these are L.A.-based drivers cruising the freeways. You should guard your anonymity with complete vigilance.

3. "[Heart]S-2-Wax"
I honestly don't know if this means that this woman really enjoys her Brazilian-y job at a salon, or if she prided herself in maintaining her body follicle-free. Long shot candidate: she was in the tub yet was neither a butcher nor a baker.

4. "I-[Heart]-LRH"
I won't disparage you for being a Scientologist and following the teachings of Dr. Hubbard. (At least not publicly.) But, really, I think it's time for us to collectively re-think the idea of allowing a heart symbol on required vehicular identification tags. No good comes out of it.

Why I Am Awesome: I will never, ever have a vanity license plate.

Why I Am Not Awesome: In Massachusetts, I paid extra for special Red Sox state plates. Which is as obnoxious as having a vanity plate, but without displaying any of the latter's individual creativity.

(the following image courtesy of CALPL8S.com, a site that is not part of the solution)