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.