The Roaming Wolverine

The Walter Grady Factor

2006-05-23T16:06:00.000-07:00

If you haven't had the pleasure of watching Best of the Best II, then you probably missed the stellar performance turned in by Edan Gross and his unfortunate name when he breathed life into Walter Grady. Pure genius.

A few weeks after creating the Hollywood Battles list, I was sitting around ... bored (which generally means something interesting is poised to happen) ... when for whatever reason my friend, Frank, and I began wondering how our hero, Walter Grady, would fare in various combat scenarios. To be fair, we gave people the choice of who to team Walter up with in a battle to the death. Or to the pain. Whichever was more convenient. Here goes:

Walter and either:

Klinger or Inspector Gadget vs. Queen Latifa and Count Strahd

Deputy Dog or Colin Powell vs. The Pillsbury Doughboy and Gozer The Gozarian

Johnny Socko's Flying Robot or Grimace vs. Mr. Sulu and Potsie

Pele or Willy Wonka vs. Pinhead and Joey Buttafucco

Crocodile Dundee or Meatloaf vs. Beavis and The Hulk

Elmer Fudd or Dionne Warwick vs. Mike Tyson and Aeschylus

Wilt Chamberlain or Regis Philbin vs. Liberace and Fabio

Pauly Shore or Bob Newhart vs. Michael Bolton and The French

Ross Perot or The Professor vs. Vanilla Ice and Tattoo

Captain Kangaroo or Ptolemy vs. The Boz and Dinah Shore

Princess Stephanie or The Cast of F-Troop vs. Nostradamus and Aunt Jemimah

Tito Jackson or Ivan Boesky vs. Waldo and Sid Vicious

Juan Valdez or Terry Bradshaw vs. Napoleon and Heather Locklear

The Federal Reserve Board or Dick Van Dyke vs. William Shatner and Webster

Lorena Bobbitt or Mr. Ed vs. Howdy Doody and Doomsday

The Serbs or Flipper vs. Mr. Potatohead and Butros Butros Gali

Jeff Gilooly or The Construction Worker from The Village People vs. Spuds Mackenzie and Sandy Duncan

Ma Joad or Big Bird vs. Eli Whitney and Judas

King Henry V or Screwface vs. Copernicus and Jason

Claus von Bulow or The Smothers Brothers vs. Hamburgler and Vlad the Impaler

Thundarr the Barbarian or Abe Lincoln vs. Darth Vader and Stephen Hawking

Mariah Carey or Piglet vs. Ookla the Mok and Barney

Old Man Withers From The Haunted Carnival or Dr. Shoals vs. Bruce Lee and Chilly Willy

Albert Schweitzer or Spud Webb vs. Kojack and Hong Kong Phoey

Mr. French or Mr. T vs. Hannibal Lechter and Lyle Lovett

John Holmes or Scooby Doo vs. Don "The Dragon" Wilson and The Keebler Elves

Dracula or Charlie Tuna vs. John the Baptist and Mr. Clean

Heat Miser or Buck Rogers vs. The Great Pumpkin and Octavian

Space Ghost or The Nazi War Machine vs. Prince and The Borg

Agamemnon or Deputy Chief of Police Dwayne T. Robinson vs. Socrates and George "The Animal" Steel

Rick Roufus or Shazam vs. Tammuz and Sophocles

Carrie Nation or Ishtar vs. Constantine and Ravishing Rick Rude

Phillip of Masadon or Yoko Ono vs. Eric the Red and Ronnie Milsap

Curious George or Predator vs. Peter North and Tipper Gore

Sir Issac Newton or Thor vs. Garth Brooks and Tweekie

Hollywood Battles

2006-05-23T14:55:00.000-07:00

Here's how it works: Many years ago, I was working a double shift at the fire department and bored off my ass. Boredom on my part generally leads somewhere fun. So I created a list of various Hollywood/TV toughguys and bad guys. Don't ask me why. I was bored, remember? I take no responsibility for any dumb, pointless things I might do at such a time. First, I had about 40-50 people submit fighters for consideration, then everyone ranked each fighter on a scale from 0 (worthless) to 10 (titanic) in seven categories: Intelligence (Int), Strength (Str), Conditioning (Cnd), Weapons Training (Wea), Martial Arts Ability (Mar), Fighting Intangibles (Fgt), and Creativity in Combat (Cre). Eventually I set a cutoff point at about 20 fighters, because after a while people like Axel Foley started showing up on the list.

For example, here are some sample submissions:

John Rambo 6, 8, 10, 10, 9.5, 15, 10
"First Blood"
Special Forces

Martin Riggs 6.5, 7 8.5, 10, 10, 10, 9.5
"Lethal Weapon"
Special Forces

Casey Ribek 6.5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9
"Undersiege"
Navy Seal

James Bond 8, 5, 6, 8, 2, 10, 8
"Dr. No"
British SS

Marion Cobretti 0, 6, 6, 4, 3, 7, 7
"Cobra"
Zombie Squad

MacGyver 15, 5, 6, 8, 4, 7.5, 15
"MacGyver"
Special Forces/
Phoenix Foundation

Even tho the scale was from 0 - 10, the overwhelming majority of people responding found it necessary to have certain fighters break the scale in certain categories. After the fighters were ranked on individual merits, they were paired off and people voted on the outcome of three types of battles between the two combatants: 1) Each person, with equal weaponry, in a jungle 2) Battling in a major city 3) Hand-to-hand combat (no weapons whatsoever) in a locked cement room, 20' x 20'. There were four possible endings to each battle: 1) Person 'A' kills Person 'B' 2) Person 'B' kills Person 'A' 3) Mutual annihilation 4) One person is so hopelessly overmatched that he immediately commits suicide.

Before I give you the Top Ten (as decided back then ... clearly a new list will need to be constructed someday soon), voters were asked to assign further ratings to the now-ranked fighters. The rating system synopsis:

MASTER: The absolute pinnacle of knowledge, experience, and expertise humanly attainable in a given discipline. Only the most titanically gifted individuals have a prayer of reaching this supreme rank, and only then with monumental effort. One person (or in rare cases, two people) in the world actually possess this most lethal of skill levels.

GENIUS: The second-highest degree of knowledge, experience, and expertise. Attainable only if a person possesses tremendous natural ability in conjunction with a massive work ethic and desire to learn. Perhaps ten people in the world can achieve this vaunted skill level.

EXPERT: The highest degree of knowldege, experience, and expertise a non-gifted person can attain. Requires a colossal amount of drive, determination, and study to achieve. Less than a thousand such people exist in any given discipline.

PRO: A very respectable degree of knowledge, experience, and expertise. Basically anybody can achieve this level with intense study and above-average drive and determination.

BERSERKER: The complete vaporization of rational, coherent thought and subsequent transformation into a furious, murderous, doomsday engine of destruction. The mind fixates on one thought: KILL, at all costs. Pain tolerance, power, and stamina all explode through the roof as monsterous amounts of adrenaline flood the system. A person in this state is to be considered deeply insane and thus capable of absorbing tremendous damage and perform superhuman feats of strength.

BRAWLER: A person with massive natural talent for fighting, independent of any formal martial arts training. A Brawler fights completely on instinct, thus his attack sequences are impossible to predict.

SPEED DEMON: A person with cat-like grace and reflexes. His attacks are made with the speed of a striking cobra.

Below are the rankings. For something to appear as a comment, more than half the people responding had to agree to it.

1. John Rambo: Weapons Master. Master Berserker. Genius Marksman. Genius Brawler. Expert Thai Boxer. Undoubtedly the fiercest survivor, the purest warrior.
2. Bruce Lee: Jeet Kune Do Master. Weapons Master. Speed Demon.
3. Kenjo: Master Ninja.
4. Sam Beckett: Master Intellect. 5th degree blackbelt or above in Aikido, Judo, Taw Kwon Do, Hapkido, and Kung Fu.
5. Erik Kenner: Genius Samurai. Weapons Genius. Bushido Genius.
6. Martin Riggs: Genius Marksman. Tai Chi Genius. Genius Berserker. Weapons Genius.
7. Tommy Lee: Tae Kwon Do Genius. Hapkido Genius. Speed Demon.
8. MacGyver: Explosives Master. Chemical Master. Creative Master. Genius Intellect. Weapons Genius.
9. David Sanghai: Genius Samurai. Akido Expert.
10. Frank Dux: Genius Ninja.

Back in Black

2006-05-13T12:19:00.000-07:00

The move from Cali has long since been over, and getting settled in MI is taking some getting used to. Of course when it's nice out, the weather is hard to beat . . . but it likes to rain about 80% of the time! Or if it isn't raining, there are hurricane-force gale winds and grey skies. Ug. I'm surprised the suicide rate here isn't 95%. Today is a perfect example. It's been raining for, oh, the past forever ... ground is mush ... wind is cold ... about the only thing to do on a day like this is curl up and die.

The Lip Squish

2006-04-05T15:51:00.000-07:00

Ok work with me here . . . picture this: You're walking down the hall someplace - let's say at work - and you pass someone. The two of you make eye contact. You don't say 'hi' before the person walks by you because either:

1) you don't know the person and would feel uncomfortable doing so.

or

2) you already walked past this person earlier and did say 'hi'. You have a finite number of 'hi's to use each day, and you certainly don't want to waste a second one on the same idiot.

What to do?

The lip squish!

Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. You squish your lips together and give a slight nod of the head. Now the nod is crucial. The lip squish and the head nod must be done concurrently ... they go together like peanut butter and jelly or guns & ammo. If you leave off the nod, at best, the other person will assume you've got some type of bizarre facial tick ... at worst, you get your ass kicked.

My question is this: When did the lip squish (with accompanying head nod) become a suitable form of greeting? Was there ever a time when one existed without the other? Does it actually replace 'hi' . . . or is it a polite way of saying, 'I reluctantly acknowledge your presense, now please get the hell out of my line of sight so I can retreat once more to my universe.'

Mr. & Mrs. Sanchez

2006-03-16T09:00:00.000-08:00

MEXICO CITY - A Mexican husband and wife were recovering separately after a marital spat got out of control and saw them firing guns, throwing knives and hurling homemade bombs, Mexican daily Milenio said Monday.

In scenes taken straight out of the hit romantic comedy “Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” starring Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, Juan Espinosa and Irma Contreras fought until their house blew up in a homemade gasoline bomb explosion, Milenio said.

Police called to the home in the indigenous Mayan Indian town of Oxkutzcab in the southeastern state of Yucatan arrested Espinosa. Contreras was taken to hospital with third-degree burns.

A local police official confirmed the report but declined to provide further information.

In the violence-filled movie about the fictional Smiths, Pitt and Jolie play married assassins ordered to kill each other.

Espinosa told reporters he was glad his wife had suffered burns, while Contreras said she was only sorry she had not “hacked off his manhood” during the fight.

This is why I scan cnn.com and msnbc.com on a daily basis. You just can NOT find better entertainment anywhere!! I learned long ago not to underestimate the stupidity of Average Bob and Jane. Could you imagine being the nextdoor neighbor of these idiots?! I'll bet the neighborhood watch captain was shitting his pants. Making sure people don't leave their garbage out for too long, that's one thing . . . preventing them from launching a full-out assault on each other and the surrounding houses . . . that's a whole 'nother stretch of road.

It's too bad they hadn't given each other more time to prepare . . .

The Gilligan Defense

2006-03-15T09:00:00.001-08:00

Just when I thought I'd heard it all, along comes something like this:

March 14, 2006 - In what many experts are calling a high-stakes legal strategy, former Enron CEO Ken Lay testified at his trial today that a coconut fell on his head while he was running the Texas energy company, causing amnesia that wiped out all memory of anything that happened during his tenure there.

While most trial watchers expected Lay's defense team to use inventive tactics to secure an acquittal for the embattled former CEO, few expected the coconut-falling-on-head explanation for Lay's claim that he was out of the loop during the entirety of Enron's multibillion-dollar fall from grace.

As the trial resumed this morning, Lay's defense attorney used a diagram, a pointer and a coconut itself to dramatize the incident in what legal experts are already calling "The Gilligan Defense."

"As you can see, a coconut that Lay kept on a high shelf of his office bookcase rolled off the shelf, landing squarely on his head, and causing total amnesia," Lay's attorney told a stunned courtroom. Moments after the coconut landed on the former CEO's head, Lay claimed that Andrew Fastow, Enron's former chief financial officer, ran into Lay's office, concerned, and asked, "Are you all right, little buddy?"

But under cross examination, Lay's story appeared to fray somewhat, especially when the prosecutor asked,

"If you had total amnesia, how could you remember that a coconut fell on your head?"

"Oops," Lay replied.

This defense would be laughable if it weren't for the fact that it's entirely possible some random group of drooling jurors would buy into it! Anybody remember the OJ trial? That's the platinum standard for idiots. The thing that drives me nuts (well, one of the things) is how shyster defense lawyers sit around and concoct the most asinine fantasy imaginable in order to explain away the facts and help their client dodge justice. A coconut?!?! You have GOT to be kidding me!! But the reason stuff like that happens is . . . it works!! Joe Average Juror is a complete fumbling, ignorant fool! And the defense lawyers know and depend on that!

The jury system only works if the jury pool isn't composed of complete babbling idiots. That's asking a LOT. Moron Bob and Dipstick Sally start tripping over their IQ when they attempt to wrap their peabrains around what "reasonable doubt" means. Is it possible that some anonymous, evil Columbian Drug Lord killed Nicole Brown Simpson? Wellllllll, I suppose that there is a non-zero chance, but it's pretty damn small. Is it possible that a group of Satanists killed Laci Peterson? Again, I suppose anything is possible. But is it reasonable?! THAT is where the simian dolts who comprise the vast majority of jury pools start having trouble. Just because something is theoretically possible does NOT constitute reasonable doubt!!! Jesus!!! How stupid do you have to be?!? Is it possible that purple cows are going to fly out my ass sometime in the next 10 minutes? God I certainly hope not, but perhaps in some alternate reality it might be. Joe Dumbass Juror is too dense to see the distinction. Sad.

It should be legally permissible for court members to hurl rocks, icepicks, and anvils at defense lawyers the moment something as ridiculous as the 'coconut defense' escapes their cakehole. Only a complete, utter jackass would believe something like that.

Microsoft Madness, Part I

2006-03-09T20:08:00.000-08:00

I was bored last night and decided to poke around my laptop a bit. I'd heard at least a hundred times from a zillion different sources that Microsoft loves to hide your personal data - even from you - on your computer. While I never doubted it, I never really had the time or motivation to investigate it.

Until now.

I'm sure pretty much everyone who reads this has, at some time or another, clicked on Tools in their Internet Explorer, gone to Internet Options, and selected both Clear History and Delete Files (not forgetting to check Delete all offline content as well - in order to be totally safe). Do yourself a favor. Stop wasting your time. It's simply Microsoft giving you a cosmetic warm fuzzy.

To prove it, go ahead and clear your IE history and delete files (including offline content). If you're having a blonde moment, re-read the previous paragraph. Ok, first, you have to tell XP to allow you to see both hidden and . . . get this . . . "superhidden" files. That's mildly funny in a perverse Big Brother sort of way. Do this:

1. On your desktop, right-click on the My Computer icon and select Explore.
2. Click on the Tools menu.
3. Select Folder Options.
4. Click on the View tab. [it's almost over]
5. Select Show hidden files and folders.
6. Un-check Hide protected operating system files.

You'll get yelled at by XP. It'll tell you the world is going to end exactly 3 seconds after you do this. Ignore it. This allows you to see the superhidden files. If you want to do this step the hard way, go to HKEY_CURRENT_USER\Software\Microsoft\Windows \CurrentVersion\Explorer\Advanced and find the ShowSuperHidden entry. Right-click on it, select Modify, set Value data equal to 1, and click OK.

7. Click on OK.

Now do this ... Open up your Windows Explorer and go to c:\Documents and Settings\[login ID]\Local Settings\Temporary Internet Files. A whole bunch of cookies, nothing else, right? Well, not quite. I only learned this the other night, but apparently Microsoft just loves to store information regarding every single site you've ever visited in a file called index.dat. It's buried in this folder, but you still can't see it. If you want to change that:

1. In your Windows Explorer window, go up one level to the Local Settings folder.
2. Right-click on the Temporary Internet Files folder and select Send To.
3. From the menu that pops up, select My Documents.
4. Now go to the My Documents folder and you'll see the Temporary Internet Files folder there. Open it up.
5. See the folder called Content.IE5? Go in that.
6. Presto . . . one index.dat. It's probably going to be pretty huge. When I first did this last night, mine was about 30 MB. You can sorta open it with Notepad, but if the file is superhuge, be prepared to sit and wait for a loooong time before it fully loads. This file contains everything you've ever done online. Someone could generate a pretty good criminal profile of you by parsing thru this file.

So now just right-click on the file and select Delete. You're all set!

Yea, right.

You probably had about as much luck as I did. Got yelled at about "the file is currently in use by some other process" yadayada yakyak? Microsoft doesn't like you messing with them.

Now one of the first things I tried was opening up Notepad and creating a short cleaning script. This is what I put in the file:

cd %homedrive%%homepath%
cd locals~1\tempor~1\Content.IE5
erase /f/q index.dat
cd %homedrive%%homepath%
rd /s/q locals~1\tempor~1
rd /s/q locals~1\temp
rd /s/q cookies
rd /s/q temp
md locals~1\temp
pause

I then saved it as clobber.cmd and placed it in the XP Startup folder so it gets executed immediately when I turn on the computer. (The Startup folder is located: c:\Documents and Settings\[login ID]\Start Menu\Programs\Startup) I was feeling pretty good about myself at this point. I rebooted my computer, watched the script execute, and it still bombed out trying to get rid of index.dat. Now in the script's defense, I've got a ton of crap on my laptop, so something was grabbing the file before I could wipe it out. I messed around in msconfig for a while trying to track down the culprit, but that quickly got old.

Time to get serious. At this point, I really couldn't care less what that file contained, I just wanted to delete it for the pure satisfaction of deleting it. This worked:

1. Reboot the computer in Safe Mode. (press & hold F8 during reboot)
2. Do the steps in the above program manually
3. Start the computer back up normally, look for index.dat, and rejoice. Finally. You'll probably still find one, but it won't have the last 5,000 months of your surfing data in it. Instead, it'll have a few moments worth of data.

I'm sure there are a ton of other hidden files buried all over the place that need to be dealt with. But for the moment, I'm relatively happy.

GSP vs. BJP

2006-03-04T22:05:00.000-08:00

Damn. Damn damn damn damn damn. I'm seriously pissed off right now. I just got done watching UFC 58: USA vs. Canada, and GSP squeaked out a split decision versus BJ Penn. Now most people would go by how the fighters looked at the end of the fight ... GSP looked beat to shit, and BJ looked like he just woke up from a restful nap.

I'm a HUGE GSP fan. He's awesome. In my opinion, he's the finest combination of stand-up fighter, grappler, and cardio-conditioned athlete in the UFC today. BUT, he did NOT win the fight against BJ Penn. At the same time, however, BJ Penn didn't win the fight either. After 3 rounds, I defy ANYONE to show me how either one clearly won! It was a draw!!! ARGH!!!

I wanted SOOOOO bad for GSP to kick BJPs ass all over the ring, but BJP proved himself (to me - like he cares) to be about the toughest bastard God ever dared create! He's a NUT!! Nobody lost that fight. Nobody.

My only hope is this: GSP kicks Matt Hughes ass in their rematch (provided Hughes is able to defeat Royce Gracie . . . good luck with that one), and then GSP and BJP get a championship rematch that goes FIVE rounds.

Damn. I hate watching fights in which there isn't a clear-cut conclusion.

Rule Pool

2006-03-04T01:07:00.000-08:00

The Unlit Banana story has triggered a veritable avalanche of Muskegon memories. One of our (translation: my) favorite pastimes was 'Rule Pool'. My dad had a seriously nice pool table in the basement - seems to me it was a 9 footer, but after all these years, I'm not so sure anymore. Anyway, Rule Pool worked like this:

1. First you decide who gets to break. That was easy. It was always ME (unless I chose otherwise, see #3 below). At the time, I was the biggest, so therefore, I got my way. Pretty simple, right? I was a doctrinaire of the highest caliber, practicing the simple ideology of might makes right. Similiar to the political philosophy of Thrasymachus (the cynical Sophist of Plato's Republic) ... justice is merely the advantage of the stronger. The philosophical root of my double-standard: one set of rules for those in power (ME), another for the poor, huddled masses.

2. If you make three balls in a row, you get to make a RULE. Making balls on the break counts, hence my significant advantage.

That's pretty much it. Normally, I'd play Dan ... because he was the most fun to screw with, and also because he was a helluva good sport about it. So generally my first rule had to do with his cue. He could no longer shoot with a pool cue. Oh no. That would be too easy. I'd go find a safety pin, straighten it out, and have him shoot with that. Or, there was this smooth hunk of driftwood that my dad (or somebody) found a zillion years ago ... I'd have him shoot with that. I seem to recall replacing his cue with a chicken leg one time ... or was it celery? My second rule would always come directly out of space, whatever popped into my mind at the moment. Sometimes I'd go get the heavy bag (talking boxing here) from the garage and have him hold it in one arm while he shot (with his safety pin or hunk of driftwood).

3. I almost forgot. Rules tended to be cumulative. So in the second game, I might give Dan the break (because I'm that magnanimous) . . . but he usually had a difficult time generating any significant degree of power with his pinky . . . another one of my favorite cue replacements.

One Banana, Unlit (of course)

2006-03-04T00:05:00.000-08:00

Circa 1982, give or take a year, I was spending the summer at my dad's house with my brothers. Typical summer in Muskegon, go to the beach a lot, pound on Dan as much as possible (including but not limited to inventing new, random tortures), watch Rocky movies 8,000x per day.

One day, we were all hanging out at the house and - for whatever reason - terribly bored. It wasn't just that I was bored, we all seemed to be out of it. Biorhythms or something. So we all went off in separate directions looking for something to fill time. I happened to come across a typewriter in the attic. Wow! This is great! What can I possibly do with a typewriter...? Hmm, well, I could probably throw it at Dan. That might be kinda fun. And informative, from a blunt-force trauma perspective. I could put one of Dave's toys (preferably his favorite toy) on the ground outside and toss the typewriter on top of it from our grandma's 3rd-story balcony (which at the time was still uncovered) . . . OR . . . I could type up an invoice! Brilliant! An invoice? An invoice for . . . what? Hmm . . . has to be something good. Preferably yellow. (no reason why) Good and yellow. What things are good and yellow? Well ... bananas are pretty good, and they're yellow! Ok, great! A banana then. And the banana certainly couldn't be engulfed in flames. So one banana, unlit . . . of course. That was what the invoice would be for!

I spent the next hour typing up an invoice for an unlit banana, making it look as professional as my teenage mind would allow. That and the 1877 Civil War Surplus Typewriter I was using. When all was said and done, I had a reasonable facsimile of an invoice and a decently ripe banana with a match taped to it (for future lighting, if one should so desire).

The mirth of creating the invoice quickly faded. What NOW had to happen is we had to have some unsuspecting nitwit sign for it! Who? Well that was easy. Just pick a house at random in one of the nearby neighborhoods. Next, who would go to the front door and attempt to get the signature? Certainly not moi . . . I didn't want to look like a complete jackass . . . I was perfectly content to be a jackass, but only behind the scenes. Dan? Definitely. Dave? Probably as a fallback position. Jaime? Nah, he'd never do it.

So Jaime takes the banana with the match taped to it, my impressive invoice, and a truckload of chutzpah to the front door of some random house. Knocks on the door.

Now here's where my memory begins to break down. Probably because I was too busy laughing my ass off from a distance, watching the comedy unfold. I think some old person came to the door, and I'm thinking it was a guy. But I could be wrong. Evidently he wasn't impressed with the invoice and was fairly certain he never ordered such a contraption.

We never got a signature, but we managed to fill up enough empty space until dinner. So it wasn't a total loss.

University of Michigan - Year One, Part I

2006-03-03T20:29:00.000-08:00

My first year at Michigan almost didn't happen. When I got back from Boston College (summer of my Junior year in h.s.), school started up again almost immediately. So I had been going to school basically non-stop from the beginning of my Junior year in h.s. to the end of my Senior year. About midway thru my Senior year was when everyone started applying for colleges. Not many people from my class chose Michigan. As I recall, only Rich, Erik and yours truly did.

I, however, decided to make the experience as horrifically painful as humanly possible. First off, I only applied to one college - Michigan. Because that was the only place I could conceive of going. NO backups for me. Nope. That smacked too much of being a sissy. I also decided that I wanted to postpone the start of my freshman year until January of '88. I needed six months off to kick back and reflect on the vicissitudes of my life. Or I just wanted to party.

Unfortunately for our hero, I had applied to the College of Engineering (don't ask why - it's one of Life's great mysteries). The College of Engineering ONLY accepts students for the Fall semester. So there I sat, waiting to hear back from Michigan. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and finally everybody I knew had been accepted to the place they had applied. Except me. I hadn't heard squat. Apparently if you're too stupid to read the directions on the application, they burn it as an offering to the God of All Things Stupid. So eventually I called and found out that *gasp* I wasn't getting into Michigan at all! Ok, choices: Umm suicide? More suicide? Learn to bowl and hang out in Monroe a lot?

So I called my dad, who had also gone to Michigan - both undergrad and med school. I briefly explained the situation (probably skewing it heavily to make it seem like it was THEIR screwup, NOT mine). I had no idea what he could do, if anything, but this was the second-to-last stop on my 'to do' list. Last option, lay down in traffic.

My dad calls UM Admissions and asks to speak to the HMFIC. Only she, my dad, and God know what was said in that conference . . . but if I placed myself in his shoes, I probably would have said something along the lines of:

What, you only accept smart people at UM? You're telling me you don't need any dumbasses to help bring down the curve? And let me tell you something ... my son isn't just plain ol' dumb, he's quality dumb. What's that mean, you ask? Welllll . . . if he doesn't know the answer to a question, I'll give you even money odds he can at least crack wise with some jackass comment that'll make you laugh. Look, don't hold his blatant stupidity and complete lack of common sense against him ... did I mention he's 1/58 Sioux?

Luckily for me, this conversation happened at the exact same time that all the planets in our galaxy and several nearby galaxies aligned. That, and my dad has a gift for persuasion. The clouds parted and I caught a brief glimpse of God busting out with an air guitar solo. She let me in! BUT . . . why is there always a but . . . I had to start school IMMEDIATELY after graduation. And if I maintained at least a 3.0 in the spring and summer semesters, I was officially IN. So because I wanted to screw off for six months after high school, I ended up getting my dumbass roped into another year-long academic marathon. *sigh*

Now bear in mind I was already sufficiently cowed by my experience at Boston College, and I drew the same comparison between BC and UM as I did between my h.s. and BC. I was honestly more than a bit worried. Around that time, I had a sit-down chat with my dad, and he gave it to me straight. I don't remember the exact content of the conversation, but it went something like this:

I hope you realize what an incredible opportunity you have here. You're going to the University of Michigan - one of the, if not THE finest school in the world. Everybody there was top of their class in high school, they all did great on their tests, they all were strong academically. But unlike them, you don't have much room for error. I remember when I went there, it was hell! I was studying my butt off!

[Editor's Note: at that point in the speech I really got worried. I generally consider my dad one of the smartest people I know, so to have heard that coming from him was kick-in-the-balls pleasant. Returning to the speech:]

Now when you go there, you can certainly do what you want to do ... but if you want my advice, it would be this: don't drink, don't smoke, don't party, don't chase women - if you're awake, you better have your nose in a book, or they'll eat you alive ...

[Second Note: that section of the speech probably isn't even close to what was actually said, but it's what I heard. I was already crapping my pants thinking about my first classes, and now I just learned that my dad had a rough time when he was going. I had a fearsome urge to slam my head on something pointy.]

Long story short, I felt very much like a man being transported to the gallows when my mom drove me to Ann Arbor to drop me off.

It was all over for me. I could tell.

Mortgage Brokers

2006-02-23T12:04:00.000-08:00

Mortgage brokers are at least as hateful as lawyers. Well, let me rephrase that. Most lawyers. My brother, Dan, is rather adept at hacking out the useless twaddle from your average bowl of legal vomit and giving it to you straight. With pretty much every other lawyer on Planet Earth, however, you have to sift thru 300 pounds of mumbo jumbo before you can get a basic answer to a simple question. The distinction between lawyers and mortgage brokers:

Whereas a lawyer will take 50 pages to say something that would take most normal people 2 pages, that's only because they have to try to accommodate every conceivable possibility when they say something. Sorta like when I bought a VCR 800 years ago. The directions ACTUALLY said, "Do not set VCR on fire." You know why that was there? Because some jackass set his VCR on fire, hired a lawyer, sued the company (because they never told him NOT to set it on fire), and probably won some ridiculous settlement. So in some ways, I suppose the argument could be made that the language of law isn't too much different from any programming language. If I write a program, I have to include logic in the program to handle every idiot thing Joe User could do. Different game, same rules.

Mortgage brokers, on the other hand, are like crossbreeding a lawyer with a used car salesman. Not only do they have to bury you in an avalanche of bullshit (to protect their asses), but they also want to make sure you choose them, so they'll shove as many cubic acres of sunshine up your ass as they can possibly fit along the way.

I don't have the patience for dealing with this drama. Probably because I don't have the right mindset for it. I've got a very low tolerance for verbal fluff and assorted crap.

Battleaxe

2006-02-22T13:38:00.000-08:00

Why is a ballbreaking wife/girlfriend called a 'battleaxe'? It seems to me that this saying has been around for quite some time. Wouldn't most guys be happy to have a battleaxe? I know I would. What better way to sever an enemy's head or remove an annoying arm (one holding a sword, for example)? William Wallace's buddy, Emish, had many excellent adventures with his battleaxe (talking battle weapon here, not his wife - that would be a completely different, rather disturbing post).

Vampires

2006-02-21T19:29:00.000-08:00

For some inexplicable reason, I went on a vampire kick tonite. I found many write-ups on the web, but this one seemed the most interesting so far . . . from http://www.vampire-coven.com/vampirelore.html

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How do we seem to you?
Do you find us beautiful, magical?
Our white skin, our fierce eyes?
"Drink" you ask me, do you have any idea of the thing you will become?
~Louis, -Interview with the Vampire~

The Old Lore
Among all the creatures and monsters in literature and folklore, the vampire seems to be the most mysterious and feared. It is also probably one of the oldest creatures in the world. References to vampires can be found in many lands, and some scholars believe this indicates that the vampire story developed independently in these various lands and was not passed from one to the other. Such an independently occurring folk tale is curious indeed. Vampire myths go back thousands of years and their variety is almost endless. However, the vampire, as he became known in Europe and hence America, largely originated in the Slavic and Greek lands of eastern Europe.

A veritable epidemic of vampirism swept through eastern Europe, beginning in the middle ages and continuing through the eighteenth century. Example: Villages often suffered from diseases and a series of deaths. These events were mysterious, in the sense that there were no physical causes known to the villagers that could be offered to account for them. Such deaths were often attributed to vampires, which were thought to be corpses that came to the victims at night, attacking them, often sucking their blood to the point of death.

Now, why would someone announce the presence of a vampire, or spread the word of its existence?

Because attributing the deaths to a vampire was the only thing explaining the fatalities, since there was no known physical cause at the time. By doing this, the villagers could take a course of action to stop the deaths. If vampires did not exist, nothing would explain these deaths and people would feel helpless, since they would not have known what to do. In other words, by attributing a cause to the terrible event, a course of action could be taken to make things better. Consequently, we can conclude that the pre-existing social role of the vampire image was that of a scapegoat. Travelers returning from the Balkans brought with them these tales of the undead, thus spreading the myth and igniting an interest in the vampire that has continued to this day.

The vampire was a well established myth long before the Christian church got it's foothold in Europe, and the beliefs were widespread. When the Christian church split in 1054 it had not established a stance on vampires save that it was a part of Pagan belief and unchristian in nature.Roman Catholics believed that the bodies of their saints would not decay in the grave; instead, they would remain intact and give off a sweet odour. The Orthodox church viewed an undecayed corpse as a sign of evil.

The great irony of this period is that as the Church moved to end the Pagan mythologies, it would be their own decree that would lend historical validityto the vampire. So great was their influence that movies and novels in the 21st century still show the vampire as a Satanic creature, a Demon, made helpless when confronted with the signs of the true Christian God. Numerous reports and treatments were issued by the Christian Church. Vampire scares continued to sweep through Europe, complete with vampire hunts and witch hunts, mass exhumations, legions of corpses staked and/or burned in an attempt to rid villages of vampirism.

A vampire was always suspected if sudden death struck numerously in a family or livestock followed by the passing of either a family member or of someone who was questioned about being a vampire. Once the suggestion that a community was under attack by a vampire was taken seriously by enough residents, identifying the vampire was in order. The most likely candidate was a person who had recently died, especially in the previous 40 days. (Derived from the 40 days between Jesus' death and ascension.) The body of the suspected vampire would then be exhumed and examined for the characteristic signs. Common signs were continued growth of the hair and nails, as well as a new layer of skin. If these were found, the vampire could then be destroyed either by staking, decapitation, burning, repeating the funeral service, holy water on the grave or exorcism.

So who were these vampires? In the older lore they were usually people who had died sudden and unnaturally or had been killed by a vampire themselves. Witches and cruel or evil people were also thought to become vampires after death. Throughout the ages, it has been believed that vampires (being 'corrupted') have aversions to anything pure or anything that was natural to a live human being. Silver, seeds, and garlic were all thought to be deterrents to a vampire. Crosses and holy water became aversions when Christianity took over. But why would the cross have power over vampires? Why would a Jewish vampire, -or an atheist vampire for that matter, fear a Christian symbol?

The vampire has changed over the centuries. As the nineteenth century drew to a close and the twentieth century approached, reason began to enter vampire literature. The motivation to fear the 'undead' no longer exists today as in the way it did for the Slavs, and they have become more benign than their Old World antecedents. Today, we have medical science to explain diseases and epidemics, so the function of the vampire as a scapegoat is gone. We may still be afraid of getting diseases, but now we turn to science, not vampires, for explanations. Thus, although the image of the vampire among the Slavs remains with us, there is no room for its previous social role in our society. So what do we 'know' about the vampire of today?

The Modern Lore
After doing some research on the modern vampire I have come to this conclution: Modern-day vampires are very different from the vampires of old. They do not necessarily have the same limitations the vampires from legends had. In this new age the creatures of the night have become beings of great power and their best weapon is that people no longer believe in them. Instead of hanging around cemetaries they blend into human society and strike swiftly from the shadows. These newer vampires are a lot harder to distinguish from humans than the vampires from the old lores.

Their strength and speed surpasses that of humans, and their senses are heightened to a preternatural level.

They can be sensual, desirable, and have power over the minds of their victims.

They seduce. They have high IQ's.

They sleep during the day, (usually, -but not necessarily) in a coffin, which is (again: usually, -but not necessarily) located in a tomb, crypt or in the basement of a private house.

They shed tears of blood, and are often not considered to be undead at all, but rather another species of humans.

Can vampires fly?
No. They're not exactely capable of flying, but they seem to be able to levitate, and/or ride air currents to some extent. They are also capable of taking giant leaps and seem to be true masters of wall climbing.

What about shapeshifting?
Absolutely not! They do not have the ability to turn into bats, wolves or fog.

Do vampires cast a reflection in mirrors?
There is no precedence in folklore where the vampire is not reflected by a mirror. This notion seems to be Bram Stoker's invention. And there was the more basic belief found in many parts of the world, including both ancient and 19'th century Greece, that the reflected image of a person actually was his soul. There are a number of Eastern European superstitions that link mirrors with souls. Yet none of this has anything specifically to do with vampires. Vampires are not exempt from natural laws. They can see themselvese in the mirror, because they take up physical space and there is no God to prohibit their reflection by denying them a soul. Not even vampires can change the laws of physics. Anne Rice too saw the foolishness in this:

"But it suddenly occured to me, I am looking at my own reflection! And hadn't it been said enough that ghosts and spirits and those who have lost their souls to hell have no reflections in mirrors?"
~The Vampire Lestat~

Do vampires need blood every night?
Vampires don't have to feed nightly and they don't have to kill their victims when feeding. But; - although many only take enough blood to sustain themselves, some seem to find a deep pleasure in the kill. It is said by many that a vampire does not require any blood at all to live as a vampire lives eternally, with or without blood. This is both true and not true. Blood is what makes a vampire powerful. A life force is granted to the vampires through the blood of their victims.The Blood a vampire takes, influences their strength, meaning that with lack of blood vampires just tend to lose their strength.

Do vampires have sex?
There is a lot of debate and arguing over whether or not vampires can and do have sexual intercourse, and whether or not they gain any pleasure from it. White Wolf states its own stance, that vampires aren't interested in intercourse and that it's more trouble for them to get involved in than it's worth. With the great sweeping pleasure of feeding vampires might decide that intercourse doesn't measure up. With the unwanted vulnerability that sex involves, many vampires might find that intercourse is just too great a risk.

Can a vampire be harmed at all?
Fire is usually very effective, although it's said that very old vampires have been known to survive being torched. The sun seems to have the ability to burn their skin to the point where death occurs. Usually the stronger and older the vampire, the less effect sun has on them. A powerful Vampire who lives hundreds of years and possesses the ability of walking in the Sun like a mortal, is known in some circles as a Daywalker.

Cutting a vampires head off seems to be the most effective way of ridding oneself of the 'undead'. If you want to make sure he dies the final death; Cut off his head then throw the body and the head on a bonfire.

Holy items
They have only a minor effect at the best. Most holy items work only as far as the vampire believes in their strength.

A stake through the heart won't work.
The reason for this is that their blood is (said to be) circulated by skeletal muscles. It will only stun the vampire as long as the stake is in his heart, and once removed the vampire can return to his previous businesses.

Garlic
Merely laughed at. It's origin as a vampire repellent is traced back to the Moslem's dislike of garlic, which they believed sprang up in Satan's footprints as he walked out of the Garden of Eden. Combine this with the Christian superstition that Moslem corpses were especially prone to becoming vampires and you have a 'powerful repellent'.

Today, the vampire is as "alive" and well, if not more so, than any other time in the past. As shown above, in the past, the vampire was needed as an outlet of fear and anxiety by being a scapegoat for unexplainable calamity. Now, with medical science, this role is extinct in our culture. But instead of disappearing, the vampire has entered the media: the image has withstood the test of time and change of cultures. In doing so, it has shown that, real or unreal, the vampire seems immortal with its continued presence in our society. The Beast lives on, and will for many, many years to come......

Lloyd Carr The Goddamn Idiot

2006-02-21T14:32:00.000-08:00

Let's get something straight, right from the start. Lloyd Carr is the sum total of all that sucks in this world. Ok ok, yes yes yes, I know . . . he won a National Championship for Michigan back in 1997. Does anybody here own a car from 1997? Can anyone even remember 1997? That was like a hundred zillion years ago! Since then Carr has had only ONE season with less than 3 losses! Last season, he managed to fumble and drool his way to FIVE losses, including a magnificent last-quarter collapse against Nebraska. Here are a few stats to chew on:

1998 he went 10-3 and lost his away opener taking us out of national title contention
1999 he went 10-2 with Brady (the only time since 1997 that he did not lose the home opener)
2000 he went 9-3 and lost his away opener taking us out of national title contention
2001 he went 8-4 and lost his away opener taking us out of national title contention
2002 he went 10-3 and lost his away opener taking us out of national title contention
2003 he went 10-3 and lost his away opener taking us out of national title contention
2004 he went 9-3 and lost his away opener taking us out of national title contention
2005 season he went 7-5, w/ losses to Notre Dame, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Ohio State, and Nebraska.

Overall Michigan Stats
• UM has 42 players in the NFL, 3rd best
• 81% of Carr's losses are to either lower ranked or unranked teams
• 1-4 vs. Jim Tressel
• 9 of 11 Carr seasons have had 3 or more losses
• 3-4 vs. Notre Dame of which 6 ND teams were .500 teams
• 4-7 record in road openers
• Carr makes $1.5 million a year [Editor's Note: How GREAT must it be to get paid MILLIONS to SUCK at your job??]

Offense
• 9th worst offense in the Big 10, 47th in the NCAA
• 9th worst red zone offense in Big 10
• 9th worst pass efficiency

Defense
• 8th worst in allowing 3rd down conversions in Big 10, 83rd in the NCAA
• 8th worst run defense in Big 10, 74th in the NCAA
• 7th worst in tackles for a loss in Big 10, 55th in the NCAA
• 9th worst for total sacks in the Big 10, 83rd in the NCAA

Special Teams
• 10th worst for kickoff yardage allowed in Big 10, 91st in NCAA
• 7th worst for punt return yardage allowed in Big 10

Big 10 titles are great, but National Championships are LEGENDARY. Michigan won 10 National Championships by 1948. Fifty plus years later, Michigan has garnered only 1 more. Yes, Carr is responsible for that lone victory, get over it!! He hasn't done SQUAT since!! One of the arguments I hear most often for keeping Carr around is, "Oh but he's such a great guy!" Umm . . . HUH?!? WHO THE HELL CARES?!? Let him go be a great guy on a beach in Maui! Let him be a great guy spelunking somewhere (hopefully a deep, deep cave that reaches the center of the Earth, where he's subsequently consumed by magma).

Save my beloved Wolverines. Fire Lloyd Carr NOW!!!

Crab Letter I

2006-02-19T23:04:00.000-08:00

I was watching late-nite TV a few months back and saw a commercial for [insert asinine product here]. For some reason, it bothered me more that night than other nights, so I got on the company's website and found the name of their Director of Sales - some chick named Kimberly. She was foolish enough to allow her email to be listed.

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Kimberly,

OH boy, just when I thought I could get to sleep, your commercial with that dancing idiot in the Riddler costume came bouncing across my screen.

I don't even know where to begin. I thought the CombnCut was a steaming lump of consumer fraud, but you people have elevated screwing the public to an art form! This is like some kind of sick Twilight Zone episode - not the one with the train and the gargoyle trying to get in . . . more like the one with the guy who loved to read and then there was a nuclear war and he tripped and accidentally broke his only pair of glasses. So there he is, hiding out in the Library of Congress, surrounded by literally MILLIONS of books . . . but no glasses. And everyone got fried in the nuclear war, including his eye doc, so basically he was in total barney.

Hmm. I forgot where I was going with that.

Anywaaaaay, I just had to drop you a line before heading off to bed. Long day tomorrow - got a skateboard competition plus going to see that new Exorcist movie. Have you seen the previews? It looks scary, but I seriously doubt it'll be anywhere near as good as the original, you know? I hope I'm not disappointed. For real.

What else . . . not a whole lot. School is starting up in less than a week, can you believe that?? *barf* Not only that, but I have to take calculus and american lit 2 this year. Did you ever take lit 2? How did you like it? I don't mind the reading so much, but the paperz are kiiiiilllllllller. I don't think I"m going to try out for volleyball this year. Maybe softball, but that's only if they fire the dude who coached last year and hire someone whos more interested in winning games than he is staring at my friends and me all creepy like. *shudder*

g'nite

Callie

Greased Lightning

2006-02-12T12:29:00.000-08:00

Why do people say something is "as fast as greased lightning"? Does that make it somehow faster than normal lighning? If so, how?? It's not like ungreased lightning is slow. Plus, how the hell would you grease lightning in the first place?!? . . . at least without getting your toes blown off in the process? And what sort of grease are you supposed to use? I don't think that's ever been properly explained. Is WD-40 sufficient?

House Hunter

2006-02-10T19:21:00.000-08:00

Lansing is no Irvine. It also isn't Scottsdale. Hell, it's barely a Monroe. After having lived in the southwest for a number of years, coming back to Michigan is a bit of an eye opener. On the good side, the price of real estate is laughably low compared to California. For example, there's a townhouse development that went up down the street from me in Irvine - 900 to 1050 square feet - starting at $677,000. STARTING. For that much in the Lansing area, you could buy a castle (complete with moat).

On the downside (how much room do I have ... ?), Lansing itself is a dirty, gloomy, run down, depressing, dull, dirty (again), dingy shell of a city. I went to the Lansing Mall tonite - a most excellent place to go if you want to buy some spray-on pick-up truck bed liner or possibly an Orange Julius. *sigh*

I'm not really a big fan of the midwestern style of architecture. Aluminum siding (or is it vinyl now - I dunno. either way, it sucks) and the standard pointy roof. The neighborhoods in Lansing itself are downright scary. I did a crime report for the areas surrounding some of the new housing developments, and it made me seriously consider applying for a gun permit before I ventured out the door. Ridiculous.

Winter in Michigan also sucks. Snow sucks. Cold blowing cold wind sucks. I haven't seen the sun in 5 days. I don't think there is a word for 'sun' in Michigan.

Get me out of here.

UFC 57: Liddell vs. Couture

2006-02-05T17:44:00.000-08:00

Boxing is dead. Or if it isn't fully dead, it's mostly dead. Honestly, how many feature boxers are there these days worth paying a PPV fortune to see? I can't think of any, and I'm a boxing fan. Roy Jones Jr. was someone I really enjoyed watching - before he started getting his ass knocked sideways everytime he set foot in the ring. It's amazing how fast he went from being the consensus best "pound for pound" fighter in the world to an also-ran. Sad.

That's why I've converted to UFC. It all started with the original 'Ultimate Fighter' reality series on Spike. I watched the first couple shows and was hooked! (Season 2 sucked, but I'm chalking that up to a statistical anomaly) I remember when Royce Gracie first introduced the idea in the early-to-mid 90's . . . but I never paid much attention. Probably because when I saw the fight go to the ground, I quickly got bored. That was because I didn't understand what was happening. When you watch two fighters who are highly skilled grapplers, it's like watching a physical chess match ... the submission attempts and counters to those attempts ... if you don't know what to look for, then it's easy to miss what's happening. I've sort of become somewhat of a student of the sport, however, and now I find myself thinking in terms of Kimuras and Arm Bars rather than "oh great, they're hugging on the mat again". LOL

I've got a number of favorite fighters, and last night's fight featured one of my top picks, Chuck Liddell. This guy is a complete menace. He's knocked out a who's who of MMA fighters, and 57 featured the rubber match between him and Randy "The Natural" Couture. They'd each knocked the other out once, and it was a classic match-up of opposing styles. Chuck likes to keep the fight on the feet and knock guys out with a variety of hands and feet. Randy is a ground-and-pound specialist who prefers to take his opponent down and then beat him into submission. The consensus among announcers and fans was that if the fight remains standup, Chuck takes it. If it goes to the ground, Randy wins.

I'm not sure I completely agree with that analysis - even though the previous two fights proved that theory. Randy won the first fight by repeatedly taking Chuck down - but at the same time, he was also winning the standup fight ... something nobody expected. The second match, Chuck put Randy to sleep with a right hand that started somewhere north of Philadelphia and ended in Vegas, right on Randy's chin. Nighty night. But to say Chuck is only a standup fighter or Randy is only a ground-and-pound specialist is to do both of them a disservice. Chuck wrestled Division I in college, and Randy - as evidenced in the first fight - can throw hands with anyone.

I was totally psyched for the fight, and while I was hoping it would go into the 4th or even 5th round, I was prepared for a 1st or 2nd round TKO. Chuck didn't disappoint - he knocked Randy out about a minute into Round 2 with another patented right, followed by about three more rights after Couture had already hit the mat. Chuck's a bad man. That's a fact.

I'm not sure who is on the horizon that can be considered a serious threat to Liddell. Sobral is probably the newest #1 contender, but Liddell already knocked him out in their last meeting. I'm sure Dana White and the UFC are grooming Forest Griffin for a title shot so the 'teacher vs. pupil' angle can be played up . . . but I really don't think Griffin poses much of a threat. Sort of like Quarry didn't pose much of a threat to Franklin. Jesus . . . I thought Franklin had killed Quarry when he knocked him out. I've never seen a fighter go completely stiff like that.

Fights I'm psyched about in the future (which are already scheduled):

Georges St. Pierre vs. BJ Penn

Matt Hughes vs. Royce Gracie

And the fight I'm dying to see, which hasn't been inked as of yet:

Matt Hughes vs. Georges St. Pierre, Part II

Introduction

2006-02-04T13:21:00.000-08:00

The night was calm . . . no no . . . The night was moist . . . NO . . . hmm ... The night was calm and moist . . . aw hell, forget it.

The first sentence of any introduction is always the most difficult. Now that I deftly sidestepped that little bump in the road, I can begin my enthralling discourse. In other words, yak about myself. Truth be told, I never really understood the concept of a blog - at least insofar as I defined it. The few I've checked out in the past year or so have been nauseatingly boring compendiums on every minute detail of a person's day. Give me a break. The last thing I want to do is read about someone's horrifically boring conspiracy theories regarding why they got passed up for that big promotion at work. I intend to avoid that like the plague. That being said, I honestly don't know what format this blog will take, or how long it will hold my attention. For the time being it seems like a somewhat interesting diversion.

This being an introduction, I suppose I should take care of the compulsory "Hi, this is me" - just in case you happened to stumble across my tiny pocket of reality by accident. Please join me for a stroll down Amnesia Lane ...

I attended a comically tiny high school in an equally tiny (and comical) city in southeastern Michigan. It provided me with an education that can only be described as 'depressing'. In four years of high school, I think I was only required to read a handful of books. Let's see, there was Crime and Punishment, Watership Down, The Great Gatsby . . . and that's about it. Now don't get me wrong - it isn't that I can't remember any other books we read . . . it's that there weren't any other books we read. Math was congruently ridiculous. The highest level of math at our school was (drum roll, please): Pre-Calc. Bwa ha ha ha!!

Luckily, sometime during my Junior year, we were required to take the PSAT (Preliminary SAT/National Merit Scholarship Qualifying Test. It's a standardized test that provides firsthand practice for the SAT. It also gives you a chance to enter National Merit Scholarship Corporation (NMSC) scholarship programs.), and I did pretty well. I don't remember the score, but I do remember two things about it: 1) The military recruiters wouldn't screw off after that 2) I was offered a chance to attend Boston College for the summer semester between my Junior and Senior years. That had my name written all over it.

You have to understand that even though I was attending a high school that an academic tragedy, my friends and I thought (as all teenagers do) that we were Kings of All Creation. Getting A's in our school must mean that we're geniuses, right?? Well . . . no. In fact, the adjective needed to describe how wrong that statement is hasn't been invented yet. So I was firmly convinced that I was going to blaze a trail through Boston College, much like Sherman's stroll through Georgia.

That's when Reality delivered me a quick, emphatic knee in the balls. What you need to understand is that in my high school English classes, I could hand in a book report that spent 12 pages detailing the virtues of pizza and probably not do worse than an A-. Did that prepare me in any way for life after high school? Definitely not. But at least it did set the stage for me getting my ass kicked in my first college class.

I took two classes at BC - English 125 (first semester freshman English) and Calc 110 (first semester freshman Calc). I was totally prepared not only to set the curve . . . I was going to be the curve! The first paper we were assigned to write had to be 12 pages (Typed no less! Jesus! Is this woman insane?! How can anybody possibly write a paper THAT long in only a week?!). I left class the day that first assignment was handed out cursing my luck for picking the one ballbreaking prof at the school. Then came my Calc class. It started out with a brief *review* of derivatives. (Derivatives?! What the HELL is a derivative?? Why is everyone else looking so calm and relaxed?! Why do I have to pee so badly??)

I went back to my room that night and decided to start on my paper. It was to be a descriptive paper, which is to say I had to pick something . . . anything . . . and spend 12 pages describing it. Doesn't sound too difficult, does it? Well at that moment in time, the assignment could just as easily have been "Define The Meaning Of Life". Not only could I not come up with a topic, but I couldn't get my mind off what the hell a derivative was. So after two hours of staring at a blank piece of paper, I decided to take a stab at Calc. Maybe the book explained derivatives somewhere. I quickly discovered that the book assumed a certain degree of knowledge - which I unfortunately didn't possess.

First paper: D+. First math quiz: F. Suddenly I was the jackass everyone looked at to make themselves feel better about the 'C' they got. It was the first time in my life that I had definitive, tangible proof that I was a dumbass. And it sucked. I didn't like it one bit.

One thing about me, however, is I don't like to lose. A few of my friends describe me as "hypercompetitive". I suppose that's fairly accurate. A couple years after BC I bought one of those 'No Fear' shirts that pretty much encapsulated my view on Life: "Second place is the first loser". I'm sure you've probably heard the saying (thus pushing it dangerously close to cliche territory), but at the time when I first saw it, it was an epiphany. It described me perfectly.

That being said, when I received my first set of grades at BC I realized that I could only aspire to being the first loser. I was so far in the back of the bus that I couldn't even see the front. And it was then - at that very moment - when I admitted to myself that, compared to this new group of peers, I was your basic garden-variety nitwit. I had spent the last three years waltzing through high school, completely secure in the knowledge that I was smart. That I was educated. Getting punched in the face never feels good.

Pretty much everyone else in my dorm was light years ahead of me in terms of education. I remember spending one of the first nights across the hall from my room hanging out with some people from the Syracuse area. They were talking about The Iliad. The conversation could have been in Chinese. It would have made just as much sense. So after getting my ass handed to me on my paper and quiz, I went to talk with my professors. They didn't know me from Adam, and I could see in their eyes that they were fairly comfortable placing me in the basket labeled "DUMBASS". I was already hot about bombing out on the first grades in each class, but that seriously pissed me off. That look. "Look kid, if you can't handle the stuff we do during the first week, maybe you should just head back to the farm and find a nice piece of wheat to chew."

I was determined to ace both classes from that point on. There was a library on campus not too far from my dorm, and aside from eating and working out, I spent basically every waking hour there. I probably should have been concentrating on getting caught up in my classes, but my first order of business was to read The Iliad. I remember when I thought Crime and Punishment was a hard read. Good Lord. Give me Dostoevsky any day over this poetic gibberish! I would fumble and swear my way through about 10 pages of The Iliad, at which point the pounding in my head would become unbearable. I spent several days wishing like hell I could smash something. So roughly once an hour I would leave the library and run up and down the nearby steps to blow off some steam. I'm sure the people sitting near me in the library were profoundly (dismayed) curious who the sweaty freak at the other table was. And why the hell does he keep punching himself in the forehead like that?

I soon fell into a groove, however. I quickly realized my time management skills also sucked. I can't tell you how much time I wasted bouncing back and forth between assignments - 10 minutes on my paper, 12 minutes preparing for a math quiz, back to my paper for 17 minutes . . . because my brain was a cacophony of competing commands. Learning to take a deep breath and focus on the task at hand until it was finished was perhaps the greatest thing BC taught me. Well, that and what a derivative is.

Since I crapped all over my first week in each class, getting a solid 'A' in each class was mathematically impossible. In truth, an 'A-' was probably equally impossible. But the professors who initially set fire to my ass during our first conferences took notice of the turnaround. I managed an 'A-' in English and a 'B+' in Calc. I truly believe that if it hadn't been for the BC experience, I would have strolled blissfully to the University of Michigan after graduating from high school . . . and been promptly flattened.