A Letter to My Condo Association; Or: Sometimes The Best Defense Is Absurdity

Public Enemy - "Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos"

I got a letter from the government the other day. I opened and read it and said they were SUCKAS!

Okay, it wasn't the government. It was my condo association. And it wasn't the other day, it was three years ago. And I didn't just call them suckas, I wrote them a letter.

You see, until recently, I lived in a condo complex in Newington called Woodsedge. I loved the place. I lived there for almost 7 years. I never had a problem the entire time I lived there, except for a small stretch around '09. 

While I was living with my good friend (ML aka MLiggy aka Hedo Turkoglu) our landlord (my other good friend, Rizz aka The Rzarektah aka Randy Rizzo) received a letter from the condo association. The head of the association stated that they had received several complaints about our condo unit. I took exception to some of the complaints, and the fact that he did not state who made them, so I responded back. 

Here is that response:

Dear Mr. Schaefer,*

My landlord recently brought to my attention a letter he received from you concerning the unit I live in , 35-6C. I would like to address several of the comments you made, many of which I find absurd and even offensive. 

I'll start off by saying that I have lived here for 4 years now and I have never received any complaints until the neighbors directly below my unit moved in. It is true that they have asked us to turn down our music several times, and we have immediately obliged. One time, I accidentally dropped cassette tapes on the ground and she came up to complain, saying that some people had to work in the morning, as if I meant to drop and break my tapes, and as if to condescendingly imply that I didn't have to work. Also, I feel it is a tad hypocritical to ask someone to turn down their music, and then 20 minutes later, blast your own music, as they have done on several occasions. On top of all that, they take the next step to contact the condo association. Well, we have also had to ask them to turn down their music on several occasions and I don't find it necessary to go any further than that if they do turn it down. 

As far as "loud sexual sounds" coming from our unit, I didn't realize we were living in Puritannical times. I am a grown man in a monogamous relationship. My girlfriend and I happen to enjoy each other's company, and as consenting adults, sometimes that involves sexual intercourse; and yes, sometimes we can be vocal about it. My roommate and his partner feel the same way. If I wanted to read into these complaints about "sexual sounds", I might declare discrimination against my roommate and his partner. Maybe that's the problem; maybe some of the other tenants don't want "their kind" in the building. Well, I'm proud to say that we live in one of the few states that recognizes gay marriage, and maybe one day, all of the citizens of this state will be as open-minded as our state's legislation, which bans ALL kinds of discrimination. But like I said, maybe I'm just reading into this too much.

Now to address the problem of littering: last year, my roommate at the time did smoke and threw cigarette butts off the deck. When a sign was posted notifying tenants, he took a look at the ground beneath, realized his mistake, and changed his behavior. It hasn't been an issue since, and of course, he doesn't even live here anymore. And as far as beer cans being thrown off the deck, that is absurd. Show me a beer can on the ground. To accuse myself and my roommate of treating our place like a college dormitory is not only offensive but pretty ironic as I actually teach at Tunxis Community College. I haven't lived on a college campus in 8 years and if anyone thinks my place is a dorm, they are quickly shown the door. 

Mr. Schaefer, I understand that you are the person responsible for complaints and that it is not an easy job dealing with everybody's different personalities. As an educator, I realize this, trust me. However, you have to take into consideration who is doing the complaining. Our neighbors directly below us have made it almost impossible to enjoy ourselves. We have gone to extraordinary lengths to appease them and nothing seems to work. She told my roommate to turn down the music one Friday night at 7pm. He was listening to an ipod player at a very appropriate level (the ipod player does not even reach a high level) but he was still kind enough to oblige and listen to his music through headphones. Now if there have been other complaints from other tenants, maybe I'm wrong and maybe our idea of appropriate audio levels differ, but in my entire time at the condo, I have had no complaints from anyone else. I could complain about her dog that woke me up for a month straight at 7am. I could complain about the 10 minutes of hammering or pounding on food or whatever the noise is they make down there almost every day, but I don't, because I realize that some things in life are noisy. There are a lot of people in this building, with a lot of different work schedules, and there are bound to be some loud noises, possibly even some sexual sounds. We understand that, we respect all of our neighbors and the entire community, and we hope that respect is shown to us. 

Thank you.

*his real name!

They sent a letter saying the issue would be addressed at their upcoming meeting. I never heard from them again. 

I Love You All (Even You, Mr. Schaefer)...Class Dismissed.

A Note from the Ashes

Talib Kweli "The Proud"

Today marks the 11th anniversary of the September 11 attacks. More than any other world event, this atrocity has shaped the way I view myself and the world around me.

This event so thoroughly captivated the world because we have become a global society that communicates mostly through images (tv, internet) and the images from this day were so profound. The phrase "it felt like a movie" was heard constantly because the only way we could process this surreal event was through pop culture. We searched our mental index of disaster movies to envision the proper response. How do people respond to the sky falling?

Soon after, we heard the real stories of how people responded. There are countless stories of ordinary people doing extraordinary things, for their loved ones and for absolute strangers. Heartbreaking tales of courage and sacrifice.

It's cliche to point out the fact that tragedies, especially this one, bring people together, but this anniversary always reminds me of how united we can be as a country. We are now at a point where the mere mention of a political party can incite rage. Even I have resorted to over-generalizations at times that do no good for a real discussion (and I'm supposed to be independent). We all do it.

Just recently, This letter, written from a man trapped on the 84th floor of the World Trade Center on that fateful day, made its way home to his wife after passing through several hands over the past ten years. He wrote this to notify someone, anyone, about the people trapped on his floor. All those people, despite all odds, trying desperately to help each other survive.

Afterwards, we mourned together as a country. For a short time, we felt united. I won't get into what happened afterwards (the lies and deceit by our own government that led us into two unsustainable, unjustified wars, one of which has lasted more than a decade) but for that small moment, we saw what the people of this country were capable of. It was inspiring. If we can adopt that mindset to deal with our everyday problems, like the economy, and education, and FUCKING AFGHANISTAN, we will have a much brighter future than if we maintain our current attitude of contempt and ridicule for people with slightly differing opinions on healthcare or immigration reform.

9/11 will always be remembered, especially in this age of the image. It changed the world in more ways than we think. People not born yet will still feel the effects of this tragedy; not just learn about it, but actually feel it. It has sent a ripple through time, a shock-wave that will resonate for generations to come. I hope we remember the moments right after the attacks. The empathy for our fellow citizens, regardless of who they were. The solidarity, the willingness to never give up fighting for each other's lives. Even the anger; remember how we felt about our attackers, and remember what that anger led us to. Remember the lives lost. Imagine the pain that wife must have felt when that letter finally reached her; after believing that he died quickly and painlessly for ten years, she discovered that her husband was still alive when the buildings fell. This small letter had miraculously survived and literally risen up from the ashes to make a journey all the way back to her. It was painful, but she deserved to know the truth, and hopefully it has brought her some peace. I think the few words on the charred piece of paper show that her husband was a hero. Even in those final bleak moments, he still fought to survive, to help his fellow men and women. Against all odds, he made one final effort to save himself and those around him. That is the spirit we need to remember.

Even if we wanted to, we could never forget. There will always be those random moments or words or images that remind us. I welcome them. 9/11 was a day when I felt every emotion possible: sadness, confusion, fear, anger, hope, despair, courage, and on and on. It represented the extremes of each end of the human spectrum, from absolute good to absolute evil. It was a surreal moment that brought reality into focus for my young mind.

As we remember the emotions brought on by the attacks, I also hope we remember what it was like before 9/11. There was a lot less paranoia. A lot less fear. I won't say there was much more camaraderie or partisanship in politics, but we seemed a little more civilized about our contempt for each other, and we seemed able to get things done. More than a decade later, we still haven't finished the 9/11 monument. In honor of the thousands of lives lost that day, and the many more lost in the wake of the attacks, let's try to remember that we are all on the same side here. Some of us have different ideas on how to achieve our goals, but we are all working for the same things.

Let's work together so we don't finish the job the attackers started.

RIP to the victims of the attacks and all those who have died in the response to those attacks.

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.

Team, Spirit

We are the Champions...again.

Here's a little secret: the last blog post was about me. Crazy, right? I know, but it's true. For the past three years, my friends and I have formed a kickball team for the New Britain Parks and Rec Adult Kickball League. The first year, as The MotorboatingPongingBloggers, we dominated the regular season and were the heavy favorites to win the championship. Unfortunately, we faltered in the first round of the playoffs.

The next season we came back as Captain Littlejohn and The BigFoots with a renewed focus on friendship and fun. We lost several games in the regular season, but we were enjoying ourselves more than any other team in the league, and more than we had during the first season. We entered the playoffs with no hopes or expectations and we left with a championship trophy.

This year, as the defending champs and newly titled C.H.A.M.P.S. (Can't Hate a Motherf*ckin' Pimp Squad) we remained focused on friendship and fun. We realized that was the only route to success. It's not about the trophy or the town-wide respect; those things are simply byproducts of friendship and teamwork.

The legendary game from my previous blog was our last regular season game. Victory in that game assured us a bye in the first round of the playoffs. 

On Tuesday evening, we handily beat both of our opponents, only allowing one run in two games. Our defense remained impeccable and our offense was showing signs of greatness.

The championship series (best of 3) was held on Wednesday. It was a rematch of the instant classic from last week. Both teams were anxious to face each other again. Parks and Rec broke the bank and brought a PA system to introduce the teams and play the national anthem. In a typical act of camaraderie, the C.H.A.M.P.S. declined the individual introductions and came out as a team. One unit. One family. One goal.

There was something about this day from the start. We had celebrated our victories in the playoffs the night before, so the morning was a little rough. After I turned my phone's alarm off, I wasn't ready to get out of bed, so I checked facebook. The first quote I saw was from a rapper I follow: "I know today will be great because I will make it that way." It was a powerful sentiment to begin the day. 

Once I finally got out of bed and arrived at work, I got some good news from my boss. I was trying not to view every thing that happened as some kind of sign of things to come, but when the signs are all positive, it's hard not to find a connection. 

For lunch I had fried rice and chicken from the Thai place in New Britain. I felt like I had already won the championship. I had definitely won lunchtime.

After lunch I checked facebook again. I'm not just friends with famous rappers, I also allow my family to become friends with me on facebook (I'm just generous like that). I saw two posts, one from my aunt and one from my cousin, that stopped me in my tracks. This day was the 6 year anniversary of my grandmother's (my father's mother) passing. Six years to the day. 

In my mind, I was transported back in time. I was at UConn Health Center in a hospital room with my family, surrounding my grandmother, lovingly nicknamed E-Mommy (Two-Mama to some). She was lying in bed with tubes down her nose and throat. For the first time in my life, I saw my very independent grandmother unable to speak or do anything on her own. It was heart-wrenching. She was 95 (96?) and I had come to grips with the fact that she would die soon, but I could never have prepared myself to see her suffer. More than any physical pain, I knew it had to eat her up to be unable to care for herself, and especially to be unable to talk. She may have had horrible hearing for the last decade of her life, but she had no problem talking. The tube in her mouth must have been torture. 

After saying hello to E-Mommy, my family and I made small talk (something I've never been good at). Something about death and discomfort causes people to talk passionately about their favorite tv shows or some other inane, irrelevant topic. 

I didn't do much talking. I mostly looked at my grandmother, lying in bed. This was where we would all eventually end up. No matter how we lived our lives, no matter how many achievements and accomplishments, no matter how many or how few friends we've made, no matter how much money we make, no matter what our political views are, all of our stories end the same way. As my family talked, I kept looking into her eyes. I didn't know what to say. Anything I could have said would have been trite. I never know what to say to people at funerals, never mind what to say to a dying person. But as I looked into her eyes and she looked back, I felt like we were communicating more powerfully than ever before. She wasn't talking to me in my mind like Professor X, there was just a feeling, a connection that felt very powerful. I could tell she wanted to talk (as usual) and I felt like I knew exactly what she was saying. It was crazy, but I almost felt like her life flashed before my eyes.  

There was no fear in her eyes, except for maybe the fear that I wouldn't understand what she was trying to say. I felt her strong desire to speak, to at least say goodbye, and I wanted to rip the tube out to hear her voice one last time.

Instead I took her hand and kept looking in her eyes. I felt her wisdom, her empathy, her passion for life flowing through me.  Powerful thoughts floated around my mind: "Take time to appreciate your life. Love your friends and family. Live for the moment, with an eye on the future."

Maybe it was just standard, even cliche, life advice flashing through my brain, but in that moment, those cliches became truth in my mind. Looking in her eyes, I felt the urgency of life. I felt her desire to live just a little bit longer, even though she had don so much in her life. I felt her pleading with her eyes, "Don't wait for life to happen, live it." Enjoy the moments with your friends and family because you never know how long you, or they, have in this world.

I left the room and joined my family for lunch. My grandmother died soon after, having lived a long, glorious life. Along with my mother's mother (who also lived into her 90's) she left an indelible impression on me. I can only hope to live up to the example she set.

Since her passing, I have tried to live by the lessons she imparted to me (or the lessons I felt like she was trying to tell me). Most importantly, I have learned to have a greater appreciation for my friends and family, and I have tried my best to live in the moment. Luckily, I have friends who live by the same premises. The C.H.A.M.P.S. in particular, play by the creed "have more fun than our competitor's and we will win." Maybe we won't come out on top, but we will still win. We wanted to win each game, but that was always secondary to the joy we took in playing together and the love we showed each other.

Some may say that Adult Kickball is a silly concept, that adults can and should find better ways to spend their time. Although I agree that a kickball championship should not be your only aspiration in life, I would venture to say that more people need to spend some time running around in the dirt and kicking rubber balls with their friends. Science tells us that "play" is one of the best means for learning in a child, and I would add that the same goes for adults. Team sports in particular offer all participants numerous opportunities to learn and grow as a person. At the very least, playing a sport is great stress relief. 

So with our team pride and overall joy on full display, and with the thought of my grandmother at the forefront of my mind, C.H.A.M.P.S. took the field on Wednesday night. 

The first game was a nail-biter. The 7th inning came and went, and we headed to extra innings tied 0-0. In no time, it was the bottom of the 9th, and neither team looked like they would be able to break the tie. Our mid-2nd baseman Abby strode to the plate. She kicked a hard grounder to third base. The somewhat over-confident third baseman rushed the throw and the ball sailed past the first baseman. Abby ran to second base.

The imposing Chief Peterson stepped up to the plate. There were less than 2 outs, so we knew that a couple well-placed kicks could seal a victory. 

All it took was one kick. Chief sailed it over the second baseman's head and Abby took off. She rounded third, didn't even fall on her face, and scored the winning run.

We congratulated each other, but kept the celebration to a minimum. 

One win down, one to go. 

In truth, whether or not we won the next game was truly irrelevant; we had created something with our team that was truly special. Our exuberance and our friendship had transcended the game and had even infected the crowd gathered to watch the game. It's hard not to root for a team that cheers everyone on constantly and forms an (almost) never-ending loop of high-fives on the sideline after every inning. We had created something long-lasting, something that would live beyond the plastic trophies and the plaques hanging up in Town Hall; we had created an unbreakable bond with each other.

We were the visiting team for the second game. It started off slow once again. Early in the game, we took the lead after our star short-stop Dizzle sped his way from first base to home on a fly ball.

Our defense remained perfect and we scored a few more times soon after the first run. With Captain Littlejohn on the mound, we knew the other team had no chance. He hadn't given up a run in two games and when all was said and done, he only gave up one run in 30 playoff innings.

As the final out was made, the team ran towards the pitcher's mound, high-fives flying everywhere. After a quick celebration, we made our way to home plate to shake the other team's hands. They played hard and we had a lot of respect for them.

After the hand shakes, the celebration resumed. We had defended our championship, using our friendship as an unstoppable force. We may not have had the most talent in the league, but we had the most love.

It was a joyous night, one that will not soon be forgotten. As we gathered together and raised our kickball trophies in the air, my thoughts returned to my grandmother. I couldn't help but imagine E-Mommy smiling down on me, knowing that I was living by the lessons she passed on to me.

I love you E-Mommy.

I love you C.H.A.M.P.S.

WOOOOOOOOO!

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.

One Shining Moment

 Friendship Wins with a Walk-Off

He stepped towards the plate and considered his options. It was the last inning and his team was down 1-0. This was the last game of the regular season and both teams were playing for a bye in the first round of the playoffs. The game was a defensive battle with great plays made by both sides.

For some reason, he never worried about losing the game, and he knew every one of his teammates felt the same way. They had played too hard and their friendship was too strong; losing was simply not an option.

By some stroke of luck, or karma, or weedle, the top of the line-up came up to start the last inning. Everything that happened in the previous innings had led to this opportunity. They had stressed friendship and teamwork all season, and the few times they were behind on the scoreboard, their joyous camaraderie never ceased for one moment.

Their lead off man is the fastest person in New Britain, and in the game's biggest moment, he turned a routine blooper into a double to lead off the inning. The already excited team became especially ecstatic knowing the tying run was in scoring position with no outs.

Next up, the star center-fielder executed a perfect sacrifice fly, sending the speedy tying run to third. All it would take was another sac fly to tie the game.

It was his turn, and it didn't take him long to know the only real option: get the ball high up in the air and bring the runner home.

He took the first pitch, an outside fastball.

The second pitch started out directly towards his preferred zone but began bouncing halfway to the plate.

The team cheered from the bench.

"Come on Thuggy!"

"Let's go Thug!"

"Here we go friendship!"

All he had to do was kick the shit out of the ball and get the runner home.

The ball came in quickly but straightforward, low to the ground, and directly over the plate. He took a few steps and kicked the shit out of the ball.

It shot out towards left center field, arching high into the night sky, illuminated by the field's bright lights.

The left fielder, seemingly in a last second, independent decision, decided to play volleyball and sent the ball right back up into the sky. It was an effort to delay the runner from tagging up; unfortunately for the defense, the rules state that the runner can tag as soon as contact is made. What the move did succeed in doing was confusing the hell out of everybody.

The tying run stayed on third, waiting to see what would happen. The second baseman stood waiting for the ball to come back down, hoping to turn and throw out the runner at home plate. Maybe it was his anxiousness to throw the ball, or his confusion at what just happened, but something caused him to let the ball slip right through his fingers and roll towards center field.

The runner on third finally took off and made it easily to home plate while the third base coach shouted "Run!" and "Get home!" to the confused runner just rounding first base.

He was halfway to second base when he saw the ball rolling on the ground in the outfield. He wasn't sure what happened. He looked to make sure the tying run scored. He saw a sea of yellow shirts on the third base line waving him on and screaming at him to run. He put his head down and did just that.

He rounded second base and looked towards the coach who was still shouting at the top of his lungs. There was no question: he was running, and he was scoring.

He rounded third and looked towards home. He knew the ball had to be getting close. He didn't have a lot of speed, but his feet managed to switch to fifth gear; unfortunately, the rest of his body stayed in fourth gear. He felt himself losing balance. His body started to tip forward as his feet furiously scampered beneath it. He was now parallel to the ground.

Images of Ryan Braun flashed through his mind. Except this was worse; this would cost his team the game.

He put his hands out and managed to balance himself enough to stumble a few more paces towards home plate. He thought he might be able to right himself, but after 3 or 4 more sloppy steps, he fell forward on his face.

He looked at the plate, about ten steps away, and began to crawl. At any moment, the ball would hit him directly in the back.

He made an attempt to get up but couldn't get past his knees. He silently wished for someone to pick him up.

His wish was granted. He felt a tug at the back of his shirt and his body was lifted enough to get his feet underneath him . He was up and running but he knew it was too late. The ball had to be coming for him.

He looked back as he ran. The ball was rolling around near third base. The defense made no effort to pick it up.

He walked the last few steps and fell backwards on top of home plate, waiting for the ensuing celebration as his teammates rushed towards him.

The game was over. Friendship had persevered once again.

I Love You All (Especially you, C.H.A.M.P.S.)...Class Dismissed.

Mardi Gras 2012 Video

I have finally uploaded the Mardi Gras video from my trip earlier this year. Enjoy.

BTW, NSFW.

That means "by the way, not safe for work." I guess I could have just written that in the first place and saved time. 

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.

How HBO's The Newsroom Pimped Out Gabby Giffords

I didn't hate the first three episodes of HBO's new series, The Newsroom. I thought that it lacked subtlety and the creator/writer's political agenda outshined the characters and the story itself. Oddly enough, I mostly agree with their political stance, yet I was turned off by it because it's so apparent on a show that's aiming to be non-biased. The show was somewhat entertaining, though.

The Newsroom focuses on Will McAvoy, played by Jeff Daniels, a tv news anchor who suffers an emotional breakdown on air. The first episode shows Will making a passionate speech about the state of America and the state of politics, condemning both Republicans and Democrats. Of course, most of the things he mentions are typical Democrat gripes (poor education, poor health care, corporate interference in politics, etc.).

After his meltdown and a hiatus from the airwaves, Will returns. He gets an entirely new news team and he promises to return to a time when newsmen were objective truth speakers. They are going to do what no other tv news show is currently doing in this divisive political landscape. However, if you are familiar with reality, you'll notice that Will doesn't do or say anything Jon Stewart hasn't been saying for the last decade, albeit with a lot less humor. In one episode, Will takes on the tea party. He maintains his claim that he is a "true" Republican, and that is why he's so angry with the tea partiers for hijacking his party; yet in reality, any news anchors calling out the tea party were always on left-leaning networks. He makes complaints that we in 2012 can clearly see are valid, but in 2010, when the show is supposed to take place, Republicans were largely quiet about the tea party. Democratic-leaning news agencies were happy to paint the teabaggers as the lunatic fringe that they are, but more conservative media outlets never questioned the validity of the tea party.

That's my biggest gripe with the show. It is about a news team that seeks out the truth and says things that other news organizations are too afraid or stupid or too politically connected to say; however, Aaron Sorkin, the creator of the show, decided to base the series in the recent past, giving the writers (and therefore the characters) the benefit of hindsight. So when the Deepwell Horizon rig exploded, Will's team was smart enough to know that it would turn into something huge and they were the first to report about the explosion and the ongoing spill. Will and his news team are finally validated by the public and the network executives.

All of this was forgivable, though. The political agenda was obvious, but at least it was similar to my way of thinking. It was a little contrived and cheesy, but it was semi-entertaining because of the personal story-lines (unfortunately, those have become unbearable, too). My biggest problem was that the audience is asked to hold this news team up on a high horse for getting these stories right, yet the show is in the past, so the writers have the benefit of knowing what will happen. If the creators and writers wanted to show how a news agency can be honest and successful in a divided political landscape, they should have stayed in the present, or even the future; it's easy to say what people should have done when we all know how things end up. Show me a new or current situation and how this "Last News Team With Integrity" handles it, then I'll be more impressed.

Again, all of this was forgivable, until the episode, "I'll Fix You." The first 50 minutes was the typical The Newsroom, with Will and his ex-lover/executive producer arguing about their relationship and the other news team members embroiled in some personal clashes of their own. Will gives a long lesson on gun control to a date, and a long diatribe on air about the Republican belief that Obama is tightening restrictions on guns (he's not). There's no bigger gun control advocate than me and even I thought the didacticism was too much. A whole bunch of nothing else happens until the last ten minutes. While in a meeting, one of the news team members sees a breaking story online and tells Will and the executive producer. Their faces become very serious and everyone jumps to action. We finally hear what happened. There's been a shooting in Tucson, Arizona.

The solemn music starts. Everyone is busy making calls and checking sources online. They are going to mae a breaking news announcement.

At this point I was actually very intrigued. I was upset they were using a Coldplay song (Coldplay?!?!) but I may have gotten a little emotional. Anything involving Congresswoman Gabby Giffords gets to me. I wanted to write a blog about her a while back but every time I tried I needed to stop and gather myself. She is an incredible woman and the tragedy that killed 6 people and nearly killed her still resonates with me today. When she returned to the Congress floor the first time after the event, it was one of the rare moments when politicians of every stripe came together in a positive way. Tragedy often unites people, but her courage and conviction after the tragedy added a whole other element. She is truly an American hero who has inspired countless people, and who is still struggling to return to 100% health.

And Aaron Fucking Sorkin used her tragedy as a plot device to further glorify Will McAvoy and his news team as the only honest, sensitive, and intelligent news source on television.

I realize other movies have used real life tragedies as plot devices, and The Newsroom may not even be the worst offender, but it really rubbed me the wrong way. They focused on Giffords in particular, so it was a very personal story, which makes it even more invasive. It was so conniving; soon after we learn about the shooting, the question of whether or not Giffords was alive became the focus. One other news agency had already reported her as dead, but they had no real source. Will's news team wants to wait until they have a second source for validity. The network doesn't want them to wait; they can't get scooped by the other major news agencies.

Three other news agencies have now reported that Giffords has died, yet they are all basing it on the first report. Will's executive producer wants to wait. The network people are getting angry. Will may never work again if he doesn't report on her death immediately. What is he waiting for? The network guy demands that he reports on her death. Will defers to his news team, including Don, the show's former executive producer. Don says they should wait. "This is a human being" he says, or something equally outrageously corny. The network guy's head almost explodes, and Will reports that there is no word on Gabby Gifford's status. Soon enough, a source confirms that she is still alive. Will is the first (and only) news source to accurately report on her condition. They had trust in themselves and hope for a fellow human being and it paid off. They reported from the heart, and they were right.

As they cut to commercial, Will cheers, tells the guy from Law and Order that he's "not fucking around anymore", excitedly congratulates Don on being a "real news man", and when his executive producer/ex-girlfriend passionately takes fault for "fucking everything up", Will says everything will be all right. They did it. They have won the news.

And six people died and Gabby Giffords still struggles to speak and walk properly, all so some asshole named Aaron Sorkin could use them as a plot device to garner cheap emotions in his shitty television series a year later.

Will McAvoy isn't some savior of truth in reporting. He's a mouthpiece for assface Aaron Sorkin to show the world how smart, honest, integral people would have reported the news. Of course the Deepwell Horizon was going to turn into the biggest environmental disaster in history; of course the tea party is just a bunch of lunatics who vote against their own interests; and of course Gabby Giffords was going to survive and become an inspiration for the nation. Anyone who didn't believe that or report on it as it was happening was clearly a moron.

Or they didn't have the benefit of hindsight. I agree that American news agencies do a horrendous job when it comes to politics, but what they can't do is report on the past to make themselves appear intellectually superior.

Only Will McAvoy can do that. But I'm not gonna watch him do it anymore. Maybe members of the news media will watch and gain something from the lessons espoused in The Newsroom, but judging by recent events, I doubt it.

Maybe Sorkin was trying to recapture that inspiration and emotion we all felt as we learned that Gabby Giffords would survive. But if you want to really recapture that, watch some interviews with Gabby, read this article, or watch this video where Congress welcomes her back.

Real inspiration, real emotion. Not some bullshit drama leeching off real life events and heroes.

Fuck The Newsroom and fuck its creator, scumsucker Aaron Sorkin.

Keep getting better, Gabby.

I Love You All (Except you, Aaron Sorkin)...Class Dismissed.

Doggie Dreams

Redman - "Doggz II"

As you may know, I recently went to Africa (and if you don't know, why aren't you taking more interest in my life?). Before going, I had to get several immunizations. I also had to take malaria pills every day, starting two days before my trip. One of the possible side effects for the pills was "weird dreams". To me, that seemed more like an added bonus than a side effect. I enjoy dreams, even weird ones (especially weird ones). I'm fascinated by the way our minds work, and dreams are simply our subconscious minds expressing themselves. Even nightmares are fascinating to me. The fact that something happening in the unconscious mind can have an impact on our physical bodies (sweating, chills, sense of fear) is incredible; it shows how little we know about our own brains, and furthermore, our own existence.

I didn't have too many weird dreams in Africa because I didn't sleep too well with the heat and an awful bed, but I did have a few very vivid, very strange dreams. One in particular felt intensely realistic, and it created in my mind a certainty of future events. Let me explain:

About a week into my trip to Tanzania, I started to sleep a little better. One night, I must have slept for a solid 4 hours straight (a mini-miracle at that point). When I awoke, I remembered my dream clearly. As with all of my dreams, the chronology was off; I don't know where things started or ended, they just happened. All I know is, I ended up with a dog in my car as I drove to my home at Corbin Frat in New Britain. The dog was a pit-bull mix with a grayish(almost blue)/black coat. He was short but thick and muscular, like most pits. I remembered thinking in my dream ("thinking" inside of a dream is pretty weird in itself; it's like multiple levels of your consciousness working at once) that I would have to somehow convince my roommate/ landlord (J-Rocka) to keep the dog. That was an odd thought, because I know he loves dogs. However, in real life, we had previously talked about having a dog at our place and always came to the same conclusion: we didn't have work schedules that would allow us to properly care for a dog. So in my dream, I was a little nervous about how he would react.

After a long drive with the dog (or a quick one, time is meaningless in dream) I finally reached home. As I entered, everything seemed very strange. There was paint (blood maybe) all over the walls and things were knocked over. J-Rocka came downstairs with 2 other friends. They had very focused, serious looks on their faces, and it looked like they were prepared for war. I told J-Rockefeller about the dog and he approved, but it seemed like he barely heard because he was still focused on something else. I asked what was going on and he explained that some people had robbed/trashed the house. My friends were now going after the people who had done it. As they left, I asked if I could help. Then I remembered that I had a deadly weapon on a leash, and I took the dog with me. We started out on our revenge mission...and then I woke up.

It didn't make much sense, but I had the overwhelming feeling that we would be getting a dog soon after I returned from Africa. I just hoped the rest of it wouldn't come true.

When I finally got home on a Friday afternoon, one of the first things Jay said to me was, "I might be getting a dog." Friends of his couldn't take care of their dog anymore and they were looking for a good home.

I laughed to myself. After my dream, I was truly convinced we would be getting a dog, but it's one of those things that is still very strange when it happens. I didn't want to jinx anything so I decided to tell him about the dream after we physically had the dog.

The next day, J-RockaFlocka told me how there had been several burglaries in the area and we should be extra careful about locking doors and windows. Getting a dog now was good timing because it would be extra security.

Now it was just bizarre. I looked at him and laughed before telling him about the dream.

I love how the mind works. I don't exactly know how it works, but I love it. A simple explanation for the similarities between my dream and reality is that the idea of getting a dog was already in my mind, so dreaming about getting one wasn't a stretch. Then, after I heard about the burglaries, I just made a mental connection to the events in my dream to give them meaning. I guess it's not really that mysterious, but it is pretty cool.

Anyways, here's some pics of Bay, the proud mascot of Corbin Frat. He's 5 years old, and we think he's a mix of a pitbull and a black lab. Besides his coat being dark brownish/black instead of greyish/black, he's the exact dog from my dream: well-behaved, friendly, and ready to help us catch burglars.

Bay.

Hipsterized Bay.

Bay on a walk. He's a thick son of a bitch. What? That's the proper term.

IT Bay.

Hey Bay! (Bay!)

Bay's favorite activity...maybe he wouldn't do so good with burglars.

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.