Dusting off my shelf for a Caldecott

So I finished that project for my Picturebook class. I created illustrations for my retelling of The Emperor's New Clothes. I've scanned them all in. They were all created by cutting and glueing construction paper.

It was very well received in class. We had Molly Bang herself there to critique us and she had nothing negative to say. I was quite honored. I do think I might have gotten more criticism if I weren't the last one to present and we didn't have to wrap up quickly.

Practically all my classmates have more artisitic ability than I. Some of them created true works of art with their books. Mine was probably the most garish ... though I told a pretty loud, flashy story. (I think I went over well, also, because I have a pretty good reading-aloud voice)

Anyway, I'm pleased with the result, and I'd love to hear any response y'all have.



The Next Big Thing
by Noah Smith
based on The Emperor's New Clothes, by Hans Christian Andersen



The President of Empire Toys was on top of the world.

Years before, Empire Toys gave the world Blammo, the Toy that Crashes, Bashes and Makes Loud Noises. Everyone wanted one. Everyone bought one, and this had made the President wealthy.



But before long, people began to ask, “What’s next? We’ve played with Blammo! We’ve crashed it, bashed it, and made the loudest noises we can stand! When will Empire Toys invent something new? Something better? We want The Next Big Thing!”

So the President set out to find something new. Inventors from all around the world presented ideas for toys, toys that crashed, bashed, and made loud noises. Sometimes they would bash, then crash. Sometimes, they might smash and dash. Some made noises louder than others. Sometimes the noises were more sedate and philosophical. But the President knew that none of these toys could be The Next Big Thing.



Then one day, a Stranger came to the President’s office. This Stranger had a broad smile and a peculiar way of looking just past you while speaking to you. “My friend,” said the Stranger, “I have your Next Big Thing. I have invented a toy that can do just about anything. You can bounce it. You can kick it. You can drop it. You can roll it. You can spin it. You can dunk it. You can punch it. You can catch it. You can toss it. And the harder you throw it against the wall, or up into the air … well, the harder it comes right back to you.

The President was speechless! If this toy could do all this, it surely would be The Next Big Thing, a grander hit than Blammo ever was. Instantly, the President gave the Stranger a not-so-small fortune for the idea and began production immediately.



In the days before the toy was sent to stores, you couldn’t turn your head without seeing an advertisement for Surprizo: The Toy that Does Just about Everything! It was all anyone could talk about. Surely, they all thought, Empire Toys has done it again. Surprizo will change our lives, make us forget all about Blammo, and probably make us all better people.

The President planned a grand unveiling full of TV cameras, the press of the world, dancing elephants, and free balloons for the kids. There, the world would get its first look at Surprizo, The Next Big Thing.

Oh, sure the President was a little concerned that no one except the Stranger had yet seen exactly what Surprizo looked like. And it was a little troubling that the Stranger had vanished shortly after getting that not-so-small fortune. But the President was far too busy to worry about such things.

At last, the day came when Surprizo was to be unveiled. A hushed crowd, bigger than anyone had ever seen before, gathered around, and all around the globe people huddled before their TV screens to get a glimpse of the world-wide broadcast.

Then, after enough drums had been rolled, flower petals had been scattered, and triumphant marches had been tootled, the President strode forward and dramatically lifted the elegant cloth covering to give the hungry masses their first peek at Surprizo.



“Ooh! Aah!” murmured the crowd, with amazement as hushed as the biggest crowd anyone had ever seen was capable of hushing, “How do they come up with ideas like this.”

Once again, the President was on top of the world, until …

A small child with a surprisingly loud and clear voice spoke out, “Wait a minute! I’ve been playing with one of those for as long as I can remember! I have a toy that I can bounce, kick, drop, roll, spin, dunk, punch, catch it, toss it, and the harder I throw it against the wall, or up into the air … well, the harder it comes right back to me.”

Everyone turned to see who had managed to get a sneak preview of The Next Big Thing and saw, in the child’s outstretched hand …

a rubber ball.



The crowd sniffed and threw its attention back towards Surprizo. The poor child, some thought, confusing that silly little ball with The Next Big Thing.

In Memoriam

You’ve all seen Caitlin Clarke in something. I can pretty much guarantee it.

If you never saw her on stage, you might have caught one of her “Law & Order” appearances. Or maybe you saw her as Simone the Hooker in Crocodile Dundee -- that’s the hooker who’s in two scenes.

Or maybe you saw her big role in Dragonslayer.

I’m a big Caitlin fan. I got the opportunity to act with her in three plays, though we never had a scene together. That didn’t matter. I could only have brought them down. The real thrill was watching her work.

The first time I saw her was in A VIEW FROM THE BRIDGE at Summer Theatre in 1993. I was in the chorus, and she played Beatrice, the wife of conflicted dockworker Eddie Carbone. The role is underwritten, as are many of Arthur Miller’s women. But Caitlin wrung every ounce of heartbreak and tragedy out of it – not in a maudlin way, though. Bea Carbone was a living breathing woman for five nights that summer.

The next time we acted together, we actually shared some stage time, though that just consisted of me holding up a mummy case while she stood in it. That was my first time delivering presents to THE MAN WHO CAME TO DINNER. Caitlin was a 180 degree turnaround from her VIEW role, hilariously bitchy, sexy, and voracious as Lorraine Sheldon.

The great ones can make you laugh and cry.

But I’m a lot closer to tears now.

Caitlin died on September 9. She was only in her early fifties.

Look, this isn’t just hyperbole here. There was no legitimate reason Caitlin Clarke should have been doing Summer Stock in South Hadley, Massachusetts. (Sure, the school was here alma mater, and it was a mitzvah for her old professor, Jim Cavanaugh, but c’mon) I honestly believe that if the chips had fallen just a little differently, we’d be talking about Caitlin Clarke in the same breath that we do about Meryl Streep and Glenn Close – all three are Yale Drama graduates, with incredible gifts of versatility, presence and characterization. I can’t think of any role either of those two have played that Caitlin couldn’t have done just as well in.

But it’s just as much a game of luck as anything else.

Remember that Dragonslayer had a huge opening, and got pretty good reviews. It could have been the Swords-and-Sorcery equivalent of Star Wars.

But then Raiders of the Lost Ark opened the next weekend.

The rewards of working with truly talented people cannot be overstated. You can take all the classes you want in theatre. But you really learn by doing, and by watching. Getting to watch Caitlin was a pleasure. Getting to work with her was an honor.

Her life was too short, and too sad. But the lives she lived on stage, for those scant two hours a night, under hot lights in a hotter, un-air-conditioned tent … sometimes screaming to be heard over a pounding rain … those lives were as vibrant and real as any I have ever seen.

We love you, Caitlin, and we’re poorer off without you.

The Mensch of Steel

So you may have heard that DC Comics is producing a special one-shot called Superman: True Brit. It's written by Monty Python alum John Cleese and drawn by John Byrne (if this had come out when I was 14, my head would have exploded). The concept is that Superman's rocket lands not in Smallville, KS, but in England, and "Colin Kent" has a very different lifestyle ...

But what if the rocket had landed in, say, the Lower East Side of Manhattan? What if Jonathan and Miriam Kern had found it and named the baby "Caleb Kern"?

Well, then we'd have ...

SUPERMAN: Nice Jewish Boy

(If anyone begins to feel offended by this ... please remember that I come by the name Noah honestly ... at least one quarter honestly)

SCENE

The bris. The Mohel is trying to circumcize the child and having no luck.

MOHEL: Ay, gattinu! That’s the third izmel I’ve broken on this kid. This is some tough schmeckleh.

MR. KERN: It would kill you to try again?


SCENE

Young CALEB KERN and PAPA KERN have found a crystal in the wreckage of Caleb’s old spacecraft. When they touch the crystal, an image of JOR-EL appears:

JOR-EL: Kal-El, I am your father, Jor-el.

PAPA KERN: Joel! Your real father’s name is Joel! I knew there were Jews in space!

CALEB: Papa, I think he said “Jor-El.”

PAPA KERN: For the sake of your mother, he said “Joel.”


SCENE

The breakup with mermaid LORI LEMARIS

SUPERMAN: I’m so sorry … we can never be together.

LORI: Why? Because I’m a mermaid, and you’re a Kryptonian?

SUPERMAN: No … well, sort of. I spoke to my rabbi … he’s pretty sure you’re treyf.



SCENE

CALEB has moved to Metropolis and is calling his mother about his new job.

CALEB: Ma! I’m working for the Daily Planet! My editor is this guy named Perry White!

MAMA KERN: A million newspapers in this country and you find the one editor who isn’t Jewish?


SCENE

SUPERMAN catches a plummeting airplane.

PILOT: We’re saved!

SUPERMAN: Eh, I do what I can. Let me just schlep this over here.

PILOT: What a macher!


SCENE

SUPERMAN is flying around Metropolis with his love interest LEAH LIEBMAN.

LEAH: Superman, you’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met. Um … one question … did you ever consider maybe being a doctor or a lawyer?

SUPERMAN: Yes, Leah, I’m Jewish.

LEAH: Oh, thank G_d. My mother’s been on my back like you wouldn’t believe.

SUPERMAN: Yeah, do you think someday we might go on a date where she doesn’t come along with us?

MRS. LIEBMAN: So, this Superhero thing … you make a nice living?

SCENE

The villain.

SUPERMAN: Wait! You’re not a deli clerk! You’re Lex Luthor! And that means this bagel is –-

LEX: Yes, you’ve just taken a big bite of my greatest evil invention … wait for it … Kryptonite Lox!

(rimshot)

SUPERMAN: Oy, the tsuris!


SCENE

Evil Scientists have tried to clone Superman, but instead produced a BIZARRO – Superman’s exact opposite.

BIZARRO: Me think Sandy Koufax am overrated.

SUPERMAN: Oh no!

BIZARRO: Me hungry … where am white bread and mayonnaise?

SUPERMAN: Ouch!

BIZARRO: Me want to buy new car … sticker price look pretty reasonable.

SUPERMAN: Great Rao, he’s hideous!

SCENE

Superman has crushed a piece of coal into a diamond and handed it to Leah.

SUPERMAN: Leah … will you marry me?

LEAH: I … uh … uh …

(Long pause while LEAH looks at the diamond.)

SUPERMAN: I’ll go find a bigger piece of coal.


SCENE

Everyone thinks Superman has been killed by Doomsday, but he returns, good as new.

SUPERMAN: Look, everyone! I came back to life!

BYSTANDER: Keep it quiet, will you? Do you have any idea how much trouble we got into the last time one of us did that?

Freakin' Haloscan ...

For some reason, my comments section has lost the ability to count past one.

So, even though the last several posts only claim to have one comment, they, in fact, have multiple comments.

Delight in them, if that be your choosing.

THOTS: Gee, we sure do miss Judy …

Okay, this isn't actually the really special thing I wanted to do today, but it's still fun ... right gang?

(Oh, RIP Gags's Asian Adventure as a link, seeing as Gags is now back stateside and no longer blogging)

A few weeks ago, Abe and I were at a Red Sox game and a child was holding up a sign, which read “KEVEN NUMBER 15.” The child was rooting for Kevin Millar and had managed to misspell his first name. But Abe misread this as “EVEN NUMBERS.” Like, apparently the kid was only rooting for players with even-numbered uniforms – Yay Manny Ramirez! Boo Pedro Martinez!

I’ve been trying to figure this out … has there been a hit song from a Broadway musical in the past 20 years? Like a real Top Forty hit? It used to be showtunes would fill up the charts. The last two I can think of would be “Send in the Clown” from the 70s and “One Night in Bangkok” from the 80s. (I’m not counting songs filtered through film versions – like anything from the Madonna Evita). Am I wrong?

I had jotted down a note for a THOT about how Sox games were getting dull for a while there, because they were always scoring six runs in the 7th inning and winning in a walk … then they started winning or losing by one or two runs, so I alternately have a heart attack or start smashing furniture, so I think the boredom was better.

Y’know … you word for the AP, slaving away for little money, never getting to work the big time … then a story like this comes along, and you get to write this headline … and suddenly it’s all worth it.

I can’t tell how upset I was when Yankees pitcher Kevin Brown broke his hand by punching a wall in anger. I felt so sorry for him, I had to choke back huge guffaws of sympathy.

Miller-Boyett is a production company who has created such “family-friendly” shows as “Full House” and “Perfect Strangers.” But they are also vicious, insidious murders. Do you remember that Laura on “Family Matters” had a younger sister for the first few seasons, then she just vanished? Presto! Written out, without even a “gee, we sure do miss Judy since she got eaten by those hyenas.” Anyway, as you may have heard, the young actress who played Judy is now a porn star. Yep. I’m just waiting for her to do a film with the youngest Lambert son from “Step by Step,” who got the same treatment.

Along similar lines, did anyone catch the recent night when NBC programmed an episode of “Scrubs” starring Sarah Chalke immediately before a “Law and Order” guest starring my former Vassar classmate Lecy Goranson? Yep … back-to-back Becky Connors! I wonder why they didn’t promote it as such.


Have you seen the new design for the nickel?

It looks like Jefferson asked the engraver to catch him at an angle that hides his bald spot. I’m not too crazy about the buffalo penis on the reverse side, either.

I’ve mentioned these adorable children we have on campus this year. I eat a lot of meals with them at the cafeteria, and it really is the comic highlight of my day. The boy makes this weird humming, moaning sound while he eats. It’s constant throughout the meal, pausing only briefly to inhale. … like he’s turned on his digestion engines. His sister is about three, and I can never quite have a conversation with her, because she speaks, I think, exclusively in Lion King quotes. The other day, though, I recognized a song she was singing. It took me a minute, but I distinctly heard the phrase “I like big butts and I cannot lie.” That’s right. A three year old girl was singing “Baby Got Back.” Is that in Shrek or something?

One thing I’ve learned, researching odd stories for Fountain jokes … people do very strange things around bees.

If you were wondering, “Hey, did DC comics make any effort to make their characters, like Superboy, more like Marvel characters, like Spider-Man in the 1960s?” … look no further. Hey, why not go all the way? Name the bully “Smash Smompson” and have Clark get a job as a cub reporter for the Smallville Daily Trumpet, under editor L. Lonah Lameson?

I love Red Sox closer Keith Foulke … even though he blew two saves in a row this week. But I have a hard time rooting for him. Just how loudly can you yell “Keith!”? “Keith! Put some salsa in the frittata!” sure … but not “Strike this bastard out, Keith!”

How the hell has Hello Kitty remained popular over the years? Here is an icon with no personality, no expression … no backstory or mythology? What the hell is the hook? Is it just that it’s a slang term for female masturbation?

It does strike me as odd that I, a near-teetotaler, would have written so many plays were the plot hinges on characters getting drunk.

I think I’m enjoying this “Teen Titans” cartoon a little too much. I caught an episode last night where Raven and Starfire switched bodies and … okay, I’m not going to complete this one …

I hate to say it … but I think the Yankees have cooler uniforms than the Red Sox.

Okay, regardless of whether Dave Coulier is the ex-boyfriend Alanis Morrisette is blasting in “You Oughtta Know,” they did date for a while. Do you suppose that when she was performing oral sex on him in a theatre, he did the Popeye impression? Gives a new meaning to “blow me down.”

I know I fawned all over David Nields for about three straight weeks in July and August, but … well, I’m going to do it some more. These are the first lines of “Home is Where the Story Starts” from our PIED PIPER musical …

I traveled dusty roads, always on my own
Never thought I’d settle down, never find my home
Then you danced with me, I saw the perfect place
It wasn’t somewhere in the town, home was in your face.

Really … have you ever heard as romantic a sentiment in any musical theatre song? I dare you! Name one!

Rejected Joke Thursday: Why-the-hell-not Edition

I'm hoping to have something kinda cool for tomorrow, so I've bumped up the rejected Fountain jokes by a day.

A group of actors in Belgrade were performing a bank robbery scene for a film, but were accosted by confused police who thought they were real criminals. Finally, a way C. Thomas Howell could get arrested in Hollywood.
(Okay, but formulaic and obvious ... kinda dig the reference, though)

A high school in Maryland has organized a reunion exclusively for classes from before the school was integrated in the 1960s, meaning that only white students will be able to attend. Look, guys, I understand that you’re embarrassed about your dancing, but this is going too far.

Authorities in Orlando have captured an alligator that escaped during Hurricane Ivan. If I were that gator, I would have hidden someplace in Orlando where I’d be sure not to see anyone – a theme park ride based on any Disney movie released since 1999.
(Sounds too similar to a joke I've seen on "The Simpsons." Plus, the syntax is messy.)

California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger vetoed a bill that would have made it illegal for high schools in the state to call their sports teams “The Redskins.” Schwarzenegger explained his real objection was the stipulation that all the schools had to change their team names to “The Groping, Aryan Steroid-Cases.”
(There's a better joke to be made about this, but I gave up before finding it. One of the flaws in this reduced-joke format is that I don't have to really sweat to find the perfect joke for a story, I can just jump to the next one.)

The Kerry campaign cancelled plans to air TV advertisements in four battleground states because it was deemed non-cost-effective. Kerry will continue to write letters to Snapple in the hope that they’ll put him in one of their ads, though.
(I like this one quite a lot, but Snapple hasn't done those ads in years -- VH1 even used Wendy the Snapple Lady as an object of nostalgia in "I Love the 90s")

These next two are some of my favorites of this batch, but the only people I could be sure would get them are John-Paul, my father, and Fred Hembeck.

The Writer’s Guild of America has elected Daniel Petrie, Jr., screenwriter of the Beverly Hills Cop movies as its new president. Petrie accepted the job, thanked the voters, and offered to help them remove the bananas he had placed in their tailpipes.

Petrie was so excited about his election that he ran home to tell his wife and tripped over an ottoman, coming through the door.

The ashes of actor Marlon Brando reached their final resting place on Tuesday, being scattered in Tahiti, Death Valley, and everywhere in between.
(Already did one fat-joke about him this week)

In the newly released Star Wars DVDs, one of the changes made is that when Darth Vader's mask is removed, he no longer has any eyebrows. Wait ... you mean Luke's father is secretly Whoopi Goldberg?
(Would it be funnier if it were Dick Gephardt?)

The big winner at the Toronto Film Festival was a movie called Hotel Rwanda. Incidentally, if you ever check into a hotel in Rwanda and they ask "Hutu? Tutsi?" ... they aren't offering an escort service.
(My father wrote a better variation on the "these ethnic groups have names that sound like slang terms for breasts" premise years ago)

A high school in New Mexico is in trouble for giving out shotglasses as a pre-homecoming gift for students. The glasses say, "Dreams Will Come True 2004." This sounds awful, but a quick poll indicates that most of the school's students' dreams center around vomiting, unplanned pregnancies, and automobile accidents.
(Too wordy, and a little preachy)

Britney Spears and her fiance successfully fooled the press by sending out phony invitations that said the wedding would be in October. Interestingly, this is the first time the word "fool" "Britney Spears" and "wedding" have ever been used together in a positive sense.
(Yeah, but they're not smart enough to fill out the certificate?)

The Next Big Thing

Hey all, so we have another fun assignment in my Picturebook class ... though, as I understand, it's going to get less fun pretty soon.

Anyway, we're going to be creating five-page picture books using this same cut-construction paper method. We've been told to put our own spin on a classic story. The text is due today, and here's mine ...

(I won't tell you what story this is based on, but you can probably guess)

The Next Big Thing
by Noah Smith

1. The President of Empire Toys was on top of the world.

Years before, Empire Toys gave the world Blammo, the Toy that Crashes, Bashes and Makes Loud Noises. Everyone wanted one. Everyone bought one, and this had made the President wealthy.

2. But before long, people began to ask, “What’s next? We’ve played with Blammo! We’ve crashed it, bashed it, and made the loudest noises we can stand! When will Empire Toys invent something new? Something better? We want The Next Big Thing!”

So the President set out to find something new. Inventors from all around the world presented ideas for toys, toys that crashed, bashed, and made loud noises. Sometimes they would bash, then crash. Sometimes, they might smash and dash. Some made noises louder than others. Sometimes the noises were more sedate and philosophical. But the President knew that none of these toys could be The Next Big Thing.

3. Then one day, a Stranger came to the President’s office. This Stranger had a broad smile and a peculiar way of looking just past you while speaking to you. “My friend,” said the Stranger, “I have your Next Big Thing. I have invented a toy that can do just about anything. You can bounce it. You can kick it. You can drop it. You can roll it. You can spin it. You can dunk it. You can punch it. You can catch it. You can toss it. And the harder you throw it against the wall, or up into the air … well, the harder it comes right back to you.

The President was speechless! If this toy could do all this, it surely would be The Next Big Thing, a grander hit than Blammo ever was. Instantly, the President gave the Stranger a not-so-small fortune for the idea and began production immediately.

4. In the days before the toy was sent to stores, you couldn’t turn your head without seeing an advertisement for Surprizo: The Toy that Does Just about Everything! It was all anyone could talk about. Surely, they all thought, Empire Toys has done it again. Surprizo will change our lives, make us forget all about Blammo, and probably make us all better people.

The President planned a grand unveiling full of TV cameras, the press of the world, dancing elephants, and free balloons for the kids. There, the world would get its first look at Surprizo, The Next Big Thing.

Oh, sure the President was a little concerned that no one except the Stranger had yet seen exactly what Surprizo looked like. And it was a little troubling that the Stranger had vanished shortly after getting that not-so-small fortune. But the President was far too busy to worry about such things.

At last, the day came when Surprizo was to be unveiled. A hushed crowd, bigger than anyone had ever seen before, gathered around, and all around the globe people huddled before their TV screens to get a glimpse of the world-wide broadcast.

Then, after enough drums had been rolled, flower petals had been scattered, and triumphant marches had been tootled, the President strode forward and dramatically lifted the elegant cloth covering to give the hungry masses their first peek at Surprizo.

5. “Ooh! Aah!” murmured the crowd, with amazement as hushed as the biggest crowd anyone had ever seen was capable of hushing, “How do they come up with ideas like this.”

Once again, the President was on top of the world, until …

A small child with a surprisingly loud and clear voice spoke out, “Wait a minute! I’ve been playing with one of those for as long as I can remember! I have a toy that I can bounce, kick, drop, roll, spin, dunk, punch, catch it, toss it, and the harder I throw it against the wall, or up into the air … well, the harder it comes right back to me.”

Everyone turned to see who had managed to get a sneak preview of The Next Big Thing and saw, in the child’s outstretched hand …

a rubber ball.

6. The crowd sniffed and its attention back towards Surprizo. The poor child, some thought, confusing that silly little ball with The Next Big Thing.

Combustible Edison

I laughed hysterically when I heard this story third hand from Abe. It does contain a less-than-P.C. term, but … hell, just read the story …

Our friend Kyle was at a party, and the hostess had … lets say taken extreme advantage of her own hospitality. Deeply inebriated, she was kissing men, telling people off, etc. One guy had apparently gotten on her bad side so she said …

“You’re just like Frankenstein!”

“Why’s that?” Asked the guy.

“Because you're just as important!”

Sometime later, the guy asked for further clarification, and she told him, “Well, Frankenstein isn’t a very important book.”

Gotcha.

Later in the evening, she decided to prank-call some of her ex-boyfriends. The following is the text of a call left on the answering machine of one of them …

“Hello, this is Diane at the hospital. Your ex-girlfriend is dead. She was helping some retards and one of them exploded.”

I saw Abe over the weekend, along with Molly, Dan, Alison, and Scott -– hi everybody, and happy belated birthday, Alison. Once Abe told us this story, we had some fun deconstructing the message. It’s funny in so many ways.

(We did a little work on “Frankenstein,” too, but all we got was, “Wait, she was talking about the book?” Oh, and be getting a little huffy and nerdish, thinking, “Frankenstein is a very important book! It’s the basis for, like, %30 of all science fiction written since!”)

“Hello, this is Diane at the hospital”

Not “Dr. Henries at Mercy General,” just “Diane at the hospital.”

“Your ex-girlfriend is dead.”

Of course, because the first thing hospitals do is call the ex-boyfriend. I dunno, maybe he was the emergency contact. But I like to think Diane has a really crappy job of going through the list of all the person’s exes to break the bad news … I guess the hospital keeps it on file.

“She was helping some retards … ”

First, you have to love that a hospital official uses the term “retards.” Furthermore, this gives a fascinating insight into the mind of a drunk person. She clearly wanted this ex-boyfriend to think she had died doing something incredibly noble. And what’s more noble than helping the handicapped? I also love that it’s just “helping” them. Do what? Cross the street? Balance their checkbooks? … Not explode?

“And one of them exploded.”

Well, that is a hazard of working with the mentally challenged.

Um ...

Following up to that last post ...

So ... things didn't work out as well in the Saturday and Sunday games. I must have forgotten to wear the hat ...

Ten Gallon Gala

If you're wondering how the Red Sox pulled off that improbable win on Friday night, scoring two off the unsinkable Mariano Rivera ... it was all me.

You're welcome.

I was watching at home, while Amanda was having a girl's night out. It's very nice that she gets to have these now. See, now that she has a supervisor again, it's once again cool for her to party with the RD's, since she's no longer atop the food chain.

Anyway, I'm at home, wringing my hands and fretting that a really strong outing by Bronson Arroyo would turn into a frustrating loss for Boston, all because of a home run by John Old-dude.

So, top of the ninth rolls around, the score is 2-1 Yankees ... I had to do something ...

So I put on my Cowboy Up hat.

If you're a regular reader, you'll recall how Amanda and I pillaged the dorms once they emptied out for the summer, and one of my prize was a cheap plastic cowboy hat given out in some promotion during last fall's playoff run.

I have not had much cause to wear the hat. It is, after all, last year's catchphrase ... and I don't even like it when people keep trying to use "you're fired" as a punchline. In fact, I've been using the hat to flush my toilet.

See, the toilet here in North Hall doesn't enjoy flushing. And it has a hard time when asked to dispose of tricky things we might place in it, such as bathroom tissue or waste matter. So I often have to pour extra water from the sink into the bowl to coaxe it along. Since I prefer not to bring saucepans into the vicinity of an unflushed toilet, the Cowboy Up hat has found a new purpose.

So yes, it's perhaps a little gross that I put it on my head tonight. But they really needed to Cowboy the freak Up, and I don't have a DVD of Kevin Millar singing "Born in the USA." Plus, it's not like the hat has actually been in the toilet. And, hey, have you seen how much pine tar some of the Sox have on their batting helmets? Filthy headgear is key to this season's success.

And, hey, you can't argue with results. The second I put it on, they start to rally. I began to think: I should find my Best of the Standelles CD so I can play "Dirty Water" when they win ... but that would have jinxed them.

So, of course, when they did win, I had to scramble to find it so I could suitably wake the neigbors ... like anyone was sleeping.

Man, that was a beautiful game. Hell, now I want to sleep with Johnny Damon. And, for the first time ever, the phrase "Nomar who?" passed through my lips.

I tell you, I could feel the air let out of those arrogant, heroin-addict Yankee fan from here. Bill Simmons has a nice piece promoting the idea that, for the first time, they're truly afraid.

And well they should be. They're wearing the black hats, and tonight I was wearing my white one.

Just doing my bit.

Rejected Joke Thursday: I-Reserve-the-Right-to-Ressurrect-Any-of-These-for-a-Slow-News-Day Edition

A report by weapons inspectors says that Iraq had no Weapons of Mass Destruction, though Saddam had some dormant programs that he planned to resurrect at some time. Keep in mind that he was also always saying he’d drop twenty pounds, start practicing his guitar again, and go back to college.
(I like this one, but it lacks a punchy punchline)

An airplane was forced to land in Chicago after a goose was sucked into its engine. The engine wasn’t actually damaged, said a technician, it was just feeling a little down.
(I love puns ... but this is probably too subtle. Still, it might be my faorite joke I wrote this week.)

A candidate for Senate in Oklahoma who had previously worked as an obstetrician is being accused of sterilizing a woman without her consent. This should not be confused with John Kerry, who has sterilized his entire campaign.
(The imagery is a little off -- I mean sterilized in a "slipcovers over the sofa" kind of way)

The Florida Supreme Court will hear a case as to whether Ralph Nader should be on the ballot in November. It’s not sure whether the high court will allow it, because, considering this is Nader we’re talking about, the court may not be high enough to like him.
(a little too far to go)

A judge in New York has ruled that it is not illegal for jurors to be drunk while deliberating. The question arose during a civil case in which the jury award was, “another round for all my buddies, here.”

Country singer Toby Keith is opening a restaurant in Oklahoma. It’s expected to be the first restaurant where the salad bar has no vegetables, just a sign saying, “What, you can’t handle a little meat, nancy boy?”
(apparently Toby Keith irritates me too much to allow me to write coherent jokes)

CBS anchor Dan Rather has conceded that the memos he reported on concerning President Bush’s military service might possibly be forgeries, or as he put it, “They’re more suspect than scene full of butlers in a murder mystery, more questionable than a puppy on a butterscotch sundae, more spurious than a cowboy licking a manhole cover, more --” Before Rather could finish, he was led away by an intern and given some warm milk.
(Could be funny spoken out loud ... in print, not so much)

A judge in Florida has ruled that Ralph Nader’s name must be taken off the ballot in November. Nader isn’t too worried, though, saying, “Hey, it’s Florida … thousands of people are going to wind up voting for me accidentally, anyway.”

Young Adult novelist Judy Bloom will receive an honorary National Book Award for her contribution to American letters. When she heard the news, Blume got inexplicably moody, locked herself in her room and played Cure albums till 3AM.
(Not sure the premise is clear -- that Bloom acts the way her intended audience does: moody and unpredictable.)

The Department of Justice has admitted it was wrong for US Marshals to insist some reporters erase part of a speech given by Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia that they had recorded. But they did think it would be okay if they cut an hour two out of some of John Kerry’s speeches.

While criticizing Kerry’s tax plan on a campaign stop, President Bush said, “What would you expect from a Senator from Massachusetts?” The President, a Harvard MBA, then added, “I mean, what kind of jackass learns about business and finance in Massachusetts.
(you have to spoon-feed too much backstory to be sure your audience understands this one)

Aurora Borealis Shining Down in Dallas

I was hesitant about the classes I’m taking in the Children’s Lit program here at Simmons. I couldn’t take the one I really thought would touch on what I want to learn –- “Criticism.” That was unavailable because of scheduling and because it’s taught by my supervisor for the MCC course I’m teaching, seemed a conflict of interest.

So I was “stuck” with “Children’s Book Publishing” and “The Picturebook.”

But they’ve turned out to be pretty cool, so far. The former seems like a pretty low-stress class – lots of two-page assignments, lots of guest lectures. Our first day we had a literary agent come in and talk about how she got Searching for Vermeer published, which, if you haven’t heard of it, is a big hit, being called “The Da Vinci Code for kids.” I might possible want to write fiction for kids someday, so I think I’ll find this helpful.

(Oh, incidentally, the author of the book is named Blue, yet, when there was a feature piece about her in The Chicago Tribune, the headline was “Wonder Woman.” How the hell do you write a piece about a children’s mystery writer, named Blue, and not call it “Blue’s Clues”?)

The other class is also proving to be pretty cool. We’re starting with the basics of illustration – it’s not really a creative class, but we’re doing some creative stuff early on to learn the fundamentals of illustrated storytelling. This means we’ve spent much of these first two weeks playing with construction paper.

We’re following the model set by Molly Bang in her book Picture This, How Pictures Work (formerly subtitled Perception and Composition). She uses basic shapes, and only four colors to tell part of “Little Red Riding Hood” and builds a picture step by step, until it becomes this …



See how a simple red triangle can be Little Red Riding Hood if the context is there? How a wolf can be made from very basic shapes?

Anyway, we were assigned to create two similar pieces, first a “scary” picture of a bird attacking someone, and then a “sad” or “sweet” one of a bird being comforting.

I had some fun making these and I thought I’d share them with you. These are actually mock-ups of them I made with Appleworks, since I don’t have a scanner to scan the construction-paper originals, which look better because I’m handier with scissors than I am with a mouse.

Here’s the scary one:



I think this is reasonably successful. I like the simplicity of an all-triangle construction. I think it’s clear what’s going on.

The bird wound up looking more like a dinosaur. Once I had decided to keep the bird on the ground I knew I wanted it to have grounded, with feet solidly on the ground, to contrast with the panicked angle of the triangle victim. So I wind up with a pretty clunky, clumsy looking bird. Not that that’s a bad thing.

Now, I’m the only man in the class, and this really shows. One of my fellow students referred to mine as an “action figure” bird. That’s pretty fair, because, looking at it now, I think it looks like that late-generation Transformer who transformed from a space shuttle to a pterodactyl-style robot who looked like a space shuttle … anyone know what I’m talking about? Shane? Dave?

Looking at it, I think I’d change the legs a little, putting the left leg in front of the torso. And Bang says you should use white sparingly, which I do not … so maybe I should change the background to blue, the bird to black and red and the eyes and victim to white.

But that would hurt my next one, which was supposed to have the same “protagonist.”



I hadn’t intended this to be a penguin at first. I did a whole nother take on this idea, using, again, triangles as my basis. Then I remembered that Bang points out that angles are threatening and smooth curves are comforting, so I thought I’d take another crack at it. I also decided I didn’t want a black background, so I made my bird black and white instead of blue and white …

And presto! Instant penguin. I think this was very effective … everybody thinks penguins are cute, and nobody thinks they’re threatening, except small fish. And it suddenly gave me a whole scene! If this is a penguin, it must be Antarctica, and the bird must be sheltering the red triangle from the cold. I don’t know if the icicles really work … maybe it should have been snowflakes instead. But I really like the extended wing, the nuzzling head and the other wing wrapped around the triangle … it looks much better in construction paper.

Anyway, I thought this was kinda fun.

Thanks for your time.

Give ‘Em a Fake and a Finagle

I’m not the world’s biggest Kander and Ebb fan. Don’t get me wrong. I like their stuff a lot. But they don’t jazz me quite as much as Sondheim, Porter, Gershwin, Loesser, etc.

Nonetheless, I do consider the passing of Fred Ebb to be the loss of a true Broadway giant. Lyricists get a bum rap, sometimes. “Oh, you only do the words?” Well, having tried my hand at lyric-writing, and seen how hard David works on our collaborations, I know that it’s not so easy. It ain’t all June and Moon.

And Ebb knew his stuff. He could write clever lyrics, funny lyrics, sad and heartfelt lyrics, sarcastic lyrics, and classic ones, full of imagery …

“These vagabond shoes/Are longing to stray/Right to the very heart of it/New York, New York.”

You might have noticed that my entry title on Monday’s Fountain was an Ebb tribute.

The one I quote in this entry’s title is probably my favorite Kander and Ebb song, “Razzle Dazzle” from CHICAGO. I think it’s one of the better songs about show business, and one of the only ones that comes clean about the inherent phoniness of it, while celebrating it, too. The rhyme to my title line above is “They’ll never know you’re just a bagel.” There’s a lot of nuance in there.

CHICAGO is, of course, also evidence that writing the book for a musical (“Oh, you just did the non-singing parts?”) isn’t as easy as it sounds, either. For some reason, Kander, Ebb, and Fosse figured they didn’t need a real playwright to plot their show and write the dialogue. Fosse should have known better, since his previous playwright-free experience was the disastrous first draft of SWEET CHARITY that Neil Simon had to be brought into a month before rehearsals started.

But CHICAGO, on stage, is wonderful as long as the characters are singing, then becomes a mess when they aren’t … the pacing is odd, the characters unlikable (even for murderers), and the dialogue stiff.

Which brings me to the weird love-hate relationship I have with the Chicago movie. It successfully makes the characters more likable, and tells the story much better … but I think it’s inferior to the play. Why? Well, I think focusing on Roxy instead of Velma is a big mistake, I think the “all the musical numbers are fantasies” idea is cute, but forces them to cut two great songs, the Act Two opener and “When Velma Takes the Stand.”

I still think it’s pretty good. As good as The Two Towers, that year, though? … no.

In honor of Mr. Ebb, let me direct you to Rob Noyes’s CATTOWN: The Musical Episode, except that it seems the site is down. Oh well, keep trying and you’ll hear Rob singing all the parts on “They Both Reached for the Pie.”

To whet your appetite, I'll mention that Rob also has a fun recording of himself singing the roles of all three Folksmen in the song “Old Joe’s Place,” made famous in the film A Mighty Wind.

Back to musical theatre, I finally saw THE LION KING on tour in Boston. I know, first I get a cell phone, then I see LION KING … am I living in 1998? Am I gonna start getting into swing music next?

I don't know how it took me so long to see the most important piece of children's theatre since TOAD OF TOAD HALL, if not PETER PAN ... actually, yes I do, I never have any money.

Anyway ... the show? Brilliant, of course. Proof of what a genius can do with a big budget.

And proof of how money can hamper a genius when it comes from a corporation desperately trying to protect its assets.

Julie Taymor did a magnificent job of transferring the movie to the stage, creating something that isn’t just an Ice Capades style movie-on-stage, but a genuine theatrical experience. The ghost-in-the-machine beauty of the animal costumes puts the lie to Aristotle –- spectacle can BE character and action, when done right.

But still, it’s the stage version of a lesser movie. I know Lion King is the biggest hit Disney ever had, but I think it’s a pretty mediocre product. Beautiful to look at, of course, but the characters are pretty wooden, for the most part. The clowns aren’t particularly funny (and I love Nathan Lane and Ernie Sabella). The songs are pretty bad, except for “Circle of Life” (which still sounds like the theme to “Baywatch” to me) and “Be Prepared.” And, for all the film’s slavish devotion to the basic Joseph Campbell hero’s journey, it seems pretty mechanical, and sometimes just wrongheaded … my friend Jason has pointed out, Simba’s growing up should be the bulk of the second act, and it takes place in five seconds as he walks across a tree branch. I’m not sure I agree with that, but I do agree with people who have pointed out how bizarre it is for an American film to embrace so fully the idea of the Divine Right of Kings.

But, man, do you forget all that when that elephant comes on stage. I was pretty seriously skwicked through most of the evening.

Okay, I’m talking about baseball today … some of you might be a bit bored

I’ve read Bob Costas’s book Fair Ball, A Fan’s Case for Baseball several times. Why? I dunno, I just tend to find it pretty handy reading for, like, when I’m eating lunch at a temp job or something.

In it, he argues pretty strongly against the Wild Card in baseball. He says it has removed the excitement from divisional races by ensuring that second place still gets you to the post season. Where, he asks, is the all-or-nothing fervor of, say Yankees-Red Sox in ’78 or Braves-Giants in … when was it, ’91? He goes through every year since the Wild Card was instituted (including a “what if ’94 had a postseason, with the standings where they were when the strike occurred” … which includes a sub-.500 division winner), and points out how drama was diffused.

Me … I’m a Red Sox fan. As long as they’re in the division with the Yankees, the Wild Card may be their only chance.

These days, the momentum seems to be behind the Wild Card. The past two World Series winners have come from it, and it really seems to be achieving its purpose: keeping more teams “in the mix” and ensuring that fans will keep paying attention through September.

I don’t know what Costas is saying these days. His book came out just after the ’99 season.

But let’s look at today’s Wild Card picture and see his point, because I think, in each league, we have an argument for why and why not to keep it …

The columns are Wins, Losses, Win Percentage, Games Back.

AL EAST
New York 89 53 .627 -
Boston 86 55 .610 2.5

AL CENTRAL
Minnesota 81 60 .574 -
Chicago 72 69 .511 9.0
AL WEST
Oakland 82 59 .582 -
Anaheim 80 61 .567 2.0
Texas 77 64 .546 5.0

AL WILD CARD
Boston 86 55 .610
Anaheim 80 61 .567 6.0
Texas 77 64 .546 9.0
Chicago 72 69 .511 14.0

So there you go. If there is no wild card, we have a tight race in the East, with the Red Sox desperate to catch their rivals. If they do, it’ll be an incredible story. The Yankees have never given up a lead of more than six or seven games. But they were leading by 10 only a few weeks ago and the Sox legitimately have the momentum to catch them.

But we do have the Wild Card, so it’s pretty much a given then, even if the Yankees don’t win the division, they’ll get into the post season anyway. I don’t know what would happen if the season ended in a tie. I doubt they’d bother with a tiebreaker, they’d probably just give New York the division.

Look at the race for the Wild Card … we’re halfway through September. It would take a pretty incredible surge from Anaheim, and a pretty incredible slump from Boston to give the Angels the WC. The Angels (and, I suppose, the Rangers) have a much better chance of catching Oakland … which means they’re in essentially the same position they’d be if there were no Wild Card.

(And there is the frustration that the team leading the Central would barely qualify for second in the West and Wild Card races, and would be in third place by several games in the East … plus, they pay an unbalanced schedule in a week division, so they should have padded their wins column … and arguably, they have)

In short, there would be considerably more drama, and upcoming games would mean a lot more in the AL if there were no Wild Card.

Whereas, in the NL …

NL EAST
Atlanta 83 58 .589 -
Florida 73 65 .529 8.5
Philadelphia 73 69 .514 10.5

NL CENTRAL
St. Louis 93 48 .660 -
Chicago 76 63 .547 16.0
Houston 77 66 .538 17.0

NL WEST
Los Angeles 83 58 .589
San Francisco 78 65 .545 6.0
San Diego 75 67 .528 8.5

NL WILD CARD
Chicago 76 63 .547 -
San Francisco 78 65 .545 -
Houston 77 66 .538 1.0
Florida 73 65 .529 2.5
San Diego 75 67 .528 2.5
Philadelphia 73 69 .514 4.5

So we have the exact opposite picture here. The division races are completely sewn up and the Wild Card is wide open. Without the Wild Card, there’s really no reason to pay attention to NL games until October.

With it, six teams are in the mix (okay, five, but why make Tom Reing cry?). The matchups between these teams are fascinating, the scoreboard watching will be dramatic every day. And, if you’re a fan of, say, San Diego, following a Cubs/Giants game, you have that nail-biting terror “one of them has to lose, but one has to win!”

Of course, you could argue that these numbers prove that the Braves, Cardinals, and Dodgers are far and away the best teams in the league, and teams so far behind them don’t really deserve to compete in the post season …

So what’s my point? I dunno … Yankees suck?

What you can give

I don’t have a good story. I was asleep. I woke up. I turned on the TV.

And besides, who cares about my story? Why should we care about anything other than the loss of life and love, three years ago today?

I don’t want to get political now. Too much political hay has been made of 9/11, on both sides, to justify too many wrong things.

But please remember the heroism, the feeling that just about every American had that they needed to help. It was truly beautiful.

One of my favorites? That they asked people to stop donating blood. They had too much. I love that that was so many people’s first thought: I need to give my blood. So much blood has been shed, the least I can do is open my veins for these people.

Here’s where I will inject a personal note: I am not allowed to give blood. I lived in England for six months in 1981. Because of this, I am considered to be a risk for bovine encephalitis. Probably, this stipulation will be removed someday. But for now, I cannot donate.

I’m sure there’s a blood drive going on near you, today. They need it again. Please do what I can’t.

Rejected Joke Friday: Excuses Excuses Excuse Edition

Hi all. So, now that I have two class to take, and two to teach, it looks like I won't have time to do as many jokes.

So I'm going to try for a new schedule of between three and five jokes every Monday-Thursday. I think we'll wind up with better quality and more pertinent jokes.

Actually, I may store up jokes that aren't particular datable ... like the weirder news stories. They tend to "keep." So I'm not sure about Rejected Joke days. Probably there will be some that I'll reject anyway, though more and more, I can tell when a joke is going to suck and I just don't write it.

But who knows, this may not work, either.

I'm bummed I missed Thursday ... too much frantic syllabus creation. There's a bunch of juicy stories going on, as you no doubt know.

Anyway, here's two, count 'em two whole jokes that didn't make the cut for Monday's edition. But wait, you say ... you only did 10 jokes on Monday. Why not use these two?

You clearly haven't heard these jokes, yet.

The first is simply not funny:
A convicted bomber in Indonesia was let out of jail briefly, so he could get coffee at a Jakarta Starbucks. I’m not sure why they bothered, since there’ll a Starbucks kiosk opening in his prison cell next month.

The second is genuinely tasteless. This joke offends me, and I wrote it. I still think it's kinda funny:
A bomb went off at an Iraqi police academy, killing 20. Wow. I guess one of Mahoney’s practical jokes went just a little too far.


PS: Chase, sorry! I knew it was you, not Travis who asked for the list of films and plays. Slip of the fingers!

Ask and Ye Shall Receive

Travis (Whoops! It was Chase, not Travis ... d'oh! N.S. 9/10/04) asked for a list of the plays and movies I'm doing for the class.

Here you go:

FILMS
Horse Feathers, Born Yesterday, Gangs of New York, The Godfather; The Godfather, Part II, Gentlemen’s Agreement, Annie Hall, To Kill a Mockingbird, In the Heat of the Night, Do the Right Thing, Othello, O, Thelma and Louise, It Happened One Night, Philadelphia, The Joy Luck Club, Smoke Signals, The Searchers

PLAYS
YOU CAN'T TAKE IT WITH YOU by Moss Hart and George S. Kaufman
RAGTIME Book by Terence McNally, Music by Stephen Flaherty, Lyrics by Lynn Ahrens, based on the novel by E.L. Doctorow
A VIEW FROM THE BRIDGE by Arthur Miller
THE LAST NIGHT OF BALLYHOO by Alfred Uhry
DRIVING MISS DAISY by Alfred Uhry
A RAISIN IN THE SUN by Lorraine Hansberry
CLOUD NINE by Caryl Churchill
ANGELS IN AMERICA by Tony Kushner (both parts)
KIMCHEE AND CHITLINS by Elizabeth Wong
TOPDOG/UNDERDOG by Susan Lori Parks
WEST SIDE STORY, Book by Arthur Laurents, Music by Leonard Bernstein, Lyrics by Stephen Sondheim

and
A Play by August Wilson, to be Named Later


As you can see, I'm no going for anything terribly challenging ... ANGELS and CLOUD 9, I guess. These students aren't coming from a theatrical background, so I took it easy on them.

Yeah, that's a big lie ... I don't know anything about challenging plays.

Oh, you all might dig this, too. I wrote a quick, silly sample of the type of critical essays they should be writing. I have no idea if this will be at all useful:

Dander’s Up, Doc
The Call for Violent Revolution in Duck Season/Wabbit Season
By Noah Smith

The concept of “the hunter becomes the hunted” is so clichéd now as to be meaningless. But the old saw gains new teeth in the Warner Bros. short film Duck Season/Wabbit Season. In the film a dominant patriarchal representative of the ruling class, race, and species seeks to destroy two disparate minority representatives of the underclass, purely as a way of reasserting his dominance. While the two potential victims, Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck, at first feud between each other, they finally realize that only by uniting against the “Master” can they survive. The brutally frank assertion, then, is that there can indeed be some degree of harmony between the races, but only if it is in union against the ruling class. Duck Season/Wabbit Season is nothing less than a seven-minute, animated call for violent revolution within the United States.
The deceptively simple story of the short follows Elmer Fudd, a wealthy, gun-toting white male, into the primeval, uncivilized world of the forest. He gives no thought to the idea that he does not belong in this natural world – all things are his, all of creation is his playpen, because he is a gun-toting white male. He soon meets Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck and declares a desire to shoot one of them. The two desperately try to avoid death, at first by turning against each other. They endeavor to bamboozle Fudd by switching signs to “change season” from duck season to “wabbit” season and back and forth. Realizing, only after Daffy has been shot numerous times, that they will never survive as adversary’s in Fudd’s world, the two unite and create a new sign, declaring that it is “Elmer Season.” Now Fudd is shot at by his fellow man and the hunter has literally become the hunted.
Fudd makes for an unflattering depiction of white male power. He is short, bald, sexless, and speaks with an impediment, mocked by the slang-speaking Bugs, and differently-impeded Daffy. Even his rifle proves impotent as both weapon and phallic symbol as it is seemingly incapable of killing Daffy, even at close range. Nevertheless, his entrance into the forest is a herald of danger; he is a threat that must be dealt with.
Although they are natives of the woods, and representatives of indigenous American species, Bugs and Daffy do not seem to be analogies for American Indians, or any other indigenous peoples. Rather, the aura created by the two of them and their antics is that of vaudevillian comedians, ethnic, to be certain, but perhaps second-generation Americans. Noticeably, Daffy, the darker-“skinned” of the two is “the stooge” and consistently shown to be inferior to the lighter half-gray/half white Bugs. Clearly, racism has found its way into even this allegedly paradisiacal setting (whether Daffy is meant to be an unflattering and racist depiction of an African American is probably a topic for another paper). Bugs, the “whiter” animal gets along far better in Fudd’s world, as even the forest must become when Fudd is in it. It should be noted, also, that Bugs is the only one of the two animals who wears any clothing at all: a pair of gloves. Yet, this is as far as his assimilation will go. Bugs is proudly a part of the underclass, to such an extent that he actually lives underground.
Both animals seem willing to “play by Fudd’s rules,” when first they encounter him. They concede, without any argument, that Fudd has the right to shoot one of them. Their squabble then, is just which one of them will be shot. They allow that there is a time of the year when it is appropriate for humans to shoot ducks and another when they may shoot “wabbits.” Only by manipulation of reality to confuse Fudd as to the calendar may one of them survive.
But this stratagem is doomed to failure. They may be manipulating reality, but it is still Fudd’s reality. For one, Fudd does not seem to care which one of them he kills, just so long as he asserts his dominance somewhere. For another, this is at best a temporary solution, even if Bugs successfully convinces Fudd that Daffy is his rightful victim, he knows that “wabbit season” will roll around someday. It is impossible for them to win, as long as they play with the cards the dominant class/race has dealt them – even if they cheat. Only by “changing the game”, i.e. changing Fudd’s reality to one of their own devising, can they hope to succeed.
The first step for Bugs and Daffy is to put aside their differences and work together. This does not come easily, as Daffy finds Bugs “despicable” and Bugs considers Daffy “a maroon.” But, as they have learned through their travails, only united could they survive.
Their solution is a simple one. They simply declare that it is neither duck or “wabbit” season, but time for Fudd to be hunted. As the picture ends, Fudd runs away, being shot at by his fellow humans. These faceless hunters seem just as blasé as Fudd was about what they shoot, as long as they take something home to mount on the wall. We never see the results of this new hunt – the revolution will not be televised.
The film seems to be making the horrifying statement that the disadvantaged will never be able to rise in society unless they unite for the express purpose of destroying the dominant class/race. Duck Season/Wabbit Season shows a world where this dominant class/race has oppressed the underclass/race for too long by pitting them against each other, and now they must pit the dominant class/race against itself. It is time for the “tables” to turn, and when these tables flip around, they say, “It is hunting season for the empowered white male.”

I don't even know if that's the right title of the short ... or if "despicable" or "maroon" actually appear in it ...

The Hilarious Adventures of a Man on a Women's College Campus

People do sometimes go "woo woo" when I mention I live on an all-female campus.

But, c'mon, think how creepy it would be if I did any ogling or flirting with the students. Even if I weren't married to their babysitter. (Amanda hates it when I say that)

Still, it's a weird situation. It would be weird living year-round on any college campus. For three months, we have it pretty much to ourselves, then all these students move in.

And, of course, it's an absurd amount of work ... for Amanda. She's been putting in some near-all-nighters, as I've mentioned. And I've been pitching in where I can. This means pretty much minor annoying paperwork ... since I have no skill. But there've been plenty of nights where we were both in the office till after 2AM, Amanda figuring out where to place students, writing emails to facilities to ask when they’re going to get around to putting the stalls back into that one bathroom, while I … do arts and crafts.

Yep, one of my big projects was to make two photo collages of Field Day events from the past two springs. And let me tell you … these are some pretty snazzy looking collages, if I do say so myself. I know they make me want to take part in a pie-eating contest and then run a three-legged race.

Then there was the weird stuff. I mentioned that we have to have the transfer students living off campus in a converted bed and breakfast. It’s actually a pretty sweet setup, where they’ll get their own bathrooms, air conditioners, etc. The only real downside is the commute to campus, which is a pretty easy walk, and regardless, they have up to four free cab rides every day.

Until the students arrived, the RA for this building was living there all by herself. This really wasn’t okay. We can’t let an undergrad be all alone in a building seven minutes from campus, even though she did have her boyfriend staying with her. So Amanda and I had to stay in the building for four nights. Maybe it was a little absurd, we would tell ourselves, as we prepared to trek over there, sleeping bags in hand, at 2AM. This particular RA is actually only a few months younger than Amanda, herself. But, as we always came back to … what if tonight’s the night “something happens.”

Luckily, nothing ever did happen … well, one thing …

Like I said, we had to bring sleeping bags, because the beds in the rooms were twin beds and we have no twin sheets. Actually, we only have one sleeping bag, so I had to create a makeshift bedroll out of a double-bed sheet and a blanket. Yeah, we didn’t try to crush into one single … we don’t miss our own college days that much. So Amanda and I slept in bunk beds twice and kitty-corner ground level beds once. It was highly romantic, in the sense that it was not at all romantic.

Then, our final night, before the students moved in and the building got full-up enough for us to entrust it to go it alone, we got to stay in the RD room. There is still no RD for the building, and, yeah, that’s a problem, but that’s neither here nor there. No, this time we got to sleep on a king-sized bed … albeit one with no sheets, so we just unrolled this ever-reliable sleeping bag and slept on bare pillows. Look, it was an improvement over the bunk beds.

That morning, Amanda had to rise early (she slept maybe 16 hours all of last week). But I got to sleep in. So I did.

I was semi-awakened by sounds of students moving in, but it was nothing I couldn’t doze through.

What I couldn’t sleep through was the man unlocking my door and coming inside.

The Student Activities Director was looking around, curious to check out the new digs. And he had a key.

So, that’s how I woke up … in my underwear, face to face with the Student Activities Director, making awkward conversation.

The SAD is, by the way a great guy. I actually had applied to work in his office this semester, before I got the teaching job. That would have made for an uncomfortable first week on the job, having my new boss with the image of my near-naked form curled up in untucked sheets.

Now, of course, the story spread pretty quickly among the Student Life Staff, including all the student workers. And it grew in the telling … in the more interesting versions, I was completely naked, Amanda and I were BOTH completely naked … I can only assume what the next level would be and I really don’t want students giving that too much thought.

It’s rough enough having all these attractive college girls undressing me with their eyes wherever I go!

Part Time Workers of the World ... Kind of Unite

So, while I was blogging pure fiction last week, some interesting things happened in my real life.

The big thing is that I now know what I’ll be doing for a living this coming semester. Therefore, this is a perfect Labor Day piece, except that I’m posting it on Tuesday and pretending it’s a Labor Day piece.

Anyway, as you know, I applied to the Masters program in Children’s Literature here at Simmons. I have indeed been accepted to it and I should have my first class Wednesday, presuming all the paperwork is done so I can go without, like, spending any money. Theoretically I’m home free because of Amanda, though I worry about this $100 deposit they seem to want. I assume it’s covered by the same magic “Groom of Employee” clause, but I worry.

The bigger news, to my mind, as it involves me MAKING money, is that I’m teaching again. Woo hoo! Academia!

I applied to teach a “First Year Experience” course this semester. What is that, you ask? Well, I’m glad you did. See, every year, Simmons does these classes for First-Year students, which is about the college experience, handling the transition, etc. Every week there’s a new topic like Health, Family, Religion, etc. Basically, I’d need to foster discussions, answer questions, etc.

These courses are taught by staff members, including the Res. Life staff. Amanda has taught it twice now. I threw my hat into the ring because the Freshman class is HUGE this year and I figured they might need some extra facilitators. And, I’m not exactly a novice here.

There was some question as to whether they’d need me, since real staff members need to get first crack. But the word was out that I was interested in teaching here and it made its way to the Dean of the Students, and later the Dean of the College.

Suddenly, there was talk of me teaching a Multidisciplinary Core Course.

Just what is that? Well, arguably, it’s Freshman Comp. But it’s so much more. It’s a required course for First Years and basically it needs to be about three things: 1) A lot of writing and rewriting 2) A look at diversity, multiculturalism, etc. 3) addressing this stuff from a multidisciplinary kind of way.

Other than that, I was free to do whatever I wanted. So I needed to put together a proposal. I quickly whipped up a course which I wound up calling The Mirror up to Nature: Reflections of Diversity in American Theatre. Sufficiently pretentious? Then I’m doing something right.

So we’ll read plays that are about multiculturalism in America, about assimilation, “the melting pot,” what it means to be American, etc. I think it’ll be a lot of fun. We’re also watching movies … basically, I want to make sure we don’t run out of things to talk about.

Oh, long story short, I was hired to teach both courses.

So that all starts this week. I think it’ll be fun and I have been champing at the bit to teach again, now that I have some idea of everything I did wrong while teaching at Quinnipiac.

I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to keep you updated of the specific goings-on of the class. It would be seriously wrong to turn this into “And then Student X said the stupidest thing ever.” But I may have some funny stories or what have you.

So I’m headlong in my dash to fill out paperwork to get books ordered, sign up for classes, draw up a syllabus, etc.

I may even have to skip my after-lunch nap some days …

RNC Blog, Partin'

Well, it's been a blast in New York this week, though, I'll tell you, I've never been called "fag" so often in my life.

I got one last exclusive interview ... well, I was going to do one with Zell Miller, but apparently I "looked at him funny" and he challenged me to a duel. I told him I'd rather settle it with a snipe hunt and sent him out into Central Park to find one. He seemed pretty psyched.

But that was small potatoes compared to the big fish, Dubya himself. Yep, he sat down with me for a chat. Here goes:

NS: Well, congratulations, sir, on receiving your party's nomination.

GWB: Thank you.

NS: I was pretty impressed with the way your party ripped John Kerry for being indecisive the same week you both claimed the War on Terror was unwinnable and then said it was winnable.

GWB: Pretty sneaky huh.

NS: Oh yes. Actually, sir, I want to compliment you. I think the statement that the War on Terror isn't really winnable was one of the most honest things anyone from either party has said since 9/11.

GWB: Uh thanks ...

NS: 'Cause, of course there will always be terrorists. And killing them off really just makes more rise in their wake. So telling the American people that you can never completely win this war was brave and forthright in a way I've never seen from you.

GWB: Um ...

NS: Of course, then you took it back.

GWB: Yeah. I did that.

NS: Moving right along, in your speech you outlined some pretty impressive stuff for your second term.

GWB: Thanks.

NS: Of course, in 2000, you ran as a moderate, then you governed as a hardline conservative. You ran on no nation building and you've done nothing but. So why should we believe anything you're saying now?

GWB: Um ... 'cause I really mean it this time?

NS: Okay, just one last question. I think it's fair to say that what swept you into office -- besides electoral fraud and a massively corrupt Supreme Court decision -- was values. In the wake of the Lewinksy scandal, you were able to offer the electorate a return of honor.

GWB: Honor is a Bush family hallmark.

NS: Gotcha. But here's the question. With overwhelming evidence that the majority of Florida voters wanted Al Gore; with the knowledge that if just one in ten of the ballots marked with two votes -- Buchanan and Gore -- in Palm Beach county had been intended for Gore, Gore would have one; with reports that thousands of voters of color were denied the right to vote; and with Al Gore winning the nationwide popular vote; how does a man of honor do anything other than concede? How is it possible that a man with anything other than a base, selfish lust for power and revenge doesn't say "the people of Florida and the people of America have chosen my opponent, I bow to their will"?

GWB: (Long pause.) Sore Loserman.

NS: Thank you. Well, that wraps things up. From the Republican National Convention, here with Future Historical Punchline George W. Bush, I'm Noah Smith, signing off.

RNC Blog, Part Nein

Man, these exclusive interviews just get cooler and cooler! You'll never guess who I got to speak to! One of the biggest names in the Republican Party ... that's right ... Jesus Christ himself!

NS: Mr. Christ, I --

JC: You know, that isn't really my last name.

NS: Oh, sorry. Should I just call you "Rabbi"?

JC: How about just "Jesus"?

NS: Works for me. So, Jesus, I have to say, it seems weird that you would become so associated with one political party.

JC: Well, it's just clear to me that the Republican Party embodies all the necessary elements of Christianity.

NS: And the Democrats are tools of Satan?

JC: Hey, you said it, not me.

NS: What would you say to people who'd say that, with the success of your film, you're just another Hollywood type sticking his nose into the election? How are you different from, say, a Ben Affleck or a Michael Moore?

JC: (Laughing) Well, check the box office, for one.

NS: Very Good. Actually, I want to get back to what we were talking about earlier. You really think that George W. Bush embodies Christian values?

JC: Sure thing.

NS: Really? I mean, for instance, you told us to turn the other cheek. Yet, when we were struck on 9/11, Bush used it as an opportunity -- some might say an excuse -- to strike back at not only the people who harmed us, but a whole other country completely uninvolved in the attacks.

JC: I never said anything about turning the other cheek.

NS: I'm pretty sure you did.

JC: Nope. You're mistaken.

NS: Look, I have it right here. Luke 6:29.

JC: Hey, if you're going to quote the liberal media --

NS: Wait, the Gospel of Luke is "The liberal media."

JC: Why do you hate America so much?

NS: Are you sure you're the real Jesus?

JC: Yep. 100% genuine Christ.

NS: Just cause the more I think about it ... I mean, why would Jesus be in favor of war? Why would Jesus support a party that has used hatred as a political tool for fifty years? Why would the man who railed against money changers in the temple, who said it's easier for a camel to fit through the eye of a needle for a rich man to get into heaven cowtow to big business? Why on Earth would Jesus support the Death Penalty, for Chrissake ... if you'll pardon the expression.

JC: Look, being a Christian in American means you're always right, no matter what you do or say. Being an American Christian means never having to say you're sorry. Stop thinking so much. You don't need to.

NS: But, but ... Christianity has spawned some of the greatest philosophers of all time ... St. Francis, and Kant, and --

JC: What are you, a Jew?

NS: Well ... only one grandfather, so ... no. But ... um ... you are.

JC: Ixnay on the ew-Jay!

NS: Look! There is no way you are really Jesus!

JC: (Thought baloon) Uh oh! Better cheese it! Feets don't fail me now!

(JESUS runs but is caught in a net which drops from the ceiling. Suddenly, four oddly dressed teenagers and a talking dog appear.)

GIRL WITH GLASSES: Jinkies, Fred! Your plan worked! You caught him!

GUY WITH GOATEE: Yeah, and, like, he's not so scary without his glowing face and the spooky sound effects!

GUY IN NECKERCHIEF: Let's find out who you really are!

(NECKERCHIEF GUY unmasks JESUS)

ALL: Old Man Cheney!

(Indeed, JESUS was actualy DICK CHENEY in disguise.)

CHENEY: Yeah, and I would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for you pesky kids and that meddling mutt.

DOG: Rooby Rooby Roo!

RNC Blog, Ate Part

Not sure why having no Internet access back in Boston prevented me from blogging today, seeing as I'm "here" in "New York" at the "convention" "."

Anyway, things continue to roll well over here. I went to the "Americans for Traditional Values" party last night. At first it was pretty dull ... basically a lot of people dancing arhythmically to Kenny G music. But it got going once Giuliani brought in the "Pin the Police Baton Up the Anus of the Detainee" game. I left when Neil Bush was snorting heroine off of Ann Coulter's breasts.

I had another exclusive interview with Henry Madeupname, who was in charge of getting those 9/11 family members and the general "mention September 11th as often as you can" tone the convention took in its first few days.

But just as we got settled for the interview the lights began to flicker, eerie wails filled the room and the walls started bleeding. Suddenly these ghostly figures filled the room, shrieking about how the GOP was desecrating their memories and how their souls will never find rest until the US has a sensible foreign policy. They dragged Mr. Madeupname into the bowels of hell before we could really talk.

Just my luck, eh?

RNC Blög: Part Sven (Ja, hey)

Got another exclusive interview, this time with Da Lady herself, Laura Bush:

NS: Mrs. Bush, it’s an honor to speak with you.

LB: (Inaudible)

NS: Mrs. Bush, you can speak up a little? You’re not in the library now.

LB: Oh, sorry … I’ve learned that, in general, George’s friends like women to keep quiet.

NS: I understand. But you certainly didn’t keep quiet last night. That was some speech you made about your husband. You really stressed his leadership and his status as a warrior.

LB: Yes. Sometimes he likes me to call him my Little Warrior Man in … um … I probably shouldn’t have said that.

NS: Isn’t it a little ironic that this “warrior” passionately avoided a war that he supported?

LB: We don’t do irony in Texas.

NS: I see. Well, let’s talk about the leadership that you stressed. I’m not sure I follow. Exactly what has he done that demonstrates leadership?

LB: Um, hello! War!

NS: All right. Except that he campaigned on a platform of no nation building. This leads me to one of three conclusions: One) Your husband was lying in 2000, and we have no reason to trust him this year. Two) He was insanely naïve, and is therefore completely unqualified for the job he’s been limping through for three and a half years. Three) He’s been wholly the puppet of his “staff,” which makes any claims of “leadership” on his part so ludicrous as to be laughable.

LB: Brzzt! Snap! Jam in logic processors! Does not compute! Malfunction!

NS: Mrs. Bush.

LB: Um, nothing, would you like some cookies.

NS: No thanks. Let’s change the subject. It’s pretty much an open secret that you’re Pro-Choice, as is your mother-in-law, and as was your father-in-law before Reagan picked him to be his running mate in 1980. Yet here you are campaigning for your husband on a platform of a Constitutional Amendment, banning abortion. Since the winner of this election will likely nominate two or three Supreme Court justices, how can you feel anything other than terror and revulsion at the prospect of a Republican victory here?

LB: I think there’s been some mistake, sir. I support all of my husband’s positions.

NS: Come on, Mrs. Bush –

LB: I support my husband in all – all – all
(Strange crackling sounds as blue electricity begins to spark from her neck)
System error! System error! Positronic drive in lockdown!

NS: Oh my god! Mrs. Bush! You’ve been turned into a cyborg! You’re a Stepford Wife, aren’t you?

(A GOP AIDE comes bustling over)

AIDE: Excuse me, the First Lady needs to go to the shop … er, I mean … she wants to go shopping! You know how these gals get about shoes!

NS: You can’t get away with this!

At this point, two large men surrounded me and assured me that they could, in fact get away with this.

RNC Blog, Part Sex (huhuhuhuhuhuhuhu ... no really, it's six)

I just want to say how refreshing it is to see all these moderates at the RNC. I'm so thrilled that the Republicans really do have a big tent this year.

Imagine! The party of Lincoln is no longer run by racists and homophobes. The Christian Right no longer gets to dictate national policy! No more endless blowjobs for big business! No more rolling back of environmental legislation! No more will women's uteruses be political battlegrounds! Sensible gun legislation will no longer be prevented by the 2% of all Americans who think the use of assault rifles in deer hunting is a good thing!

I mean, this must be the case! The party must really be moving to the center. Why else would McCain, Giuliani, and Schwarzenegger be speaking?

Wait ... Bush is still the candidate?

Never mind ... bitch.