Bryan Adams Blog

You Know It's True Email

From: [Emma]
Date: Tue, 28 Sep 2004 17:00:53 EDT
Subject: (no subject)
To: bpadams@mit.edu

Hello you sexy man I came to the whitfeild studios in london 2 weeks ago to see you,Ioveeeeee you bryan .I took loads of pics of you and now you are plastered all over my bedroom door, wish you were plastered over my bed !! This is one of the photos i took See ya soon at the sheffield arena in oct 04 .LOTS OF LOVE Emmaxxxxxxxxx

[Emmaxxxxxxxxx attaches the following photo]

Emmaxxxxxxxxx:

Always nice to hear from a fan. It's funny you should mention being me being plastered on your door, because I'm about to get plastered to celebrate my new album, "Room Service."

That's right, Emmaxxxxxxxxx! A new Bryan Adams album!

If you're surprised I'm still recording, well, so am I. I thought my 1998 album would be my last. That album was such a fucking drag, I felt like I was taking it up the ass from an elephant the entire time I was writing it (that's actually how I came up with the cover art). Take the biggest hit: "C'mon C'mon C'mon." You can just tell the studio fucked that shit up. I mean, the song is only 96 words long (counting each "c'mon" as a separate word), and I had to co-write it. See, I had written it myself first -- it was just called "C'mon" and the whole song was just me playing guitar and singing "C'mon c'mon c'mon" over and over again -- but then the studio sent this Peters guy in, and he made me write more lyrics and like a chorus and all that other shit. Goddamn studio suits. You know they're never going to be 18 'till they die.

So, after that album, I was like, fuck it, I'm just going to play video games, do lines of coke, and hit skins with the groupies. Boo-yah! And anyone who didn't like it could take the ol' elephant tusk in the back door. So I did that for like two months, until one day I went to the ATM and tried to take out cash, but found that I only had like $18 in my account (and the machine wouldn't cough up the 18 bucks!). I was pissed, so I called my financial manger.

"Ronnie," I said, "I've got $18 in my checking account, but this fucking ATM won't give it to me." Ronnie started saying something about $20 bills, and where did all that money go, and what about going back to the studio. I needed that money bad, so I put together my 1999 greatest hits album, entitled "Best of Me." (I wanted a giant picture of my cock on the cover, but I ended up having to settle for the rest of my body -- the goddamn studio again.)

But you know what, Emmaxxxxxxxxx? After almost five years off, I was inspired to write again, just because my life is so damn crazy. Consider these lyrics from my song, "flying"

if you ever feel like you're gonna fall - oh i'll be there / and if you ever feel down or feel small - oh don't despair / and if you ever feel lost or feel alone - babe c'mon home / lets just make love

I wrote that about my groupies. Nothing makes them happier than a little rumpy-pumpy with the big BA. Or consider the lyrics from my title track, "room service"

when a hotel rooms the closest thing you got to home / you could be in philadelphia you could even be in rome / you gotta dial nine to get an outside line / i even need a concierge just to take a drive - it's a crazy life

That's about what it's like to live in a hotel. Seriously -- you have to dial nine just to make a phone call. It's like, imagine if every phone number suddenly began with "9." That's the kind of life I lead. Or consider my most personal song, "east side story"

there was this girl i used to see - down on 42nd street / she'd walk by on her way to work - n' make the air smell so sweet / i used to sit in a coffee shop - sometimes i'd have a cup / and when she'd go by - she'd light up the sky / like the sun coming up

And then the rest of the song is about how I imagine myself with this girl who goes to work while I'm reading the funnies at Starbucks. See, that's what makes me different from other people -- most people see someone go by and they're like, whatever, there goes some person. But not me. If it's a girl, I imagine what it would be like if she knew me. I imagine how cool she'd think I was, and how much she'd love my songs, and how awesome it would be if we were together. That's just how my mind works. It's on a different level.

Anyway, Emmaxxxxxxxxx, thanks for the fan letter. When you're at the stadium, come back stage (I'll tell them some girl with like 12 x's at the end of her name is coming) and maybe we can talk more about your door. Or your bed.

C'mon c'mon c'mon,

--Bryan

Jon Jon Jon

Dear Jon Stewart,

Look, buddy, I love the Daily Show. I really, really do. But it's time for a little tough love. You fucked up tonight, and I am compelled to call you on it.

You seem like a swell guy, so I'm going to try to cut you a little slack. And I understand what you're trying to do -- by bringing Republicans on the show, you want to demonstrate that DS doesn't lean to the left (although, come on, we all know it does). I respect your goals, and I think they’re laudable. And I also appreciate the difficulty in treating your guests respectfully without just serving up softballs.

But you crossed the line tonight when you asked Ralph Reed for the rationale behind the Iraq war, and then joked all through his answer. You can’t do that.

Here's why not: the Iraqi war is not a joke. 1053 American soldiers have died. The reasons behind the war, no matter how you feel about them, are a serious issue. And when you ask questions about them not out of a sincere desire for an answer, but simply because it's the "serious" counterbalance to your "funny," you imply that the issues behind the war are just another thing that people flap their yaps about, like Macaulay Culkin, or the Red Sox. The vast majority of Americans don't have a family member in the war, and so, for us, it's too easy for the sacrifice of American lives to become just another Thing That Happens, and then we read about it. It's like parade: new stuff marches up, we gawk at it, and then it marches down the street and we gawk at the next thing that marches up. It's the way the entertainment-industrial complex works, and it's fine for things like Spider-Man 2 or the Britney-and-Kevin drama.

But it's not OK for the war. For the Americans who lost family members, the rationale doesn't just march on. For the Iraqis, who now face an uncertain and dangerous future, the rationale is definitely not marching on. And, truth be told, for all of us who are now citizens in a country that is about to re-elect a leader who says that pre-emptive war is OK, that rationale really has no business marching down the street. We should be sprinting after it, grabbing it by the shoulders, shouting in its face, and demanding a big fat "WHAT THE FUCK?" from the war rationale. And when you laugh it off and tell that self-righteous prick Reed that he looks like he came out of a vegetable crisper, you make us feel ok about the fact that we’re tired of hearing about the war, when we have no business feeling that way.

So you need to make a choice, Jon. If you want to have war supporters on the show and ask them serious questions, then you need to sacrifice some of your street cred, take the issue seriously, and have a serious conversation. Or if you want to just giggle the night away, saying "titties" and laughing with Rosie Perez, that's ok too. But don't treat the war like it's some shitty book promo or the latest Friday evening diversion. That's how we got into this mess in the first place.

I thought the joke about John Kerry's tan was funny, though.

--Bryan

Bathroom Obama

As the presidential debate season approaches, I am compelled to report that I’ve stopped caring about this election. Honestly, I don’t give a shit anymore. If Bush gets elected, it doesn’t matter to me personally because I’m not going to get drafted to fight a war in Iran, I’m not going to find myself without health insurance, and I’m always going to be able to find a high-paying job. To be honest, a Bush presidency helps me personally, so if everyone in this country wants to elect that fucking retard to a second term, I’m done trying to stop you.

Instead, I'm going to tell you about the drama happening in my work bathroom.

When our lab moved to a new building, the bathroom districting was completely scrambled, so now I'm sharing a bathroom with a whole new set of people. Now, I don't know exactly who my new bathroom mates are, but I can tell you right now, they are not good people. I don’t know what kind of traumatic childhood these people went through, but it’s manifesting itself in pathological bathroom behavior.

It wasn’t always like this. In our old building, my bathroom community was awesome. We were a cohesive, responsible bunch. We disposed of our trash only in the waste bin, and when the waste bin got full, someone would take one for the team and smash it down. The sinks were kept clean, the water was never left running, and no one even thought about peeing on the seats.

And this positive environment bred positive behavior. While I never figured out exactly who did it, someone would always leave a magazine in the very last stall, just in case you had rushed into the bathroom to poop and forgotten to bring your own reading material. And it wasn’t some cheap tabloid either: you were reading People, or Time, or some other glossy newsmag. Even though you were in need, you got the best. In fact – and I’m getting a little emotional remembering this – the magazine was frequently opened to the page of an interesting story. I took more interesting shits in that stall than in every other pooping place combined.

Which is why my disappointment in our new community is so profound. The sinks are regularly covered with water, so when you lean in to check for stray nosehairs, you get a line of water right across the crotch. The urinals are used not so much as a receptacle, but as a suggested target. I've even walked into a stall a few times and found remnants. Remnants. I’ve gone from reading a pre-screened article in USNews to having to do my own courtesy flush.

But it's the paper towels that really crossed the line. We have one of those two-in-one, paper-towel-dispenser/trash-bin things mounted on the wall. Pretty simple to use -- you take a paper towel out, you dry your hands, you throw the paper towel away. Except some malevolent asshole would always take a paper towel out, walk towards the door while drying his hands, realize that, whoops, the trash bin was back where the paper towels were, and then -- and this is really just so disappointing I almost can't write it -- just throw the paper towels on the floor. Seriously, there would be a little pile of used paper towels on the floor, in the corner of the bathroom by the door, every day. All because some super-important being was too lazy to walk back to the trash bin and toss them properly. It was just awful.

But, today, someone decided that enough is enough. As I was walking out, I saw a sign on the back of the door that read as follows:

To whomever is discarding paper towels on the floor:

Germs will be the least of your troubles if I ever catch you.

Pick up after yourself. Do you really need to be told to do so?

I was near tears reading it. It says, if there are paper towels in the corner of the bathroom, that bothers me, even if they’re not my paper towels. It says, we’re all in this bathroom together, and we should go the extra mile to be excellent to each other when we use it. It says, I have the courage of my convictions, and I’m not afraid to stand up for the value of a decent shared pooping experience.

It made me feel proud to be part of a community again. I miss feeling that way.

Your Vote Is Worth A Penny

Even the New York Times Magazine is getting in on my Voting Is Stupid theory.

A Hell of A Guy

I think being likable is highly overrated. I've heard that one of the reasons people want to vote for George Bush is because he's likable. Excuse me? I totally don't get this. Someone characterized Mr. Bush as "the kind of guy you'd like to go have a beer with." Well, the guy who said that would be second-last on my list of beer-swilling-buddies, with Dubya being dead last.

Does this person actually think he's ever going to have a beer with Bush? And how does this "likability" factor have anything to do with someone's competency to be president? My position is that it has very little to do with it. Sure, Bush seems like a regular kind of guy. That's precisely why I don't think he's a very good president. I know lots of 'regular guys.' And they're good at just that - regular stuff. Being president requires a whole host of qualities that 'regular guys' don't possess. Thankfully, they don't usually run for public office just because they couldn't find a better calling.

When I'm looking for someone to skillfully provide a service to me, I frankly don't give a damn whether or not they're likable. Good at what they do? Yes. Chummy, friendly, and able to make me like them? Not necessary. I want my doctor to be a skilled clinician who can diagnose my problem and treat it. I don't care if we like each other. I'm going to see this person when I'm sick. I don't like too many people when I don't feel well, so let's just cut through the crap and let him or her do what he or she does best and send me on my way. I want a person who made it through medical school because she knows her stuff - not because she schmoozed through on her charm. When my car isn't working, give me a top-flight mechanic. If he's a nice guy, great. But, it's certainly not necessary, since I'm not planning to take him out to dinner after my car's fixed. Likewise with computer repair, plumbing, heating and cooling, and the like.

Why is it people think they need to "like" their president, as though he's ever going to be their "friend?" He's not. On the contrary, the president needs to be someone incredibly smart, able to see the many sides of a problem, comprehend the various consequences of a course of action; listen to and process many different points of view. And, sometimes, he's got to tell me things I might not like to hear. But, I can listen to that stuff and deal with it, if I fundamentally respect the guy because he's smarter than me, knows more than me about the problem, and has spent more time trying to come up with a workable solution. I don't have to like him.

So, despite the fact that John Kerry wouldn't win a personality contest against Dubya, I'll still vote for him. He doesn't need to be charming, funny, engaging, and an all-around good time. I've already got a husband with those qualities. I don't need them in my president. I want a guy who's smart, thoughtful, insightful, capable of assessing a situation, able to comprehend a whole host of consequences, understanding and knowledgeable of other cultures, and - yes - able and willing to change his mind.....anything but a regular guy.

Uh Oh

So many interesting things to share from the world of robots today, but unfortunately, I have to focus on one thing.

This website is about to be shut down.

See, the "MIT Artificial Intelligence Laboratory" ("ai.mit.edu" in the URL) doesn't technically exist anymore and it hasn't existed since, well, 2003. And I've been dragging my feet in moving anything because, as much as I love reading manuals and creating new databases and bugging the sysadmins, I ... wait, no, I hate all that stuff.

So I've just squatted here in ai.mit.edu-land until the moment we find ourselves at now, which is that this blog is going to be moving. Curses! Why didn't I pluck bryanadams.com when I had the chance? DAMN YOU, BRYAN GUY ADAMS!

So, if you come here one day and find that all that's left are some dust bunnies and a few dead flies, it's because I'm now at my new home, which will be somewhere off of http://people.csail.mit.edu/~bpadams.

Does anything suck worse than computers?

May the Wind Be Always at Your Back

This past weekend featured the most beautiful weather an Ohioan could ever hope for. A late summer weekend with warm temperatures, clear blue skies, low humidity, a light breeze, and cool evenings. You could not wish for better weather. My husband and I took advantage of it by visiting a local bike trail. The Rails to Trails Conservancy recently opened this stretch of trail which will ultimately allow bikers to travel the whole state from north to south. I hope I'm here long enough to do that.

Bike trails are great. You don't have to worry about cars, or questionable terrain, or even where you're going. You just hop on the paved trail, which used to be a railroad line, and ride to your heart's content. My husband and I rode about 19 miles south, just enjoying the weather, the exercise, and our thoughts. When it was time to turn back, something struck me, in the metaphorical sense that is. Part of the reason our trip south had been so pleasant was that there was a gentle, but discernible, wind at our backs. Actually, it wasn't totally discernible until you were riding into it. Suddenly, the leisurely ride was a lot more work, requiring lots more gear-shifting, and......effort. That's when it struck me: we're never really totally aware when the wind is at our backs, both literally and figuratively.

That gentle but persistent wind wasn't that noticeable on the way down. But it was smacking us in the face on the way back. That made me think about my friend whose grandchild was killed last week -- she had no idea that the wind was at her back, until now that she's facing into it. I thought about the times in my life when I took the normalcy of the day-to-day routine for granted, only to have it rudely interrupted by some upsetting event. That's when I longed for the normalcy of my routine again, to have a gentle breeze blowing my way.

We made the trip back just fine. It was a lot more labor; I paid a lot more attention to the effort involved; I could feel my body working harder; I felt a greater sense of relief when it was over. And it reminded me that I need to pay attention to, and appreciate, those times when things are going well. That made me think of Bryan, and how he's been riding into the wind for a while now working on this PhD. I wonder if he'll ever have the sense of being spoiled by having the wind at his back too long, after having had it smack him in the face for about four years now?

Tragedy

Modern society offers us so many ways to dress up our ordinary lives that we often end up believing a lot of the BS that's proffered to us a million times a day. And I'm not just talking about fashion, cosmetics, snake-oil health remedies and the like. I'm talking about both the blatant and subtle messages that are meant to convince us we can take control of our lives, change ourselves for the better, maybe even the 'best,' if we but discipline ourselves to follow all the advice that's out there for the taking, or more accurately, buying. Even Dubya's trying to sell us an "ownership society." Take personal responsibility for what happens in your life, and we'll all be better off.

Not that I totally disagree with it, mind you. I do believe people should actually make an effort to improve themselves - learn things, eat right, save money, respect the environment, follow a moral code. That's all good stuff. But, when you start actually believing that you've achieved some control over life and its vagaries - that's when you get into trouble. You start to lose your compassion for other people. It's almost like having too much of a good thing. When bad things happen to other people, you start to look at the events with an eye toward how their own behavior contributed, or actually caused them. This way, you insulate yourself from some similar tragedy, because you would have chosen differently.

A case in point: On Wednesday this past week, the two-year-old granddaugher of a friend of mine was killed in a horrific traffic accident. A semi turned into the path of her father's car, shoving its massive bumper into the side of the car and pinning the child in her carseat. The semi driver was cited and arrested for vehicular homicide. This is a tragedy, pure and simple. I'm sure the truck driver is not an evil man, but he had a serious lapse in judgment that killed a child. Sometimes terrible things happen. Sometimes we screw up. It's in the nature of us humans.

What's interesting to me, though, is the reaction of one of my co-workers. She actually blamed the father because he had belted the child's carseat behind the driver's seat rather than on the passenger's side. The semi had struck the car on the driver's side, though the father escaped serious injury. To her, the father bears responsibility for not belting the car seat on the other side, since it's apparently "common knowledge" that children are to be belted in on that side. (This is news to me, however, and I had three children).

This utter lack of compassion has me completely flabbergasted. And, I think my co-worker's attitude is more common than I want to believe. I think this attitude is rooted in trying to distance oneself from tragedy -- "This would never happen to me because I would never do anything so stupid." But, you know what? You simply cannot distance yourself, nor should you. This is the heart of compassion - understanding that none of us is perfect, and that even when we try to be, we still make mistakes. That's at the foundation of our humanity. Another part of that foundation is our responsibility to help and support one another when these bad things happen.

It saddens and scares me that some people think like my co-worker. We're all worse off when our first reaction to tragedy is to try and pin the blame somewhere, instead of feeling sympathy and compassion for those involved.

Bill Gates Stole My Dog

You would think a guy with like 29 billion dollars would have everything he needs in life. Cars, houses, enough $1 bills to make a stack 2,028 miles high. But no, it's never enough. Bill Gates now has my dog as well.

Astute readers will remember Professor Sanders' lesson from yesterday: in "African American language," your "dog" is "your passion, your fire" (no, Stuart, not your passion for fire -- that's your "cat"). I had reported the return of my "dog" to my research "crib" due to some "phat" progress on my "pimpin'" software, "fo' shizzle."

However, much of that progress was reversed yesterday when I foolishly took Bill Gates at his word and and installed Windows XP Service Pack 2 (or, as it's frequently appreviated, "WXPSP2," or "SHITBALL"). Bill Gates proudly touted the security features in SHITBALL, even as others were tearing it down. My experience with SHITBALL has been that it is extremely effective from a security standpoint, since no one is going to hack into my computer while a sysadmin has it in about 12 different pieces, trying to back it up before completely reformatting the hard drive and reinstalling my software.

Just as a side note, in the brief period where I was able to use SHITBALL, I was impressed by the features. In particular, I want to thank Microsoft for including a "pop-up blocker" for Internet Explorer that sits at the top of my browser window. I mean, the fact that the Google Toolbar does the exact same thing doesn't mean that I don't also want Windows elbowing Google out of the way to do it first. I like the feeling of being the hot girl in the bar who pulls out a cigarette, only to have a small hoarde of beefy men all extending lighters and offering to block my popups.

But really, I want to applaud Microsoft's audacity. Only they would build a browser that allows pop-ups in the first place, not fix the flaw in any of the first five versions of the browser despite near-universal animosity towards the feature, and, only after third party makes serious headway by fixing your semi-intentional fuckup, finally build a patch that, essentially, thwarts itself. The IE pop-up blocker basically says, "Hey! I suck because I allow pop-ups at all, but now I'm blocking them for you, so I rule again!" Kudos, Bill. Kudos.

All this is a long way of saying that, while my laptop is undergoing serious software surgery to remove the malignant tumor that is Service Pack 2, my dog is AWOL. Have you seen him? His ears hang low, they wobble to and fro, he's got a waggly tail, he has fleas, and I'd like to know WHO-WHOWHOWHO-WHO-LET-MY-DOG-OUT?!

Oh, right. It was Bill Gates. Sorry.

Arf

"I feel 10 times better than I felt my last season, in terms of passion and fire. I got my dog back, in African-American language, your dog meaning your passion, your fire." -- Deion Sanders

I worked about 16 hours today, and I'm not tired, or finished. Anyway, I got my dog back, and I'm going to ride him until I score a touchdown or he runs off again, trailing mixed metaphors and condescending racial sterotypes.

How To Give an Academic Talk In Eight Easy Steps

[Ed. This post is exactly why academic conferences shouldn't provide free wireless Internet access if they want people to listen to the talks.]

Step 1: Wear really ratty clothes. You're only going to be speaking in front of like 50 colleagues. Today is the perfect day to wear your unironed shirt, sausage-link jeans, hemp belt, and (my personal favorite) tevas. Lookin' good!

Step 2: Don't start preparing until the morning of the talk. The right way to write your talk is to do it right when you wake up, in one sitting, and without anyone else reading it before you give it. The goal is complete incomprehensibility. You should have no idea what you were writing by slide 5.

Step 3: JAIFUA. Jargon, Acronyms, Inscrutable Figures, Unstated Assumptions.

Step 4: If you're speaking for 30 minutes, you'll need at least 437 slides. You should feel free to write so many slides that you couldn't get through them in the allotted time if you did nothing but sit and hammer away at the space bar. Failing to run massively over time is a sign of stupidity. (Note: the one time you're allowed to violate this rule is if you decide not to show up at all, which is also acceptable.)

Step 5: Stop every three minutes to take a drink of water. Just because you can.

Step 6: Avoid having a point. Your talk is about your system, and your system was designed to generate a talk. Any reference to anything outside those two items is superfluous. Don't think of it as circular reasoning, think of it as a cohesive research structure.

Step 7: Act irritated that anyone would ask a question. "Who are you to question the speaker? Was I speaking too quickly for your retarded brain? How could you not understand any of my JAIFUA? You must be stupid."

Step 8: Don't even think about interrupting the grumpy guy in the corner who's typing on his laptop.

A Winner

Our local Starbucks is honoring a "Customer of the Month." When I saw his picture in that cool frame right on the front counter, the first thought that popped into my head was, "How do you get to be Customer of the Month?" Now, that might make me sound like the kind of person who's really competitive, always wins stuff, or seeks recognition. And, really, nothing's further from the truth. It's not that I want the outward recognition, I just sort of like to think that I could get it if I really wanted it. But, honestly, I'm just deluding myself. The truth is, when I've actually tried to be hot stuff, it's usually backfired.

I used to play racquetball - a lot. And I was pretty good. I even entered tournaments. But, one of the worst moments of my life was when my mother-in-law came to watch me play a tournament match and my opponent creamed me like softened butter in a mixer. Well, maybe that doesn't actually compare to the time I 'played' (and I use that term very loosely) a piano recital duet with my 7-year-old daughter, and I completely flubbed my part. (We won't even talk about how the video shows me pretending it was my daughter who'd messed up - but hey, she was 7, she didn't have any face to save). There are more, but I'm starting to sweat just thinking about them.

Usually when I've accomplished something worth bragging about, it's when I didn't really try. Like the time my golf instructor (in front of my whole family, including Sonia) said I was "in the top 2% of wrist-cockers" he'd ever taught. (Yeah, I know the jokes running through your heads. Remember it's mom writing this). Top 2%! I try to think about that every time I'm about to swing my club. I remember a time I unexpectedly won an award at church. And the time I was inducted into Phi Beta Kappa. And when I had Bryan,....and Emily,....and Laura.

For me, trying really hard for something hasn't reaped the biggest rewards.** Usually just the opposite. Most of the really great things that have happened in my life have all been unplanned, unexpected, and wonderful. And I wonder if my youngest daughter might not be a 'chip off the old block.' Miss Laura has accomplished a lot of amazing things in her mere 22 years, but she often considered them to be sort of 'under the radar' when compared to the achievements of her older brother and sister. They were both tough acts to follow. However, she's attained some amazing things, mostly when she hardly tried. The most recent is getting hired by Christie's as a result of her summer internship, despite the fact that she's just entering her senior year of college. She's a student near the top of her class, now with a full-time job, a part-time job at Starbucks; while she manages the on-campus coffee shop, too. I'm sure she'll have her share of 'recital' moments, just like we all do, but she'll also be able to smile with pride knowing that she's pretty darn special without even having to try. Way to go, Lo.

[**This is in keeping with Bryan's theory that 'trying' is really overrated. He needs to do a blog post about it.]

Some Updates

It was suggested to me by Woojay that readers of this blog are interested in my life. I find that a little hard to believe, since even I'm not interested in my life right now. I mean, when the Dunkin' Donuts people greet you with a knowing smile and start getting the giant iced coffee ready, it's time to re-evaluate.

That being said, I'm compelled by the possibility of writing a post without having to look anything up or even really think, so here are a few "What's Going On In Bryan's Life" updates.

I am, again, taking a class about the Bible this term. At Harvard Divinity School. Called "The Bible And Politics." So you might as well just brace yourself for a lot more of these kinds of posts. Also, that will complete my "minor" (yes, a PhD with a minor) in "the Bible." Strange.

The frat kids are back, and the rush is on. (By the way, I found out yesterday that some of them read this, so, you know, Hi Mike! Hi Cam! Put down the whiskey bottles!) Rush means that the frat has been fraught with frosh. To me, the most amazing aspect of the whole thing is the freshmen "women" (or, as I like to call them, "fetuses"). It's clear that they're interested in research, because every one of them seems to be using their pants as an effort to test the theoretical boundaries of the term "low-rise." Honestly, I saw not one, but two asscracks. And the tennis skirts! Good grief! A longer-than-average stride is going to expose your hoo-ha! I swear to God, if I ever have a daughter, I'm keeping her in a box until she's 30.

On October 15, I will, in a single day, complete my final qualifying exam and satisfy the director of research at [Company] with my progress. So, until then, everyone should expect erratic posts, moody behavior, questionable hygiene, and above all, lots of whining.

Posted by bpadams at 10:49 AM | Comments (15)

Meet Mr. Grimes

Having decided not to vote for John Kerry, I'm in the market for a decent third party candidate. He (or she!) doesn't need to be a star or have any chance of winning -- indeed, I would prefer someone with no chance of winning. He (or she!) could even be an "only-on-the-ballot-in-Massachusetts" person. I just want someone to vote for so that I don't have to wait, with the rest of the Democrats, for John Kerry to start using a flashlight to aid his bi-manual search for his ass.

And you'd think, with all this Internet hootenanny, that it would be easy for me to find a short, definitive list of who's on the ballot here in the Commonwealth. You'd be wrong.

Here's how I thought it would work: I take a short research break and, after some Googling, I find an image of the ballot that I will use in November. I then investigate each Presidential candidate, finally selecting the one who seems most worthy of the office. All the while, I write about this search process on my blog, you all read and laugh, and I feel good about the use of my procrastination time.

Here's how it actually worked. I started goofing around with election sites at 11:30pm, and found that, despite exhausting my not-inconsiderable computer abilities, I cannot find a list of who and/or what will appear on the ballot in Massachusetts (can that really be?). Instead, what I can find is a list of the 71 people appearing on one ballot or another across the nation.

That's right, 71.

So I did the same thing that everyone does when confronted by a huge list of links: I look for any that seem like they might lead to something funny or naked and click on them. In this case, that method led me to the first entry in the "Who's Bryan Gonna Vote For?" sweepstakes.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Mr. Jackson Kirk Grimes, candidate for President from the United Fascist Union.

Jack Grimes (R, I think) and Sally Parker

You can discover many things about Candidate Grimes from his 2004 Presidential National Political Awareness Test (NPAT). You can discover, for example, that Mr. Grimes does not personally believe in marriage. He thinks it's a sham and "a way for the stronger partner to dominate the weaker one." I could not find Ms. Parker's views on marriage.

I liked many of Mr. Grimes' position. For example, we both support gay marriage ("finding no fault with homosexuals, we do not think it's a government concern"), public schools, and some form of nationalized health care. I also like, on the UFU website, his central idea that America could be a country "where homelessness no longer accures," although I have some reservations about the existence of that verb. And he seems to be an okay guy, since, under "Fun Facts," he reveals that he had a cat -- "Little Boo - now deceased."

I am afraid, though, that I can't quite vote for Mr. Grimes. He proposes pulling out of Iraq immediately, which strikes me as questionable, but he also proposes that we reinstate Saddam Hussein to his rightful seat of power, which strikes me as woah. I further admire the creative thinking that fueled his suggested focus on "steam automobiles," but I can't say that that I'm optimistic about their prospects. Moreover, I'm troubled by his Underpants-Gnomian priorities for office (quoted, I should add, directly from his NPAT profile):

#1. Abolish paper money. Establish a "Transferable Work Point Card" as an electronic credit & debit system, which would bring about a cashless/checkless society.
#2. Establish a "Universal Price Index", designed to first freeze and then greatly reduce the cost of all necessities of life, like rent, groceries, car payments, etc & so on.
#3. Create a league of nine or ten nations that would form a Confederacy of States to create a new world Order based on the principles of Corporate Statism.

So that's one "nay" for Candidate Grimes. However, the search will go on, and I will keep you updated on my progress.

Give Up

You'd be surprised how easy it is to give up on politics altogether. They're a lot like sports, or the West Wing, or PS2. When you're engaged, you're engrossed and entertained. When you stop, you wonder what all the fuss was about.

I gave up on politics right after John Kerry's "I still would have voted for the Iraq war" answer. That was, for me, the last straw. If John Kerry still would have given this President the authority to go to war -- knowing that our intelligence was wrong and that there were no WMDs -- then I have no idea what the man stands for. I thought the whole Vietnam-fest thing was Kerry's way of saying, quietly, "I know war, and I will do what I can to keep us out of it." I liked that. Now, if he feels that Bush should have had the authority to go to war with a no-threat-to-us-Iraq, then we might as well get ready to go to war with Iran. And North Korea. And Lebanon. And every other country with a jack-off leader and a history of bad behavior.

So, instead of getting mad about it, I just decided to stop following it. I just decided to not care anymore. If Kerry gets elected, fine. I guess I prefer him in a would-you-rather-eat-dog-poop-or-broken-glass kind of way. If Bush gets elected, honestly, fine. If so many people care so much about our President's stand on Jesus that we're willing to overlook all that other stuff, then I guess we should have two terms of a Jesus-lovin' President. Just leave me out of it. Let me focus on my work.

Of course, "Let Me Focus On My Work" isn't exactly the refrain to the battle hymn of the republic, if you know what I'm saying. Taking time off from the messy, fucked-beyond-belief, no-hope state of the world so that you can focus on the messy, fucked-beyond-belief, no-hope state of your research is like ... well, it's like that dog-poop-glass-shards thing again (I'm a little low on creativity, if that's not obvious). Actually, it's like having a permanent houseguest who never wants to do anything. "So, Code, would you like to go to the mall today? How about a round of golf? Maybe we could finally fix those pointer errors that make you crash all the time?" No, no, and definitely not.

I've spent what would probably qualify as an unhealthy amount of time trying to zero in on exactly what it is that I've come to hate so much about being a graduate student. I thought it might be working alone, or that it might be a too-broad thesis topic, or maybe it was just computers. But I've come to realize that the problem with being a student anymore is that I don't give a shit about my work. When it doesn't work, I'm frustrated, and when it does work, I'm relieved, but those are about the only two states I have. Frustration which cedes to relief, and back again. At no point do I think about how cool it is that I get to do my own work and discover the mysteries of the universe because 1, it doesn't feel like my own work because I don't want to do it, and 2, I'm pretty sure the mysteries of the universe are not contained in pointer errors that stem from my inability to count to 100 without landing on 101.

All of this is a long way of saying: I haven't felt like posting in a long while, and I don't really feel like posting now. I don't know if it's work, or politics, or Sonia going back to Montreal, or what, but I have lost my appetite for doing things. It's all I can do to get up in the morning, drag myself to work for 12 hours, and return home to fall asleep. Every time I try to write about something, it comes out as an extended whine (like this post), and I don't really want to whine about it. Or talk about it. Or anything else, at this point.

For the record, I recognize that "this is just a phase" and that "every grad student feels that way." I know, and I'm sure they do. The problem is that those feelings are sincere and authentic, and their inevitability in no way mitigates their impact. Maybe my malaise is cliched and predictable, but it's my fucking cliched, predictable malaise. If you don't want to hear about it, then don't ask me how I'm doing. I'm not the kind of guy who says fine to that question.

See? This is why I'm staying away from the blog.

So I'm going to leave you in Mom's capable hands until I start feeling like myself again. I'm sure it will be any day now.

Technobabblelum

Never do I feel a stronger generational divide than when technology enters the picture. When some technological snafu presents itself, I feel like I'm on teetering on a balance beam. I could just feign confidence, plow ahead and hope I don't fall off. Or I could wimp out, keel over, give up.......and call my son. Now, I don't like either of these options. I am most certainly not a wimp, and I really hate having to call Bryan for technological advice. First of all, he hates it (even though he's really good at figuring things out - even over the phone), and second of all, it's just too damn easy.

Technology is one of those areas like taxes or home repair where I think if I just put my mind to it, I can figure it out. And I often do. But, damn it, if technology doesn't just race ahead of my diminishing ability to conquer it. Sure, the tax code changes, but at a snail's pace, not light speed. Stuff at home that's broke just sits there until you figure it out, throw it out, or call someone else to fix it. I can deal with that. But, technology - no. Just when you've sort of figured out Eudora, there's an update with even more features I don't use. The same is true with Microsoft Office. It's like the technology fairy doubles as a self-esteem buster. "You think you're so smart, well let me show you just how dumb you really are! HA!"

But, you know, I haven't given up. Believe me, it's tempting. I'm so sure I could guilt Bryan into just solving all my computer glitches and then I wouldn't have to bother my pretty little head with that crap anymore. But, I feel like giving up the mastery of new things is a slippery slope - and sliding down that slope is even more scary. I've seen people who have given up - I work with some - and believe me, it's not a pretty sight.

I know Bryan's under a lot of stress right now meeting a whole lot of deadlines and such, and I'm really sympathetic to that. But does he have any idea of the disconnect between what he does and what the rest of the world is doing?

All of that is to preface what happened to my morning. I recently changed our phone service provider to save money. Always, always whenever a change is made in this office, people assume the worst will happen. This transition has been pretty smooth, with just a few minor snafus, all of which I worked out yesterday. However, just knowing that the change had been made, some of our older employees were perched on their metaphorical balance beams with their eyes closed, ready to fall off the side. Our afternoon receptionist, in her sixties, informed me that the voice mail could not be activated as usual at the end of her shift. Now, I had gone over all this earlier in the day and I was sure the voice mail worked then. Since it was after 5, and I'd fallen behind in my regular work, I didn't have time to fuss with it. I gave her the number for the new provider and asked her to work with them directly. She finally got the voice mail activated, but not without significant problems, which she asked me to look into today. You know what the problem was? Instead of hearing "beep beep" at step three in her routine, she heard "dooooooooooo." This change in audible signal absolutely dumbfounded her such that she couldn't proceed any further in the voice-mail-setting process. Silly, you say? Ridiculous, even? You're right. But, it took over an hour this morning for me to figure out what wasn't even a real problem! See what happens once you give up and start sliding down that slope? There's a lot of pathetic old people pressing all kinds of random buttons. I hope none of you ever have to see it. (But, Bryan, if I end up down there, while you please promise to come and save me?)