But he seems OK.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Friday, January 23, 2009
When Crazy Calls
Yesterday, while waiting alone in a classroom for a seminar to start, I overheard a male student in the hall yelling at someone. I walked to the door and saw a scrawny pizza-faced kid yelling at Mary, an extremely sweet-hearted teacher of ours. “I’m going to the dean on Friday, and you’ll never work here again. I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”
Each time he yelled “I hate you,” his voice rose and he swatted at his face. The guy was obviously cuckoo for cocoa puffs.
It was one of those moments where I should have leapt into action and made sure everything was OK, but as the adrenaline kicked in, I found myself stepping behind the door jam. I peeked around the corner and hoped the little freak would finish his tantrum and leave. But he didn’t. He just kept yelling while spit dangled from his mouth.
I’m terrified of crazy people. I could ride comfortably on a bus full of grouchy gang members, but if I see a slipper-footed old lady get on the bus, talking to herself and caressing a shoe, I start looking for the exit. I don’t do crazy.
As I hunkered behind the door, I had a quick vision of Elliott from Law and Order asking me where I was when the crime occurred, and why I didn’t intervene (I know, he’s special victims, but still…).
“This wasn’t in the job description,” I muttered and grabbed a pen off the table. I stepped into the hall, trying to look casual, not knowing what my plan was. Maybe I was hoping he’d see the pen and think, “Wow, I really need to reassess my objectives here.”
But just then a male professor stepped around the corner and asked if everything was alright.
“Yeah,” I said, in my manliest voice. “Everything OK?”
The kid yelled one last “I hate you,” and ran to the exit. The three of us stood and watched him try to slam the old wooden door, but he couldn’t get enough weight behind it. He opened and closed the door three times, and each time it only made a gentle fwump. From the stairwell, we heard, “I hate all of you.”
Mary just waved it off. “I’m fine,” she said and went back in her office.
“That was weird,” I said to the professor. I punched the palm of my hand. “I thought I was going to have to bust some skulls.”
He didn’t respond. He just walked off, and there I stood, my hands shaking, feeling like I needed to puke.
Each time he yelled “I hate you,” his voice rose and he swatted at his face. The guy was obviously cuckoo for cocoa puffs.
It was one of those moments where I should have leapt into action and made sure everything was OK, but as the adrenaline kicked in, I found myself stepping behind the door jam. I peeked around the corner and hoped the little freak would finish his tantrum and leave. But he didn’t. He just kept yelling while spit dangled from his mouth.
I’m terrified of crazy people. I could ride comfortably on a bus full of grouchy gang members, but if I see a slipper-footed old lady get on the bus, talking to herself and caressing a shoe, I start looking for the exit. I don’t do crazy.
As I hunkered behind the door, I had a quick vision of Elliott from Law and Order asking me where I was when the crime occurred, and why I didn’t intervene (I know, he’s special victims, but still…).
“This wasn’t in the job description,” I muttered and grabbed a pen off the table. I stepped into the hall, trying to look casual, not knowing what my plan was. Maybe I was hoping he’d see the pen and think, “Wow, I really need to reassess my objectives here.”
But just then a male professor stepped around the corner and asked if everything was alright.
“Yeah,” I said, in my manliest voice. “Everything OK?”
The kid yelled one last “I hate you,” and ran to the exit. The three of us stood and watched him try to slam the old wooden door, but he couldn’t get enough weight behind it. He opened and closed the door three times, and each time it only made a gentle fwump. From the stairwell, we heard, “I hate all of you.”
Mary just waved it off. “I’m fine,” she said and went back in her office.
“That was weird,” I said to the professor. I punched the palm of my hand. “I thought I was going to have to bust some skulls.”
He didn’t respond. He just walked off, and there I stood, my hands shaking, feeling like I needed to puke.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
CSI: Idaho
Reading through my childhood journals, I notice two recurring compulsions: I apologize any time more than a week goes by without writing, and I meticulously document what I ate for dinner.
June 1st, 1989. Sorry I haven’t written for so long. I’ve been busy. Tonight we ate pork chops with rice pilaf and dinner rolls. I ate two pork chops, but I didn’t like the dinner rolls.
I’d like to say I’ve evolved since then, but I feel compelled to apologize for not blogging these last few weeks, and to inform you I had a Cup O’ Noodles and pretzels for dinner. The pretzels were stale. I found them in my office.
My wife makes fun of the rote detail of my journal entries.
Today in typing class we learned the letters J and F.
Today we learned Y and T. I have a hard time hitting the Y.
But who else knows the exact day they learned to hit the Q without looking at the keyboard? I do. October 19th, 1991. It was a special day for me. We had meatloaf for dinner.
I like to think that someday the team from CSI could accurately reconstruct my 7th grade typing class.
“She couldn’t have gone missing that Friday,” Horatio will say, taking off his sunglasses. “They were learning the H and G that week, and the victim’s finger clearly shows stretching of the tendons. That could have only happened on a B or Y day, which didn’t occur until two weeks later.”
“But we found remnants of corn dog and tater tots in her teeth,” Delko will rebut. “And according to this journal, they were served on October 5th, but not again until November 27th.”
Horatio, framed by the setting sun and a pine tree, will let out a long, calculated sigh. “The journal doesn’t lie,” he’ll say. “It’s boring, but it doesn’t lie.”
Perhaps I’ve gotten past journaling the minutia of my life, but it’s hardly any more worthy of NBC primetime. I could tell you how I learned today that Oliver Wendell Holmes, as a Supreme Court judge, favored the uncertainty of pragmatism over the immutable platonist "Truths" (with a capital T) of his antebellum youth. But is that really CSI material?
Maybe House could pull it off. He could find the connection between Holmes, the Cup O' Noodles, and the weird itch in my belly button.
June 1st, 1989. Sorry I haven’t written for so long. I’ve been busy. Tonight we ate pork chops with rice pilaf and dinner rolls. I ate two pork chops, but I didn’t like the dinner rolls.
I’d like to say I’ve evolved since then, but I feel compelled to apologize for not blogging these last few weeks, and to inform you I had a Cup O’ Noodles and pretzels for dinner. The pretzels were stale. I found them in my office.
My wife makes fun of the rote detail of my journal entries.
Today in typing class we learned the letters J and F.
Today we learned Y and T. I have a hard time hitting the Y.
But who else knows the exact day they learned to hit the Q without looking at the keyboard? I do. October 19th, 1991. It was a special day for me. We had meatloaf for dinner.
I like to think that someday the team from CSI could accurately reconstruct my 7th grade typing class.
“She couldn’t have gone missing that Friday,” Horatio will say, taking off his sunglasses. “They were learning the H and G that week, and the victim’s finger clearly shows stretching of the tendons. That could have only happened on a B or Y day, which didn’t occur until two weeks later.”
“But we found remnants of corn dog and tater tots in her teeth,” Delko will rebut. “And according to this journal, they were served on October 5th, but not again until November 27th.”
Horatio, framed by the setting sun and a pine tree, will let out a long, calculated sigh. “The journal doesn’t lie,” he’ll say. “It’s boring, but it doesn’t lie.”
Perhaps I’ve gotten past journaling the minutia of my life, but it’s hardly any more worthy of NBC primetime. I could tell you how I learned today that Oliver Wendell Holmes, as a Supreme Court judge, favored the uncertainty of pragmatism over the immutable platonist "Truths" (with a capital T) of his antebellum youth. But is that really CSI material?
Maybe House could pull it off. He could find the connection between Holmes, the Cup O' Noodles, and the weird itch in my belly button.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Fiction 101: Fun with Elves
Santa had flown all night, despite having the flu. Somewhere in Tulsa he instructed Don Fabio, his chief elf, to deliver the toys—strictly taboo—while Santa shivered and moaned on the sleigh’s floorboards.
There was a ruckus below. Glass shattered. Words were exchanged. Don Fabio never returned.
Santa pulled himself into the seat and snapped the reigns. The sleigh groaned and popped as the reindeer leapt over an alley and landed atop another set of track houses. Santa slouched down, took a swig of cocoa, and gently punched the knee of Lord Willy, his newly-promoted chief elf. “You’re up.”
[Note: Boise Weekly holds a “Fiction 101” contest each year. The rules are simple: write a short story in exactly 101 words. While I have never entered the contest, I write these Fiction 101’s to kill time at work.]
There was a ruckus below. Glass shattered. Words were exchanged. Don Fabio never returned.
Santa pulled himself into the seat and snapped the reigns. The sleigh groaned and popped as the reindeer leapt over an alley and landed atop another set of track houses. Santa slouched down, took a swig of cocoa, and gently punched the knee of Lord Willy, his newly-promoted chief elf. “You’re up.”
[Note: Boise Weekly holds a “Fiction 101” contest each year. The rules are simple: write a short story in exactly 101 words. While I have never entered the contest, I write these Fiction 101’s to kill time at work.]
Sunday, December 21, 2008
So long, 2008!
I started writing a "Farewell to 2008" blog entry, but it turned into a long-winded blubber-fest about what a hard yet exciting year this has been. My sister, Tracy, wrapped up her year in a tidy top-ten list, which is what I've decided to do instead.
Top-Ten Happenings of 2008:
1. After five months of agonizing silence, finally being accepted to four of the five grad schools to which I applied. (Fie upon Purdue!)
2. Letting go of the safe and comfortable choice (University of Utah) and choosing the exciting and unfamiliar (University of New Hampshire).
3. Celebrating my ten-year anniversary with my beautiful, funny, and sometimes clumsy bride. Here’s to ten more!
4. Turning 31. 30 was nice, but I prefer the ambiguity of being 30-something.
5. Finally finishing my master’s degree at Boise State. That was supposed to be on my 2007 top-ten list, but my thesis committee disagreed.
6. Selling my house at the bottom of the housing slump (nothing sucks worse than handing over a check when you close on your house) and then driving a moving truck and mini-van across the United States at $4 a gallon. Thank you Tom for helping to alleviate the financial burden, thank you Larry for being good company in the Penske, and thank you Marie for keeping the kids entertained and taken care of in the van.
7. Buying my plasma TV. Folks who say material things can’t bring you happiness have never watched Conan O’Brien in 42-inches of high-definition glory.
8. Having my mom and my sister, Tracy, visit us in New Hampshire. We toured the UNH campus, walked through ancient Maine graveyards, ate crab cakes and clam chowder at Fosters, and relaxed on the chilly and abandoned (but still exquisitely beautiful) Short-Sands Beach in York.
9. Finishing my first-semester of the Ph.D. program. I’m not ready to talk about it yet, but it’s over.
10. Surviving the New England Ice Storm of 2008, which has reignited my love affair with electricity.
Top-Ten Happenings of 2008:
1. After five months of agonizing silence, finally being accepted to four of the five grad schools to which I applied. (Fie upon Purdue!)
2. Letting go of the safe and comfortable choice (University of Utah) and choosing the exciting and unfamiliar (University of New Hampshire).
3. Celebrating my ten-year anniversary with my beautiful, funny, and sometimes clumsy bride. Here’s to ten more!
4. Turning 31. 30 was nice, but I prefer the ambiguity of being 30-something.
5. Finally finishing my master’s degree at Boise State. That was supposed to be on my 2007 top-ten list, but my thesis committee disagreed.
6. Selling my house at the bottom of the housing slump (nothing sucks worse than handing over a check when you close on your house) and then driving a moving truck and mini-van across the United States at $4 a gallon. Thank you Tom for helping to alleviate the financial burden, thank you Larry for being good company in the Penske, and thank you Marie for keeping the kids entertained and taken care of in the van.
7. Buying my plasma TV. Folks who say material things can’t bring you happiness have never watched Conan O’Brien in 42-inches of high-definition glory.
8. Having my mom and my sister, Tracy, visit us in New Hampshire. We toured the UNH campus, walked through ancient Maine graveyards, ate crab cakes and clam chowder at Fosters, and relaxed on the chilly and abandoned (but still exquisitely beautiful) Short-Sands Beach in York.
9. Finishing my first-semester of the Ph.D. program. I’m not ready to talk about it yet, but it’s over.
10. Surviving the New England Ice Storm of 2008, which has reignited my love affair with electricity.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
My Jelly Bean
Elliot threw a fit last night until I turned on Nick Toons.
Then she transformed into...this.
Then she transformed into...this.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
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