More Eighties Dorkitude

Here's another of the Greatest Songs Ever: Future World, by Pretty Maids--a Danish rock band who strayed occasionally into heavy metal territory.



Raaaarrrrr!

Sure, they have cheesy hair and a too-dramatic video, but the song makes me want to run through a wall.

Raaaaarrrrrr!!! !

Sad News

I've mentioned in the past that I'm stuck in my adolescent music obsession, that I'm a fan of the eighties in a sense that allows me no latitude: I'm an eighties-dork.

The biggest part of my rock-life was predicated on Quiet Riot. They became popular when I was in middle school, when people were making choices between "Thriller" and "Dirty Deeds." For some reason we got the QR album "Metal Health" on my brother's birthday. (More on the collective birthday later). We loved it, the aggression, the attitude--it ruled, in the mid-eighties lingo we perpetuated.

But Kevin Dubrow died the other night. He was a jackass. But he sang some great songs.

Goodnight to KD. You were an inspiration for a while.

To the Bone!

So, here I've been in Minnesota for four days, and I've managed to eat twice my weight in various Thanksgiving foodstuffs. I've even been bad and had turkey--that's right, I've eaten meat--and I will again tomorrow. But after that, probably not until next Thanksgiving, if then.

But tomorrow night (Saturday) Michele and I are going to Carbone's in Lakeville for pizza and beer. We have a few others interested in showing up, but here is an open invitation to all who may be interested in and capable of meeting us there. We're aiming to get there about seven, and we'll stay until ten or eleven. Can't stay too late--driving for twelve hours the next day, starting B'n'F'n E.

So, all those in favor say "Aye." Or just be there.

Stunt Wife?

Today is a day for packing, laundering, cleaning, running errands, and--most painful of all--grading. I'm going through my Comp students' Evaluation essays, for which they were allowed to evaluate a movie, if they wanted to. One student picked The Prestige, a movie about magicians. I haven't seen the film, but I think I'll have to, just to understand the essay.

The confusing part? This:

As Robert and Alfred partnership breaks apart or disappears when Alfred tied the wrong knot on Roberts stunt wife during a magic show causing her to drown.

Do I need to take some sort of hallucinogenic drug to understand that? Is there a decoder ring? I had to get this in the proper file pronto, before I lost consciousness.

About to Decompress

All I have between me and vacation is my Logic class on Monday morning. And a truckload of grading. And my guilt over falling behind on NaNoWriMo.

That's all.

That's why I'm wasting time reading IMDB profiles of all the Saturday Night Live performers I hate. Here's part of the entry on Will Ferrell:

In 1995 he became a feature cast member at "Saturday Night Live" (1975) during the show's rapid re-casting. He was declared quite possibly the worst cast member ever during his first season. However, his talents of impersonations and range of characters shot him forward to making him arguably the greatest "Saturday Night Live" (1975) cast member ever.

That second sentence leads me to believe there's hope for the world. The third cancels that. Will Ferrell has to be the least funny famous comedian since Sir Laurence Olivier.


Okay, so Olivier wasn't a comedian. But he was funnier than Ferrell. Will Ferrell is the worst performer SNL has ever had. There's only one character he can play: the loud, obnoxious, stupid guy who's too stupid to realize how loud and obnoxious he is.

That's it. The costumes change, but the character does not.

Anyway, I'm happy to be just a few days from driving north. I need a break.

Red Barbarian Needs Food--Badly

No, I'm not hungry. I'm just running out of energy. I'd been kicking ass on NaNoWriMo, writing better than my 2000 words a day, and then I was nailed with a bunch of stuff all at once. Grading, planning, writing tests. Yesterday I thought I was getting seriously sick, and had to take a long nap just to finish grading.

I know--whine, whine, whine.

So my novel is hovering just over 10,000 words--about 3000 words behind schedule now. I might be able to catch up over the weekend. It's not like I don't know where the story is going. I have more notes than I'll have novel when I'm done.

But that's why I haven't been blogging. I'm getting crushed.

I'll try to be better.

And They're Off . . .

Today started NaNoWriMo, and I was disturbed to see on the website this morning that some people had started writing at midnight--Zulu time. Meaning, they were perched on their computers in the middle of the night--in England and South Africa--to start writing their novel this month. There were people who hit 5,000 words before I woke up this morning.

That's crazy.

I wrote 2,333 words this afternoon, and I'm going to stop so I can make dinner and prepare to teach logic tomorrow. I didn't plan on that number, but it struck me strange when I got there. If I were to write 1,667 words a day I'd hit the 50,000 word goal. But if I hit 1,667 words tomorrow I'm at an even 4,000, which keeps me on pace for my goal. I'll just take satisfaction that I'm 666 words ahead of the pace.

Wait . . . 666?

Sorry, Diana.

So to stay on pace for the month, tomorrow I need to produce 1,001 words. If Sheherezade could have told a story in a word, my requirement for tomorrow could have made her life a whole lot easier.

I know. Lame.

I'm still aiming for 2,000 again tomorrow.

In other news, the Artists Formerly Known as the Big Polack and Mrs. Big Polack have had the Artist Briefly Known as Little Polack. Did you follow that? Me either. Here are the pictures I was sent:

Cute kid. Although my impression of the second picture was that it looked like something had gone horribly wrong at the deli counter. TAFKABP suggested I call it "Nick's Halloween Deli." Somehow he's subtler than I am. Huh.

Anyway, congrats to Dave and Kim. And Nick, for now being Nick.

Okay, enough goo-gooing over babies. Back to your regularly-scheduled cynicism.