What Have We Learned?

Courtesy of the Wall Street Journal's "Best Of The Web Today" feature, here's a funny/sad little anecdote for the day: Apparently an Orlando-area public school thought that it would be a good idea to teach kids about the Holocaust by making some arbitrarily-selected group of them wear yellow stars, and restricting them from using the drinking fountains. Brilliant, or rather it would be brilliant, if that was the way that children actually learned these things. When asked about the little social experiment, one boy simply said "the only thing I found out today is I don't want to be Jewish." Way to go, guys. Way to go. Personally, I think that it's far less important to empathize with the people who were mistreated than it is to learn that there was no reason to mistreat them, or for them to be mistreated. It seems that in this case you can either teach kids that it's wrong to mistreat Jews, or you can just teach kids that it sucks to be Jewish, because Jews are victims. Anyways, have a good weekend. More wonderments to come in due time.

There once was a student in college...

...And one day he lept o'er a tall hedge. Sorry kids, I've no chance of coming up with the rest of that limerick. Hm. I suppose it's not a limerick, then. Oh well. So, how are you? I don't honestly know if you're still there, and if you're not I can't exactly blame you. I really ought to work on finding my niche in the blog world. You know, where I offer something that other people don't offer, or at a better price. Unfortunately, everyone and their uncle does pretty much the same thing I do with my blog with their own. On the other hand, girl pants: I can offer no explanation for this image, suffice to say that if anyone's reading this they probably know who's lower half is squeezed into those Levis. Certain references to the film "This is Spinal Tap" spring to mind. In other news, the wonderful bounty of the internet has yeilded hilarity yet again. Far to the Southwest, in the land of bratwurst and beer, there is a place called the Milwalkee Institute of Art and Design. I know what you're thinking, "what's so funny about art school?" "What," you ask? It's art school, for crying out loud! They teach you how to make crap, and then describe it as the deepest thing ever created by man. Ok, to be fair, I've never been to such an institution, and I have the artistic ability of a dead pufferfish, but I'm about to argue that the students at MIAD are no Picassos themselves. Anyhoo, at this fine art school, they have a program of study called "Time-Based Media," which in non-art speak might be called "Film." Paydirt. PAY DIRT. Ok, I can't really explain what I'm about to link to, I'm just going to give you the link, and let the chef d'oeuvre speak for itself: click here. Well, that's all for now, friend. I do hope that everything is well in your part of the world. Stay out of girl pants, unless of course you're a girl, in which case I can't help but recommend them. TTFN! Ta ta for now!

The Ides Of March

Nothing new to say today, just thought I'd remind you all that Julius Caesar was stabbed on this date. Yay history. I feel compelled to tell you that I got this image from this site, via google image search: http://www.newark.k12.ny.us/staffpages/
laganat/RomeD-M/images/JuliusCaesarDeath3_gif.jpg

March Madness

Ok, so this post doesn't really have anything to do with the NCAA tournament, I just have a thing for alliteration. Spring break's rapidly approaching (although hardly rapidly enough), which means that professors think that this week will be a great one for loading up on tests and papers. The thing is, they're probably right. The fact that I'm stressing out all of this week will probably make break itself feel pretty darn good. For that matter, it had darn well better make break feel even better than it otherwise would, or I'll become upset, and goodness knows that the last thing that the men and women who are responsible for my education want is for me to be upset. Yeah. So I got home on Saturday evening to find a friend of mine sitting on the couch hanging out in my house, so being a good host I offered him a glass of wine. Having received said wine, my guest (and The Republic of D.Cous.'s unofficial minister of photography) had the audacity to berate the container in which I had served him his wine. "You serve wine in a canning jar?" Said he, with a look on his face which indicated that he thought the remark was rather clever. "Yeah," I said, pouring myself a Mason jar of my own. "We're classy like that around here." The rest of the evening was spent emptying the bottle of Bloomington, Indianna's finest red wine, discussing philosophy and litterature, and trash-talking while putting one another's nonexistant Soul Caliber II skills to the test. Not that good a game really, but it was a decent diversion at the time. Ahh, college. In case you haven't figured it out by my selection of anecdotes, the weekend was pretty uneventful. Still, I didn't manage to get everything done which I should have, and so here I find myself in the grimy snack bar up the hill, taking a break from reading Oliver Williamson's influential 1985 article on "the governance of contractual relations." Don't let the title put you off though, it's one heluva page turner. The snack bar's one of my favorite study spots, but not for any of its merits, if indeed it has any. The only thing that makes it at all superior to other on-campus locations is that the lighting is much more comfortable, and is not made up of frantically flickering flourescents (dig that alliteration), that gradually corrode one's will to live. Frankly, I think that the reason that I keep coming back to this smoky, dirty, sometimes noisy place is that it's just uncomfortable enough an enviroment to make studying a distraction from it. Anyways, I hope that everyone's having a good week, and I say "everyone" because apparently readership may be up to as many as five people. I'm totally gonna let this get to my head. But seriously, I look forward to seeing those of you who will be in the general vicinity of home next week, and I wish you well.

Once Upon A Friday Night Road Trip

Ok, here's the disclaimer for this post: I'm stupid. I hear voices and do what they tell me to do, or something like that. Maybe I was fed paint chips as a kid. That's my excuse for why, when housemates Matt and Dean invited me to make a one-night road trip to Columbus and back to see our mutual friend Ann in a play, I accepted. It would only take away one night of studying, I reasoned, and I've been feeling pretty eager to hit the road for somewhere (or nowhere) for a while now. Of course, the amount of time it would take was hardly the worst drawback to the trip: as mentioned above, the play was in Columbus, Ohio. Worse yet, the very actress we were going to see is a Hillsdale graduate, studying for her masters (in theatre) at that place that should never be named. You know, the big college in Columbus. In her defense, she hates it just as much as we do. So, it was not without a great sense of foreboding that three Hillsdale students who happen to be devoted Michigan fans began our long journey south, towards Mordor. It was good to be on a road trip, and the shortness of our time reminded me somewhat of the times (yes, plural) when the guys and I headed to Ottowa, Ontario and back in two days. Fortunately, this was significantly closer, but still pretty crazy to drive there and back in one night. What else could we do? Stay in Columbus? Why it's preposterous to even think of, I'm sure you'll agree. After a few hours of riding in the car, listening to music, and cursing Ohio every few minutes, we passed the first road sign, upon which were written those fateful words: "Now entering Columbus." I say the first, becaus we promply passed another sign that said "Now entering bladiblahblah (not Columbus)," and then in equally short order another sign which said "Now entering Columbus." Odd, we thought, but not terribly odd--At least not until the third and fourth times we found ourselves entering Columbus, and on a relatively straight section of freeway. By the fifth time, it was just ridiculous. Are we in Columbus, or not? Apparently the sign company offered the municipality of Columbus a great deal on those signs, and they decided to put them everywhere. Then we saw another sign, the horror of which made us forget that there was ever a man or a place or anything else that might have been named Columbus: "O--- S---- University, next exit." We got out to take a quick picture (you see Matt in front, then Dean, I'm taking the picture), passed another sign that informed us of our entrance to Columbus, and headed on in.We found the theatre without too much trouble, cursing our miserable fate and the red and white street signs marking the streets with unspeakably hideous names, like "woody hayes boulevard" and "buckeye drive," and parked directly in the shadow of the football stadium. The ring was getting to be unbearably heavy, and Matt offered to carry it for just a little while, but I refused. It was my burden to bear, and mine alone.
The play was an obscure (ok, I've never heard of it. It could be quite famous for all I know) 19th century Russian comedy (translated, thank heavens) by Nikolai Gogol, called "The Government Inspector," and the plot revolved around a paranoid small-town mayor and his cabinet attempting to appease (and bribe) a man who they beleive to be an undercover inspector from the capital. I know, it sounds dated, but it was quite well executed, and infused with some brilliant comedic timing, and we all laughed hard enough to forget our environs for two and a half hours, less a fifteen-minute intermission. After the play, we met Ann (who was wonderful as Marya, the mayor's daughter) outside of her dressing room, went out for a congratulatory bite and a pint at a nearby pub (we left and re-entered Columbus twice in the half-mile or less drive), which considering the location was a decent place, stopped at Ann's place, and then hit the road. We considered urinating on the stadium before leaving, but there were security guards present, so we left, entered, left, entered, left, entered, and finally left Columbus, and headed for home, scanning the radio and singing along with oldies to keep ourselves awake. It was too early (or rather, not early enough) in the morning to even mention when we got back, so I hit the sack until noon, and now must spend the rest of my weekend being more responsible. I hope that both of you are well, check back again soonish, and I'll try to have another post up for you.