Hi folks,

Labels: Computers

I finished watching the final season of Arrested Development on DVD today and I find myself feeling a bit empty, a bit cheated. Being one of the best shows on television this decade, there's no question, it was an absolute crime to cancel it after only three seasons and while the series finale closed off most of the main storylines, I'm left yearning for more - at least another season or two. But I yearn in vain. Michael Cera and Jason Bateman are already finding some huge success after the show (and hopefully the others will follow soon), and I'm glad, but the Bluth family, their stair car and all of the innuendos and wit will be missed. If you haven't seen the show yet, you're only cheating yourself. Netflix 'em, go to your local Blockbuster, buy 'em, download 'em, or watch select episodes online for free... whatever you have to do. Just do it.

Onward, I'm left wondering where this cat Casey Affleck came from (other than the same womb as Ben Affleck, which Sara noted, and also is pretty surprising). Sara and I took a little trip up to Buffalo to watch The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, since neither of us could really wait longer to see it and it more than likely won't be coming to Erie, at least not for another few months once Oscar season rolls around. And well, Casey Affleck - yes, little brother of the universally loathed Ben Affleck - had a monster performance, something that undoubtedly will be recognized by the Academy here in a few months (and not to mention the movie was a masterpiece, the best movie this year, and frankly, one of the best films I've ever seen; Sara, I believe, is going as far as saying its in her top ten ever) So, two days later, Sara and I go check out Casey Affleck's other new movie, Gone Baby Gone (which is actually directed by big bro), and once again, the same thing. A monster performance, not to mention a great movie overall. I find it odd that I'm rooting for Ben Affleck now, although I'm saying he really, REALLY needs to stay behind the camera for the rest of his career rather than in front of it.
As far as everything else goes, there isn't much new. Still working, still schooling, still living in Edinboro. I do have a plan for this winter though. I'm thinking about taking up skiing again, at least partially. For one, I desperately need a hobby outside of watching movies, reading, and playing Halo 3. A hobby that involves physical activity is all the better. Secondly, for probably 10 years of my life I always had season passes to Peak 'n Peek during the winters and I spent every winter weekend up there skiing and I always REALLY loved it, and the only reason I stopped was because of high school basketball. Since this is my third year out of high school and I don't play basketball anymore, there really isn't anything keeping me from skiing any longer, especially since I'll have January and February off from work. While I'm not going to go out and buy a season pass or anything drastic like that (in my old age, I don't deal as well with cold as I used to anyway), I think I'm going to hit up the Peak once or twice and maybe even Mountain View here in Edinboro, since it's only 5 minutes away. An expensive hobby? Sure. I'm just not ready to take up crocheting yet.

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Lucille Austero: Today at lunch, you were ashamed to be with me.
Gob: No. I was ashamed to be seen with you. I like being with you.
-Arrested Development

Labels: Movies, Rambling

You remember how when you're a kid, if you weren't getting hurt you weren't having fun? Flipping over the handlebars of your bike, falling from a tree when the branch you grabbed broke off, trading punches in the face with your friends with the boxing gloves on, playing tackle football on Lord's field without any sort of pads or protection... ahh, wonderful, wonderful pain.

Then there was basketball. If my knees weren't covered in strawberries and I didn't flinch in pain from the hot water stinging them during my showers, then I knew I didn't play hard enough. I miss my elbows always being disgustingly swollen, the size of softballs, and never being able to lean on them in class because it hurt too much, resulting from the times I'd jump to get a rebound and get my legs taken out, my elbows taking the entire impact of my fall.

I miss that feeling of my body being completely sore, everywhere - a soreness that had a purpose unlike the soreness I feel now, and because I knew as soon as I got back out on the court, the pain would disappear.

Back then, as nonsensical as it sounds, pain felt good. Now, I try to avoid it at all costs. Weird how that works.

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Buttercup: You mock my pain.
Westley: Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.
-The Princess Bride

Labels: Rambling

I'm on a role here and I haven't even graduated college yet. I haven't stayed in the same place for more than one year in a row for four years now... so the question is: where will I be next year? Should I make up a poll and have you folks vote on it? Perhaps do a reality show that would help determine where I move next? I'm going to have to think this one over...

Not much new lately. Just trying to stay motivated. It's safe to say and I'm willing to admit that I've been having a problem with that this year, and I'm not sure why. It might be the fact that I live in Edinboro now and there's more to do, but nah... I really don't think that's the problem. I think it might be the lack of a weekend dragging me down. Too much work, not enough time to rejuvenate and relax my mind (isn't this always the case though?). I wasn't raised to have much of a work ethic, thus I'm admittedly somewhat lazy by nature, so spending all of my college summers working, then spending all of my weekends working... it's still a relatively new concept to me and it brings down the motivation factor quite a few notches. I used to think the definition of "weekend" and "summer" was synonymous with "non-stop fun." Heh. I'm working on it though, I really am. If I'm going to get less than A's in my classes, I want it to be because I'm not smart enough, not because I was too lazy to put in the effort. The sad thing is here, and this is probably the first point of my life where I feel this way, I actually don't look forward to the weekends that much, at least other than going to see Sara for our one day a week, which is generally not for very long due to having a pretty crappy work schedule. I know it sounds like I'm complaining, but that's because I am. I'm allowed to do that sometimes, right? I'm as human as the next guy. Well, almost, at least.

Off topic, but you know what really grinds my gears? Giving over 100%. You know, the coach or the teacher or friend that tells you, "Okay, get out there and give 110%!" I get that it's just a saying, not to be taken literally, but isn't anything over 100% way too much to ask? Is it really fair to put that kind of pressure on someone? Why not just ask for 100%? Or better yet, 99%? No one should ask for perfection, let alone, above perfection.

Lastly, I've been trying to get into some newer music. If you know me, you probably know that my musical tastes revolve mostly around classic rock (i.e. Tom Petty, The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, The Who, Clapton, Springsteen, CCR, Queen, Pink Floyd) with some newer, good stuff mixed in (Foo Fighters - hands down the greatest post-90s band out there, Muse, Sublime, Cake, O.A.R., all of Chris Cornell's projects, even some Dropkick Murphy's or The White Stripes here and there). Lately, like I said, I've been trying to broaden my musical horizons. I'm really digging the likes of Spoon, Wilco, Calexico, and to an extent Interpol. I've also listened to some of this fellow called Sufjan Stevens, and his stuff is pretty out there, but cool (give Chicago a listen, if you get a chance). I'm still not very knowledgeable when it comes to newer music though, so any recommendations are welcome. As Sara can probably tell you though, I'm pretty picky when it comes to music and I probably won't like what you recommend... but don't worry, I'll be nice and lie to you and pretend I liked it whether I actually did or not.

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Johnny Ringo: My fight's not with you, Holliday.
Doc Holliday: I beg to differ, sir. We started a game we never got to finish. "Play for Blood," remember?
Johnny Ringo: Oh that. I was just foolin' about.
Doc Holliday: I wasn't.
-Tombstone

Labels: Music, Rambling

A few weeks back, I was pretty excited to hear Frederick Douglass IV was going to be speaking at Edinboro. Of course, being a history buff (and, you know, a future teacher of it), I knew I couldn't pass up the opportunity. How often do you get to see a direct descendant of one of America's most important historical figures speak? So, I went. I enjoyed myself. I found myself respecting this man. Then today, my history professor told us something he had recently found out: turns out I might have wasted my precious time. A little investigation done by the Washington Post has pulled together some pretty convincing evidence that this "Frederick Douglass IV," who once went by Fred Douglas Jr. is, in fact, a dirty, rotten liar. Or at the very least, a blatant deceiver. These are, of course, very serious allegations, but the evidence is convincing and much of what this man has said about his supposed ancestry is more than a little contradictory.
Although many records from his hometown (which, oddly enough, happens to be Meadville, PA - right up the road) have his name as Frederick Irving Douglas Jr. (no double "s" in the surname and minus the "IV"), he insists that he was born IV (something that is just plain false), and just never decided to use it until later in his life. When he finally, after years and years of prodding, said that his grandfather was Charles Douglass, son of Frederick Douglass Jr., historians were easily able to catch the holes in his claim. Charles was a troubled child who died at age 16 after a long illness - a boy who left no children behind. Years later during an interview, a reporter pointed out the flaw in his story, whereas he refused to comment further and after a few months he then claimed in a letter that Frederick Douglass Jr. had another son named Charles, an illegitimate son (something historians have found no evidence of), and he was angered that he was "forced to bring this out."

"I am the great-great-grandson of Frederick Douglass through the first-born son of Frederick Jr., Charles A. Douglass, who was born out of wedlock in 1877," Douglas wrote. "I had hoped that I could continue my work without having to delve into the infidelities that my great-grandfather, Frederick Jr., was involved in and that ultimately led to my being born bearing the name Frederick Douglass. My family has kept this information in the dark and has not previously divulged this information because I did not feel that it was relevant [to] air our family laundry publicly."

Did he honestly think that he could ride the fame of the name and no one would be curious, or yes, demand to know how he was a direct descendant of Frederick Douglass? He charges well over $3,000 to spend a day giving a few presentations at a college, and he just wants us to take his word for it, even though there are no historical records to back it up, despite the fact that there is no evidence - no birth certificates, no death certificates, census records, or even signed letters? And the clincher? He has refused to provide, or even show, any to anyone, even the Frederick Douglass museums that had requested to see something, anything - and to this day he has refused to answer any sort of question about why he won't. Freddy, buddy, pal, hombre... after seeing you speak, twice, at my college, I know you can't be that stupid.

Then there is the part coming up here that really bugs me the most and really slams the nail in the coffin for me. Fred claims that he knows of this because his father told him (something that isn't very reliable in the first place). That's how he first knew. His father filled him in on these facts. Well, his father, who is 95 and still lives in Meadville, was tracked down by the Post and questioned about this:

"Repeatedly in the course of an hour-long interview and a second short interview the next day (on his front steps as he weeded his yard), he says he knew nothing about being descended from the great Frederick Douglass. It was not something he heard from his own father, Charles A. Douglas, he says. And it wasn't a family story he had passed down to his son. Rather, his son researched it, he says, and passed the story up to him."

So, why the outright lies (i.e. saying his family was hiding certain secrets and knew all about this, etc.)? Why the deceit? For one, nobody would listen to him (certainly not the White House, where he has been and dined before, or various colleges like mine where he charges $3,500 to $4,500 per presentation) and pay him thousands of dollars to come and speak if he was just some regular schmuck that knew about Frederick Douglass. Plenty of people know about him. I know a few history professors here at Edinboro that could put on a pretty good presentation about the man. What makes - or at least made - him so legit, was that we believed he had a direct bloodline right back to the man himself, a bloodline that all of the sudden transforms him into a unarguable expert on the subject. If the sarcasm didn't come across, obviously, sharing a bloodline would not make him anymore an authority on the subject than, say, a professor that has spent decades researching the man (the latter would actually be MORE of an authority). bloodline really has nothing to do with it, other than bringing a certain "awe-factor," the whole principle of "wow, this guy came from the loins of the loins of the loins of Frederick Douglass himself!" It's an allure, an odd tabloidic (not a word, but I like it) fascination, the same reason everyone is so interested in the British "royalty."

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Frank Abagnale Jr.: Ah, people only know what you tell them, Carl.
-Catch Me If You Can

Labels: Rambling