The Daily Procrastinator

I’m having a professional headshot taken on Monday afternoon, a seemingly innocuous act that has me more agitated than I have any reason to be.  It all comes down to my fear of photographers and an extreme discomfort with being the center of attention.

Back when I was 20, a sleep-deprived college student with an email account and no filter on my brain, I sent a flame mail to a fashion magazine.  They, in turn, called me and asked me to turn it into an article, for money!  As a starving student and aspiring writer, I agreed.  It wasn’t until after I wrote the piece and was home for summer break that they told me they were sending a photographer to meet me.

I was living outside Philadelphia at the time, so they sent a very reluctant NY photographer and her assistant down to meet me.  These people were clearly accustomed to working with professional models who had some clue about what they were doing, and had little patience for the fact that I did not.

The outfit I had selected was deemed to be “hideous” and the photographer barged upstairs to my small bedroom, rooted through my closet, told me that I had horrible taste and ultimately selected an outfit that, in hindsight, was not remotely flattering.  At the time, though, I was too intimidated to say anything, and went with her suggestion.

We went to the local park so they could use the gazebo as a backdrop.  There, they took some Polaroid test shots that didn’t look too bad, and dozens of rolls of film.  ”Jesus, can’t you smile?  Look like you’re enjoying yourself,” she’d say.  Then I’d smile and she’d bark, “That’s awful.  Try to look sexy.  Oh my god, what’s wrong with you?  Just make a sexy face, ok?”  A crowd had gathered; my general nervousness had ballooned into “holy crap, the whole town is watching me” hysteria.  Even if I had a “sexy face” — and to this day I’m still not sure that I do — I certainly wouldn’t have been able to express it in front of 100 friends and neighbors.

The ironic thing is that I was built like a real model: tall and rail thin.  The locals all just assumed that I had scored some sort of modeling job, which didn’t seem unreasonable to any of them.  The fact that the picture was to accompany something that I’d written seemed to baffle them completely.

Finally, after what felt like hours, I was finally dismissed with a wave of her hand.  ”We’re done,” she announced suddenly.  ”That’s as good as it’s going to get.”

When the issue came out six months later, there it was: the single most unflattering picture that had ever been taken of me.  People who had known me since birth could not recognize it as me.  

Since that moment, I have avoided professional photographers like the plague.  I have no reason to believe that I would suffer the same fate with Monday’s photos, but the lingering fear and insecurity remains.  So keep your fingers crossed that by Monday night, I’ll have pictures that actually look like me.

Is Kurt Warner a Pro Football Hall of Fame Quarterback? That is the question all of the sports radio hosts in the Dallas area have been asking all week. My initial answer was “yes”, but after doing some research, I’m not so sure. Let’s look at the stats:

• 28,591 career passing yards
• 182 touchdowns
• Career completion percentage of 65.4
• Career QB rating of 93.8
• Victory in Super Bowl XXXIV
• Super Bowl MVP 2000
• Starting QB Super Bowl XXXVI
• NFL MVP 1999 and 2001
• Pro Bowls 1999, 2000, 2001, 2009
• First Team All-Pro 1999, 2001

One might argue that his stats aren’t as strong as some recently inducted HoF Quarterbacks.

“He hasn’t won as many Super Bowls as Troy Aikman!”

Nope. But he’s already won more Super Bowls than Dan Marino, Warren Moon and Jim Kelly combined, and his Passer Rating is also significantly better than all 3 of these quarterbacks.

“He doesn’t have as many passing yards as any of the HoF quarterbacks you just listed!”

Right again. But think about it for a minute. Warren Moon spent 10 years in the Run and Shoot totaling 33,685 yards. Let’s do a little math and compare that to Kurt Warner’s years in “The Greatest Show on Turf”. If you throw out Warner’s rookie season where he only played in 1 game, you have 5 seasons and 14,408 yards (don’t forget that Warner broke a finger on his throwing hand in 2002 and was only able to play in 7 games which led to a shaky start in 2003 when he played in only 2 games and was replaced by a promising young Quarterback named Marc Bulger. He only played a total of 9 games in those two seasons.).

I know, ♪Excuses. Excuses. You hear them every day♪. But that total is better than Aikman’s first 5 seasons as a starter (13,627), and is right in line with Kelly’s (15,730) and Moon’s (14,669).

His stats were meager to average from 2002 through 2006, where he dealt with injuries, mediocre talent in other offensive skill positions, and 2 first round rookie quarterbacks (Eli Manning – NY Giants and Matt Leinert – AZ Cardinals).

In 2007 Warner was able to play in 14 games and showed the ability that helped him lead the Rams to a Super Bowl and become a League MVP. Obviously his 2008 season is what has started this conversation. This season he threw for 4,583 yards 30 touchdowns and only 14 interceptions with a passer rating of 96.9. He led his team to the Super Bowl for the first time in franchise history, earned a trip to the Pro Bowl, and I believe should have been the League MVP (but NFL darling Peyton Manning edged him out).

Now, back to the question: Is Kurt Warner worthy of the Pro Football Hall of Fame? At this moment, probably not. One thing that would end this conversation would be a Cardinals victory in Super Bowl XLIII. A second Super Bowl MVP makes it a no-brainer. But if the Cardinals lose, what happens? I believe 2-3 more years of strong stats and a playoff appearance or two would make his case. That would give him more good seasons than the string of bad ones he had in the middle of his career and probably allow HoF voters to take into account the adversity he experienced in those years.

I would prefer not to piss off a nation of over a billion people, but it seems to me that India is a pretty messed-up country.

I hope that no citizens of Indian descent or even denizens of India who may happen across this blog take it personally. I will be the first to admit that my experience with other cultures is severely lacking: my international travel is limited to a couple across-the-border runs to Mexico during my undergrad days and two cruises to the Caribbean. I will also admit that basing one’s opinions about a country on a motion picture is a pretty stupid way of passing judgment.

My wife, however, travels extensively with her job and makes regular trips to India. So when she says, “Yeah, that’s pretty much how it is,” as I express my utter bewilderment after watching Slumdog Millionaire, I’m running with my initial impression.

Slumdog tells the tale of Jamal and Salim, two brothers, and Latika, the cute girl who falls in with them after they are orphaned in the Indian slums. Actually, “slums” is too nice of word. Jesus, even calling it “medieval” does the Middle Ages a disservice.

Regardless, the movie centers around Jamal’s appearance on the Indian version of “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” in an effort to win Lakita. Sounds real cute, doesn’t it? Forget it. If the conditions these three faced growing up as portrayed in the film are even remotely realistic, that part of the world is severely lacking in common decency. And not to get too political in a movie review or anything, but for anyone in the “Bollywood” community to give the U.S. grief about our leaders without commenting on what the hell is going on in his own country is to ignore the gigantic timber wedged tightly between his eye and brain.

But I digress.

The questions Jamal faces during the game show track key events in the three leads’ lives (it’s like the questions were chosen specially for him or something), providing the framework for the flashbacks the story is told through. The manufacturer of a revolver, a certain song sung, and the identity of a famous actor (which produced a flashback that appalled me yet somehow drew laughs from the audience) are all intimately entwined in Jamal’s life, and presented in a compelling fashion. For example, he can tell you who’s pictured on the $100 dollar bill, but as for the quote on the Indian national flag, he’s lost. But why would he know it? What has India ever done for him and his friends?

Slumdog deserves the accolades it’s been getting in the press and is ultimately a hopeful movie. But anyone who describes it as “feel good” is taking a very simplistic view.

So a bedeviled Angus Young is shoveling coal into the furnace of a jet black train speeding out of control while two scantily-dressed women stroke and lick his steadily-stiffening pointed tail (wink-wink, nudge-nudge), culminating in his throwing the wenches off the train so he can ram it through the end-of-the-line barricade in a huge explosion of lights and sound.

Subtle, these guys ain’t.

But that’s the exact point of an AC/DC show. While Angus, Brian Johnson and the crew are pushing 60, they know what the crowd wants to see and gives it to them. You want blood? You got it. And by blood I mean the hits (although the absence of “Money Talks” and “Who Made Who” was kind of glaring). Loud and with an energy that most bands half their age just don’t have the interest in putting into their shows. This was greatly appreciated by the sold-out crowd which seemed largely made up of parents bringing their 12- to 16-year-old children to experience what a “real” rock band is all about.

Unfortunately, I’ve heard rumors that this may be AC/DC’s farewell tour (and judging by the price I paid for my ticket they’ll be going out in style). Disregarding the notorious lack of reliability these sorts of rumors have (see The Rolling Stones, Ozzy Osbourne), it was good to see AC/DC is still at the top of their game.

I paid how much for this ticket?

I’m a high school English teacher, and have been for the past eleven years. How I got into teaching is a long, drawn-out story that I won’t bore you with right now, but at the base of it is a love of literature and a love of writing. My favorite novel, and the one I look forward to teaching each year, is Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and its power continues to affect me and my students every time. I’m not kidding – I get tears in my eyes every time Huck tears up that letter (if you’re not familiar with that moment, READ THE BOOK).

Which is why I take efforts to remove Huck Finn from school reading lists so personally.

The latest attempt is currently occurring in Washington at Ridgefield High School, and this time it’s not a parent whose knee-jerk reaction to the word “nigger” (repeated over 200 times in the work) is causing the controversy, but an English teacher’s request. Ridgefield English teacher John Foley wrote a guest column for a Seattle paper where he wrote:

“The time has arrived to update the literature we use in high school classrooms […] Barack Obama is president-elect of the United States, and novels that use the ‘N-word’ repeatedly need to go.”

But I would ask, why stop there, Mr. Foley? As long as we’re ignoring any and all context in which novels are written, let’s not read anything that might prove offensive or detrimental to students’ feelings. After all, aren’t ALL students’ feelings worth considering, not just our African-American ones? With this threat in mind, I started looking through my own high school’s reading list in an effort to determine which works could be targeted.

Let’s start with the word “nigger” – obviously, Twain’s Huck Finn is gone. Tom Sawyer is, too. So are any number of his short stories and essays, including a scathing condemnation of a southern lynching entitled “Only a Nigger.” But Twain’s not the only author whose works will be culled. So, too, will Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird and John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men. William Faulkner’s “A Rose for Emily” is removed, as are any number of his novels. Flannery O’Connor is also guilty of using the word in a few of her stories. Catch-22 is gone. A few Hemingway works won’t make the cut (including The Sun Also Rises) and, to be consistent, neither will Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man, Ernest Gaines’ A Lesson Before Dying, Richard Wright’s novels Black Boy and Native Son, and Frederick Douglass’ Autobiography (and most other slave narratives I’ve read). So right there we’ve effectively silenced four of the greatest African-American voices in American literature. But, hey, at least students won’t be exposed to the word “nigger,” right?

Swear words (not just racial epithets) are offensive, too. Good-bye, Catcher in the Rye, Of Mice and Men, Cold Mountain, Catch-22, Invisible Man, A Lesson Before Dying, and Fahrenheit-451 (oh, the irony!). The boys of Lord of the Flies should have their mouths washed out with soap, and Orwell’s 1984 is horrid. Rudolfo Anaya’s Bless Me, Ultima is gone (and I haven’t even mentioned the witchcraft in that one…oops), as are Seabiscuit and A Separate Peace. Don’t even get me started on Grendel, that monster (why can’t he act civilized?). Also gone, it should be noted, is Foley’s suggested replacement Going After Cacciato (which I love, too). No wonder I hear all sorts of curse words in the hallways – the literature students are reading is setting the standard.

Let’s move on to not just words, but actions (actions speak louder than words, you know). I know many people find sex offensive, particularly between unmarried people. So, so long, Scarlet Letter and Cold Mountain; good bye, Romeo and Juliet. The Great Gatsby has an affair in it, so scratch that, and the trouble in Arthur Miller’s The Crucible all starts with an affair between John Proctor and Abigail (but maybe we can leave that one in, since John is hanged at the end). Wait a minute – Willy Loman has an affair in Death of a Salesman – obviously Miller has some strange fixation on sexual trysts so let’s ban ‘em both. Catch-22, A Lesson Before Dying, and Invisible Man are now three-time offenders, so perhaps we can burn them and drive home the point (I mean, do they have ANY redeemable qualities? Oops, that’s beside the point). Dances with Wolves - Dunbar masturbates! And then he fools around with Stands With a Fist (this is after being fondled by some young indian, oops, Native-American women). The senior level reading list is chock-full of sex (implicit and explicit) — Kate Chopin, you’re not fooling anyone. Nude women abound in The Odyssey, and The Picture of Dorian Gray is scandalous (the foreword Wilde writes notwithstanding). Not a sexual episode, but in Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels the titular Gulliver actually pees on a house to douse a fire – how lewd! Students don’t need to be reading that, it’s distracting and they’d laugh, and then the next thing we know THEY’LL be peeing on house fires (maybe we could just excise that portion).

And what about witchcraft? Of course there’s Anaya’s Bless Me, Ultima, but we’ll also say goodbye to Macbeth, Hamlet and Julius Caesar (is there ANY Shakespeare work that would be safe?) and The Crucible centers around it. If we throw in religion (don’t want to start in with what any religious books say, as it might make some students uncomfortable) we also have to get rid of The Poisonwood Bible, any Puritan readings (Edwards’ “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God”, for example), and let’s just ignore any allusions made in any other works (”Mr. Williams, what does Patrick Henry mean when he says ‘Don’t be betrayed by a kiss’?” “Just ignore that line, student of mine, it could be offensive if I explain it”). Practically nothing Abraham Lincoln wrote could be read (he was President! How dare he quote the Bible!), and more recently published novels being considered by our English staff like Life of Pi and The Kite Runner (both finalists for our local community reading program) are immediately verboten. Oops, perhaps I shouldn’t use German because of the negative connotation it might have.

Strangely enough, graphic violence doesn’t seem to offend anyone. But violence is usually accompanied by swearing (people who get shot/stabbed/poisoned are generally nonplussed) so it’s a moot point.

Some reading this might reply that I’m descending onto a slippery slope. Perhaps a bit, but I would also point out that every specific work mentioned above has been challenged at a school somewhere in this country for the exact reason given. So here’s the question: if we shouldn’t include anything in our curriculum that could possibly/maybe/might offend someone, what exactly do we read? Does context not count anymore? Does authorial intent not mean anything? My entire AP reading list is gone. Most of the works included in my high school’s English curriculum are questionable because they could make some students uncomfortable, and apparently that’s not what some in high places believe literature should do.

But I would argue that this is EXACTLY what it should do. This is what great literature (i.e. education) does: it makes us question our society, our world, our selves, and questions without immediate answers are uncomfortable. When we read any novel, we come into it with preconceived ideas and if the book makes us question those ideas, we’re forced to THINK about why we believe the things we do. Huck Finn makes us think about race (which will ALWAYS be an issue in the U.S., even if we abolish the word ‘nigger’) and how supposedly civilized people treat one another. It’s a tale of how difficult it actually is to overcome the supposed “truths” society feeds us from day one, and it’s a tale of friendship. To ban this book (and others) for the use of deemed “offensive” words, disregarding entirely the context of such use and the author’s intent, is a crime far greater than making a student uncomfortable. Yes, some ideas we encounter in our education can be offensive, but if teachers are just in the business of reinforcing preconceived notions/ideas, playing it safe, why the hell are we here?

I may have joined this blog as the token female voice in a sea of testosterone, but this doesn’t mean that I’ll be posting about cosmetics and fashion.  To prove my worthiness, I’ve decided to talk about adrenaline-pumping speed for my first post. 

With all of the talk about climate change, energy independence and alternative energy, there’s a lot of focus on the gasoline-electric hybrid engine, like that of the Toyota Prius.  Cool technology, but it’s not the kind of design that can turn heads, nor the kind of performance that leaves you breathless.

On Wednesday, I had my first sighting of a Tesla Roadster.  Absolutely gorgeous.  It looks fast even when parked in the corporate lot.  I was so infatuated with this car that it took great restraint not to go into their building, hand someone my business card and beg them to use me as a freelance writer for their marketing materials.  Or, at the very least, invite me along for a ride!

Sadly, I don’t have anything close to $109,000 to spend on a base model roadster, but if I had money to burn, this is where I’d spend it.  Look at the specs on this thing:

• 0 to 60 MPH in 3.9 seconds
• 100% electric
• 14,000 RPM redline
• 244 miles per charge
• Burns no oil

I think I’m in love.  A great anecdote from the company website: “How powerful is the acceleration? A quick story to illustrate. A favorite trick here at Tesla Motors is to invite a passenger along and ask him to turn on the radio. At the precise moment we ask, we accelerate. Our passenger simply can’t sit forward enough to reach the dials. But who needs music when you’re experiencing such a symphony of motion.” 

This car defies all of the stereotypes about the capabilities of electric cars.  I can’t wait until the technology develops into something that’s a mainstream vehicle that even writers can afford.