words are worlds I sailed upon

NCTE Annual Convention

2007-10-07T18:39:00.000-04:00

Today I received an email announcing my panel presentation at the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE) Annual Convention in New York City. Check out the link for the convention flyer.

October 2007

Dear Joe,

The 2007 NCTE Annual Convention is quickly approaching! This looks to be one of our largest Conventions to date, and I'd like to thank you for agreeing to be a part of it.

As educators, we historically have not called attention to ourselves for the many ways we share our expertise with others. At NCTE, however, we know that this is invaluable work and we would like to help you showcase it. Therefore, as a way to help you gain recognition for and/or promote the session at which you will be speaking, we've created a Convention flier for you:

Click here to view your Convention Flier:
http://www.ncte.org/proposals/annual101/speakers?pid=1597

Please feel free to print the flier out and post it on bulletin boards where you work, send a copy to your supervisor, or pass it out to your colleagues. You might even consider mailing a copy of the flier to your local newspaper.

Thanks again for your preparation and hard work. I look forward to seeing you in New York!

Best,
Jacqui

Jacqui Joseph-Biddle
Convention Director
National Council of Teachers of English

Tags: National Council of Teachers of English, NCTE, TALK, TEXT, AND TECHNOLOGY: REFLECTION IN THE WRITING CLASSROOM, Mapping Diverse Literacies for the Twenty-First Century

New (And Free) Music In Rotation

2007-08-28T10:24:00.000-04:00

I subscribe to several vodcasts through a program called Miro. I'm sure that iTunes could also do the same thing, as all Miro does is RSS subscription and video playback. Use this for the feed: http://del.icio.us/rss/popular/system:media:video For instance, this video came my way: http://motionographermedia.com/carl_burton-drift.mov Eerie and beautiful all at the same time. Better yet, I get a ton of cool new videos and artists this way.

A while back I came across a video for the Irish indie rock band, Evil Harrisons. Unfortunately their home website, http://www.evilharrisons.com/ has gone by the wayside. Now that URL points towards their MySpace page http://www.myspace.com/evilharrisons I no longer have that video, but you can view a clip on their YouTube page http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMlOQpTHN5k Unfortunately, you can no longer DL songs for free, but check out their latest EP through iTunes. I'd love to find a way to get a hold of their older material.

Here is a Sigur Ros video that came my way: http://www.heimafilm.com/heima_trailer.html The images completely put their music into context for me. Can't say that I love them, but it is somewhat interesting. Someone on LastFM pointed out you can DL more Sigur through their home page: http://www.sigur-ros.co.uk/media/

Another video came my way though this RSS. Check out this video for The Mountain Goats: http://telemusicvision-server.com/videos/The.Mountain.Goats-Woke.Up.New.mp4 There is one free download up on LastFM that I DL'ed. They have a ton of material up on their website: http://www.themountaingoats.net/mp3/index.html The Jack & Faye 7" is a great place to start. Here is another site with more DL's: http://www.the-collective.net/~sashwap/goats/ I guess they have a live taping policy and allow distribution of their live music.

The same website has a link at the bottom to DL Neutral Milk Hotel songs: You can find that here: http://www.the-collective.net/~sashwap/media.html I haven't had the opportunity to listen to much of their music, so the jury is still out on the NMH (but I hear great things, and LastFM suggests that I might like NMH based on some other bands I listen to).

On a final note, I rented the movie Mutual Appreciation by Andrew Bujalski. He is comparable to Richard Linklater in the sense that the entire movie is driven through lengthy dialogue and little action. Whereas Linklater has a knack for making mundane conversations compelling, Bujalski uses one-line interruptions and dead space. Bishop Allen, the main character in the movie, is also the lead singer in a band of the same name.

A while back Bishop Allen (the indie band) released a series of songs through their "EP Project". A four song EP was released once a month, every month for a year. Hence there is the December EP, January EP, February EP, etc. The songs were somewhat rough around the edges, but contributed to two subsequent albums. You can download several MP3's off their home page: http://www.bishopallen.com/index.php

What a great way to discover new music.

Ween, Live in Princeton

2007-07-26T10:37:00.000-04:00

My wife and I went out to dinner last night. Chick-fil-a. Yum. We pull into our driveway around 7:00 PM. Darted into the house to check email.

Oh, what's this? Urgent message from my friend Sarah B?

Tonight, Wednesday---8pm
Princeton Community Park North
(Rt 206 at Mountain Ave)
Princeton, NJ
Admission - free!
From a myspace bulletin
For directions, please go to www.bluecurtain.org
For additional parking, please go to Ween.com and check the 'stickie' on the Ween Forum.

Stealth show-- only advertised to a small audience and word-of-mouth. I figure, "Oh well... looks like we missed out. We'll never get there in time" (even though Princeton is only 15 minutes away). By the time my mouth had wrapped itself around that final sentence, my wife had darted into the other room. In a matter of five minutes she was ready with keys in hand; we vamoosed with no time to waste

What a nice surprise.

Parking was absolute mayhem-- cars were parked, bumper-to-bumper, for a good mile south of the park. Fortunately the venue is smack dab in the middle of my 12-mile Sunday run, and I knew of an alternate parking lot. We pulled up on the other side. No problem, the lot was completely empty.

We strolled right through the park towards the summer stage. The "venue" was just a few rows of bleachers on the hillside and a concrete slab you might call a stage. No gates. No backstage. No security. This was the type of place you might expect to see Shakespeare in the park, or an afternoon show for the kids at Princeton Park North. Not quite the venue you might expect to see a popular alternative rock act.

The band started 20 minutes late and played a 100 minute set (my estimation). Had some soundboard difficulties early into the concert: low volume on mics, house right speakers kept cutting out, and a muddy mix. It took the stage crew far too long to work out all of these niggles; once they did, the sound was perfect for the rest of the evening.

By sundown the tiny venue was packed, the crowd was pumped, and Ween started playing into the audience's energy. The show was worth every penny (so to speak), and then some.

THE SET:
Fiesta
Don't Get To Close To My Fantasy
Mr. Would You Please Help My Pony
Gabrielle
Slow Down Boy
Bananas And Blow
Voodoo lady
The Party
Exactly Where I'm At
Back To Basom (PA kicked out...no vocals)
Buckingham Green
Stay Forever
Take Me Away
Touch My Tooter
Got To Put The Hammer Down
Wavin' My Dick In The Wind
Tick!
*It's Gonna Be A Long Night
*Polka Dot Tail
#*Ohio

ENCORE:
The Mollusk

*-With Rev B.Ill on Guitar
#-With Rev B.Ill On Backing Vocals

2007 Summer Insitute Writing Marathon

2007-07-25T15:40:00.000-04:00

Today I joined a mini-writing marathon for the new fellows participating in the Invitational Summer Insitute hosted by the National Writing Project (NWP) at Rutgers University. The writing marathon is based on a journal exercise described by author Natalie Goldberg in her book Writing Down the Bones. In this book, Goldberg suggests how to approach the marathon:
Everyone in the group agrees to commit himself or herself for the full time. Then we make up a schedule. For example, a ten-minute writing session, another ten-minute session, a fifteen-minute session, two twenty-minute sessions, and then we finish with a half-hour round of writing. So for the first session, we all write for ten minutes and then go around the room and read what we’ve written with no comments by anyone. . . . A pause naturally happens after each reader, but we do not say “That was great” or even “I know what you mean.” There is no good or bad, no praise or criticism. We read what we have written and go on to the next person. . . . What usually happens is you stop thinking: you write; you become less and less self-conscious. Everyone is in the same boat, and because no comments are made, you feel freer and freer to write anything you want. (150)
The purpose of writing marathon mesh's with the NWP's main philosophy that teachers of writing should practice what they teach. The marathon offers a writing experience unfettered by genre, style, prompt, etc. It's actually quite relieving to get out of a computer lab or classroom and just write. Richard Louth describes how the marathon was put to use at their local NWP site in the article The New Orleans Writing Marathon. Louth gives additional advice:

If you go into a restaurant or bar, be sure to order something.
If anyone asks, tell them you are a writer.
Keep in mind that you are doing this for yourself and for nobody else.

The design for the 2007 NWP Rutgers Invitational Summer Institute drew on these two sources. Older teacher consultants joined the new summer fellows, and naturally subdivided into groups of three to five participants. Each group was set free to roam the campus and surrounding areas, with an established rendezvous place and time.

My group set out from the Graduate School of Education, down Voorhees Mall, towards the Old Queens campus; our first stop was Kirkpatrick Chapel. We spent 15 minutes writing inside the chapel, and shared outside on the lawn. The group made way past the lawn, and directly to the train station across the street. We uncomfortably crammed into an elevator up to the train platform. It smelled of urine, baked by the summer's heat-- that made for good writing fodder. We only spent 10 minutes writing at the station, and then shared at Marita's Cantina over nachos (a marathon isn't complete without food and drink). Court's Tavern made for a good final stop on our writing marathon. We wrote for a full 30 minutes, and shared our writing over a beer.

tagzaniapaste2007wmisi tagged map - Tagzania

Kirkpatrick Chapel- 15 minutes

“What does it mean to have faith in God,” he asked, not expecting an answer in return. “The geographical history of the earth. Big bang. Continents shifting. Evolution. Movements of culture across continents, diverging and rejoining. Thanks to science and history, we already have the answers. There is no mystery anymore—just scientific proof.”

“I don’t know…” she started.

“Of course you don’t. Religion doesn’t prove something…”

“I don’t know. I mean to say, I want to believe in something more than here and now. I need to believe there is meaning in my life. That I was born for a reason, to serve a greater good. Your born. You live. You die. But what for? Religion gives me that answer. There is something beyond the scientific mechanics. There is beauty in what we don’t know.”

Train Station- 10 minutes

The subway station smelled of urinal cakes, smoldering cigarette butts, burnt coffee. Not the place you’d imagine for a romantic tryst. Dimly lit. The overhead fluorescent tubes flickered in and out of tempo. Water drip, drip, dripped deep within the bowels of the tunnel. But she insisted on meeting halfway. That was their relationship, always meeting halfway. The tunnel was alive with a beat of it’s own, so distant, yet unmistakable. Growing in timber, like a crescendo of timpani drums. His heart picked up. Rhythm, like the chugging sounds of the engine that would bring her back to him.

Court Tavern – 25 minutes

“Hey Jersey, you gonna ride?” That wasn’t a question. That was a statement veiled as a question, veiled as a test to my masculinity.

“What’s it to ya Texas?” I chided back.

At first, he rode the pause in conversation. Lingering long enough where I became slightly uncomfortable. Then he grinned at me with his eyes and slammed down a shot of whiskey.

“Do you have what it takes to prove that you have some nads city boy.” He spoke soft, yet firm. Overemphasizing city, like it was some kind of derogatory term. Maybe it was around these parts.

Dear God, it’s times like this I wish I was witty. I’m blessed to have a quick mind—though there isn’t any synaptic response between my thoughts and words. My tongue bumbled around with a few syllables. I stuttered, sucking down the air of silence. You know, someone should write a dictionary of wit-isms for times like this. A pocket reference for all the right things to say in times like this. That’s the moment I decided that actions must speak louder than words, and gave my nod to Texas.

“So, what’s it going to be,” he asked.

I pushed the stool outward, with the back of my legs, and stood from the bar. At first it took will to place one foot in front of the other. But something deep inside me disconnected from the situation. It was at that moment that I felt outside of myself, like I was watching a sitcom on TV where I also happened to be the main character of the episode. Something deep within me took over- I think they call it testosterone, and my body moved on autopilot.

Big Texas took pleasure at all of this, and guffawed as I made my way toward the mechanical bull. He shouted “Look at Jersey go!” in a sing-song sort of way. “Go Jersey go!” Cheering me onward, drawing a large audience to watch the debacle.

I’m Jersey. I’m suburban. I push a lawn mower for sport. What did I know about riding a mechanical bull? I knew well enough that I didn’t know. There was no faking experience or skill. I’d ride this blanged contraption out of sheer determination. That should show Big Texas I had the balls.

Childhood Memories of Summer

2007-07-04T16:29:00.000-04:00

When I was a kid, no one in my family declined the invitation to take a car ride to get gas with my father. Particularly on a scorching day in late July or mid August.

Not then.

Not now.

Not ever.

We’d all pile into the family mobile, one by one. Dad. Mom. Brian. Little brother Mikey. Myself included. “Hail, hail! The gang’s all here,” or so my father would. It was he special way of saying everyone was included, from the chief straight on down through the file and ranks. I wonder if that was a quote from a movie or television show from his childhood long since past. The reference was lost on me. Despite that, it had a ring, like the bell to Pavlov’s dog.

I guess it was his catch phrase or something. He had quite a few of them, “Let’s get gas,” included.

The temperatures inside that vehicle could pull Hell to shame. I’m certain of that. The windows on that Chevy suburban didn’t exactly roll down. Rather they swung open, barely a few centimeters, on a hinge that was just as likely to pinch fingers as it was to mysteriously shut mid travel. My brother and I never bothered with the windows anyway. Too much trouble for too little travel. This created a wicked green house effect not even a tropical plant could endure.

Sweat cascaded down. Backs of legs were singed by pleather seats. We chocked on stale air. Who cared anyway. The sacrifice was well worth the immediate discomforts. After all, we were on a family outing to get gas.

The “gas station” (I guess that’s what you would call it in this context, though my father never used that word), was an ice cream shack off to the side of the highway. I never understood how my dad conjured the metaphor of gas equals ice cream. Probably some attempt at a corny joke. He was always cracking a pun or two any chance he could get. I guess this was opportunity to expand his repertoire of humorous expressions. No one dared question this comparison, especially not when ice cream was involved.

Like my dad’s jokes, the ice cream shack had a certain cheesiness about it. Classic hot rod cars and jeeps were parked around the perimeter. That might be pretty badass hadn’t the proprietors loaded these vehicles with oversized stuffed animals; the same ones you might expect not to win from the spin-the-wheel game at the Jersey boardwalk. Imagine a huge, plush Bugs Bunny driving a Mustang. The place was aptly named Campies.

The place was hokey to the max. Cheesy lawn ornaments, namely of the pink flamingo and garden gnome varieties. You could ride the mechanical pony for a quarter. Or, if that was to feminine, there was always the mechanical rocket ship for the more masculine. Their ice cream Sundays were named after popular TV shows. Note— the name had absolutely nothing to do with the actual flavor. Imagine walking up to the counter and ordering a “Bart Simpson,” or a “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle”, “Fred Flintstone”, or “Al Bundy”.

I never ordered an Al Bundy… or a Quick Draw McGraw for that matter. Spiral upon spiral of soft ice cream was where it was at. My brothers and I would order the largest size offered off the menu, covered in sprinkles or coated with a candy shell.

Note—eating an ice cream cone of this magnitude required a fair amount of skill. Enough balance to prevent the cone from tipping over. Dexterity to lick the ice cream into shape, averting a dripping mess. And enough constitute to weather the occasional brain freeze. We had to finish the cone right there on the spot. To get back into the sweltering van would be sudden death. Game over.

Funny enough, for all the times we went out for “gas,” my dad never ate ice cream. He would just sit back on a fluorescent-colored park, smiling all the time. Satisfied. I suppose there are some things even better than ice cream. My father knew that way back when. Looking back over my childhood, I now know what he knew then.

Diana & the City

2007-06-21T22:51:00.000-04:00

“Joe, what are you planning to do today?”

The phone call was a setup. It was a ploy. Far too calculated.

Had she wanted to casually hang out, Diana would have walked out of her mother’s house, cross the street, through my doorway unannounced, and plopped herself onto the couch. It was just that easy for her. A phone call required the effort—that was the first hint.

“Uh, nothing I guess. Why, what’s up?” I knew what was up, but gave the courtesy of a reply.

“Want to come into the city with me today?”

Rephrase that. That simple sentence revealed our entire plans for the afternoon. In Diane-speak, “Wanna come into the city,” translates into, “can you come into the city to help me run a few errands which may require heavy lifting.”

“Uh…” It was too far into the conversation to conveniently back out.

“Good. You can help me move a few things out of my New York City apartment, and then we can stop by Jody’s restaurant for lunch. My treat.”

I could have said no. I could have given her some lame excuse. Hell, I could have even hung up the phone, and then follow up with the lame excuse. But, the truth was she asked. I acknowledged. And that was that.

Besides, I wanted to be out of the house. New York seemed like a good way to get out.

Also Diana was quirky. I like quirky. She was the converse-wearing, retro-bike-collecting, Vespa-driving, lesbian-next-door. And I was her granola-crunching, guitar-struming, MacBook-toting friend. But somehow, we got along like bananas and peanut butter. She made for good company.

So, how could I argue? Even if it meant being waylaid by a phone call now and again.

And again.

And…

To be honest, I really wanted to go… even with the prospect of manual labor. As if the lure of the West Village wasn’t enough, Diana promised to take me to her girlfriend’s restaurant where Jodi was head chef. It was a beautiful day in mid-June, and nothing could beat sipping cherry-lemonade and vodka mixed drinks out on the sidewalk.

Fifty minutes and a “small errand” later and we were sailing up the Jersey Turnpike in a beat-up Ford pickup with two leather chairs strapped to the back. Windows down, radio blaring the traffic report, with Newark’s skyline shrinking into the distance. We were approaching the Lincoln Tunnel in record time.

There is something intoxicating about the Lower Manhattan skyline. The city looms over the Hudson, over Jersey City, erect with so much steel, glass, and concrete. A silhouette of contemporary architecture. To think, that someone dreamed and dared to build blocks upon blocks of skyscrapers. Millions of people stacked, in cubic foot upon cubic foot of lower Manhattan office-space, like a Lego creation… of epic proportions.

But to enter the city via the tunnel— to travel those soot-covered, fluorescent light metered tubes—is to emerge from beneath the island, thrust into the midst of the city. To be crushed under the density of shadows cast by buildings taller than the sun. Everything in New York is on a grand scale. The mobs of people. The restaurants and bars. The business and arts. It’s so easy to feel diminutive, lost in the enormity of all that is NYC.

The chores were minimal. Drop off this. Pick up that. In less time than it took to drive into the city, we were on our way to lunch. Ahhh, lunch.

June 21st- the summer solstice. And there we were on a Thursday afternoon, sucking down cherry-lemonade and vodka out of a tall glass. Fresh bread and olive oil. Chef Jodi came out from the kitchen and joined us for some appetizers: insalata di spinaci (goat cheese, pine nuts & raisins), fave e pecorino (escarole, fava beans, pecorino, mint & basil), and cacio e pepe (bucatini with pecorino & black pepper). We ordered a main course, dessert, and then Itallian coffee.

The food. The conversation. Watching the midday life of the West Village ebb and flow. The largeness of the moment. This was a great start to the summer.

The Death Cat

2007-06-17T22:32:00.001-04:00

Cats murderer!
Originally uploaded by salgada.

Butterball didn’t look her normal self. First of all, that old Himalayan-mix never ever grooms herself. If it weren’t for my constant attempts to brush that old cat, she would completely mat over. She barely stirs, much less sit up, in that old wicker basket we lined with bedding. So when she jolted and began frantically licking herself, I knew something was wrong.

My first reaction was disbelief. “Hey, does Butterball look sick?” I asked my wife. As f on cue, Butterball started choking on her tongue. She began to drool—thick, foaming blood ran down her maw. It had the appearance and consistency of regurgitated strawberries. The tongue lashed out, left and right, sloshing the blood-saliva mixture down her dirty-grey chest.

Yeah- you could say something was very wrong!

And then Butterball meowed. It was a meager sound that struggled to produce itself from the tip of the tongue, and instead reverberated deep within her throat. She coughed up another spat of blood.

I ran to the kitchen for a paper towel… wet nap… something… anything to sop up the blood. My sudden movement triggered Butterball like a stretched rubber band moments before it snaps. The sound of my bare heel on the hard wooden floors gave signal, and she was off for a position under the kitchen table. I bumbled toward the cat. The cat ambled out of my reach. It was a dangerous prospect to corner an injured animal, especially a stray cat with a feral attitude.

My wife and I talked it over.

Butterball is fairly advanced in years. How old? We can’t say. She as a full adult when we took her into our house seven years ago. We couldn’t reverse the disease, but at least we could make her remaining time on earth as comfortable as possible. Instead, we opted for the less costly painkillers and antibiotics.

We’ll leave the rest to be decided by nature.

Amfibian CD Release Party

2007-06-17T11:16:00.000-04:00

Tom Marshall possesses enough jamband celebrity to surround himself with accomplished musicians. As the former lyricist for the now-defunct band Phish, Marshall possesses enough celebrity to surround himself with accomplished musicians. As the former lyricist for the now-defunct band Phish, Marshall is the front man for his own band—Amfibian. But to relegate his current project as a Phish spin-of would underscore his talent for lyrics and song craft.

Last night Marshall and company threw a CD release party at the Philly-posh WXPB lounge. Gone are the days of college-age, patchouli-dank, dreadie kids of the jamband scene long since past. Amfibian draws a much more refined crowd—suburban hipster socialites. No doubt, as Marshall drew friends and family from the Princeton area.

This guy has enough talent to make it on the local scene (not to mention his backing band rocks). Amfibian puts on an entertaining show. The setlist was an equal mix of 1/3 original tunes, 1/3 Phish covers, and another 1/3 recognizable classic songs. From straight rock, to an acoustic set, Amfibian delivered on the party-vibe.

This is a local band (with a national reputation) that is worth catching live.

The Fountain

2007-06-10T20:57:00.000-04:00

They say not to judge a book by its cover. So cliché.

You can’t always expect to go on reviews and recommendations alone. Sometimes it’s worth the gamble to make a selection based on some random factor, such as the cover graphics, a catchy title, or the summary on the back cover, some unmentionable thing that catches the eye’s attention. Some of my favorite books, movies, and CD’s were discovered based on the shallow judgment of cover alone.

“The Fountain” was my latest find.

It’s probably all for the better that I didn’t see the trailer or read a plot summary ahead of time. Based on the complexity of the plot (in fact, three plots that are inextricably connected), any attempt at a synopsis would only lead one astray. Words alone don’t do this movie justice. Thus, there is no better way to decribe the movie than to see it for yourself.

But, be warned—this is not an entertaining movie. Definitely not for the passive viewer. I felt hopelessly lost, as in Eraserhead-hopelessly-lost, in the first fifteen minutes of the film. In fact, I gave up. Defeated. But hey, anything is worth a second try. And lucky that I did. With some patience and persistence I made it far enough into the film that

With some luck a little patience I managed to view The Fountain in its entirety. Thank God that I did.

The movie weaves three plots—a conquistador searching for the Fountain of Youth; a doctor struggling to find a cure for cancer in time to save his terminally-ill wife; and a spiritual journey—into an epic story about mortality. The three stories are inextricably connected, intertwined, a palimpsest of the other two plots.

A majority of the story is narrated through cinematography and visual metaphor. Don’t expect Darren Aronofsky, the playwright and director, to come straight out with the meaning of life. The last fifteen minutes of the film is a dazzling display that offers a glimpse into the afterlife for those that are willing to interpret the final sequence of images for themselves.

Battle of Bordentown

2007-06-09T22:34:00.000-04:00

Battle of Bordentown Patriots
Originally uploaded by esthergirl.

Never have I seen so many pony-tailed men and women wearing homemade outfits, camping in a field since my last Phish concert. And perhaps there might not be a better way to describe the “phandom” of colonial actors.

To help celebrate the 325th anniversary of historical Bordentown City, hoards of colonial-heads set up camp on the Divine Word Missionary campus to reenact the Battle of Bordentown. Apparently Mercer County has several of these events around the year (Washington’s Crossing being the most notable). But consider it cool that this battle was staged within walking distance of my house.

I could smell burn gunpowder and campfire just outside my door.

Call it living history. Each actor was dressed in authentic garb, eating authentic grub, and appropriately grouped. Yeah- imagine wearing a wool jacket on a June afternoon. The “lobster-backs” (Brits) held down one side of camp, while the colonists were staged at the other end. German and French forces were also present. Each and every colonial actor could roll off tomes of historical knowledge off the top of their head, and were more than happy to answer every bystander’s question.

Of course if you wanted in on the action, you could buy authentic-looking reproductions: clothing, weaponry, bedding, and colonial currency. Everything but food was for sale (colonial cooking craft doesn’t mesh with contemporary FDAA regulations). Like any other tourist trap, "shakedown" street was conveniently situated near the exit/entrance. Some of the vendors appeared to be well stocked. It wouldn't surprise me if some of them follow a summer tour of reenactments, venue after venue, selling their wares. But hey, I have no beef with cashing in on colonialism, especially considering the event was free to the public.

The battle reenactment itself was somewhat lame. From my point of view, a group of guys stood in a field for 30 minutes shooting off cap guns and cannons. My complaint isn't that real amunition wasn't used. Don’t get me wrong, dodging musket pellets would add a certain dramatic and realistic appeal (although somewhat gory). My beef was that no one feigned death throughout the battle. They aimed their weaponry at one another for 30-minutes and no one fell. Bleh. Call that unconvincing.

Phished, Hacked, and Otherwise Pissed Off

2007-06-08T18:16:00.000-04:00

I prefer not to use four letter words in my day-to-day language. Uhh, but I’m at a loss for words at the moment. There really is no other way for me to express this…

Fucker.

That’s about all I have to say about the hacker that gained access of my eBay account to set up scam auctions.

Hell if I knew exactly how my account was breached. I know better to respond to phishing emails, and my password is crazy random. And I thought that I had so much tech awareness. I guess that’s to say that if could happen to me....

To their credit, I was immediately contacted by eBay regarding the infiltration and scam auctions.

We have ended the following listing(s) on your account as they appear to have been listed by a third party without your authorization:

190121219747 The West Wing All 7 Seasons DVD Set 1 2 3 4 5 6 7
190121219976 Sex and the City Gift Collection (2005, DVD)
190121220414 The O.C. - The Complete Seasons 1-3 (2006, DVD)
190121220882 NEW JAMES BOND 007 ULTIMATE EDITIONS 1-2-3-4 Boxed Set
190121221260 *24 hour * The Complete Seasons 1 2 3 4 5
190121221646 Friends - The Complete Seasons 1-9 (2005, DVD)
190121222034 The Sopranos - The Complete First, Second, and Third...
190121222648 Buffy the Vampire Slayer - The Chosen Collection (20...
190121223067 Everybody Loves Raymond: The Complete Seasons 1-8 (2...
190121223503 Full House - The Complete Seasons 1-2 (2005, DVD)
190121223992 M*A*S*H - Martinis and Medicine Collection (2006, DVD)
190121224496 Star Trek: Enterprise - The Complete Series (2005, DVD)
190121225939 Gilmore Girls: The Complete Seasons 1-5 (2005, DVD)
190121226402 Seinfeld - The Complete Eighth Season (2007, DVD)

My account was immediately suspended so the hacker couldn’t further damage my eBay credibility or financial standing. Think about that- someone hijacked MY identity, attempted to commit Internet fraud in MY name, leaving ME to pick up the broken pieces.

Yeah, thank YOU Fucker.

eBay immediately followed their initial contact with another email. This time they detailed the steps they had taken and detailed what I should do next.

Do not respond to this email, as your reply will not be received. You will be sent a separate notice detailing the action taken. Please refer to that notice for additional information related to this action, including steps you can take to restore access to your eBay account.

Thank you for your patience in this matter.

Regards,

Customer Support (Trust and Safety Department)

Due to recent activity, including possible unauthorized listings, we have temporarily suspended activity on your account in order to allow us to investigate this matter further. If you believe that this action may have been taken in error, or, if you feel that your account may have been tampered with, please contact our Live Help team so that we can provide additional information and work with you to resolve this issue.

You can reach the Account Theft Live Help team by taking the following steps:

- Click on the "Security Center" link at the bottom of most eBay pages.
- Click on the "eBay Account Protection" link in the eBay Marketplace section, within the Online Security Resources box.
- This will take you to the help page entitled Securing Your Account and Reporting Account Theft.
- Scroll down the help page to the section entitled Contacting eBay.
- Click on the "Live help" link.

Once you have clicked on the "Live Help" link, you will be prompted to enter a chat name or email address along with a topic related to your reason for contacting eBay. After you have entered this information, the next available representative will assist you.

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If you received this notice and you are not the authorized account holder, please be aware that it is in violation of eBay policy to represent oneself as another eBay user. Such action may also be in violation of local, national, and/or international law. eBay is committed to assist law enforcement with any inquiries related to attempts to misappropriate personal information with the intent to commit fraud or theft. Information will be provided at the request of law enforcement agencies to ensure that perpetrators are prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

Regards,

Safeharbor Department
eBay In

Interestingly enough, Fucker left me a little memento. Apparently a potential buyer contacted Fucker via my hacked eBay account, asking to verify their credibility as a seller. Fucker replied in a faux earnest tone. Now I know something about their operation.

Dear friend,

www.junyuanexport.com having been in this line for nearly 5 years ,experienced and well operated. .We main supply world famous brands electronice products and some other fashional product.Holding the company principle and spirit "Best Service, Highest Quality, Competitive Price, Timely Delivery", we are developing our business steadily and quickly. We are now having a lot of customers on the world.our company main order or wholesale electronic products ,as well as retail for satisfy the different customer

website: www.junyuanexport.com
email/msn:junyuanexport@hotmail.com
TEL/FAX:86-1083359112
company name:Tian yuan International business trade company

Kudos to eBay for their quick and careful response. Junyuanexport was blocked from finalizing any transactions, and no real damage was done. In the end my account was restored (and password changed). Take this as an example and warning at the same time. Phishing/account hijacking is a very real crime that can happen to anyone.

Oh, and don’t do business with Junyuanexport.

Page, Pizza, & Peace

2007-06-03T19:51:00.000-04:00

It was a well-coordinated effort to see Page McConnell in concert play the TLA, Philly. Despite not having heard his new solo album beyond a single release to WXPN, we planned the show on hype alone.

Page’s sincerity in life shines through his lyrics and interactions with the crowd. Although his lyrics seem trite at times, they were heartfelt. He seemed comfortable at the keys, but he didn’t extend beyond a certain comfort zone (when compared against his heyday with Phish). The whole effort would probably be better suited, stripped down, naked: singer-songwriter on stage with only their instrument to hide behind. Something in the way of a solo David Gray performance. Rather, Page was backed by drums, guitar, bass, and keys. Yeah, keyboard backed by a second keyboard.

The whole evening seemed far too “safe”.

Fun, but certainly not memorable. This just goes back to my own perspective that the sum of Phish is so much more than any one of those four musicians can muster in solo careers.

Perhaps the highlight of the evening was grabbing a slice of Peace of Pizza out on the Main Line. Yeah- no joke. This pizzeria is the bee’s knees of gourmet pizza. Don’t be fooled by the Peace of Pizza concession stands inside Citizen’s Bank Park (the Phil’s baseball stadium). Their cheese and pepperoni slices don’t even pale in comparison.

Friends, music, gourmet pizza, and microbrew. Yeah. That's what I call the start of a good summer!

Night of the Day of the Dawn of the...

2007-06-02T09:15:00.000-04:00

Night of the Day of the Dawn of the Son of the Bride of the Return of the Revenge of the Terror of the Attack of the Evil, Mutant, Alien, Flesh Eating, Hellbound, Zombified Living Dead Part 2: In Shocking 2-D

Talk about an underground cult film…

Sometime my freshman year of college, I joined a B-movie group on campus. Every week someone from the group would rent a B-movie from, which we would view in the college library media center.

My one friend came across “The” movie in a local West Coast Video; captured by the movie’s title, he decided to give the movie a try. As the story goes, he never returned the movie, nor did he ever return to that video rental store. In fact, once that movie traveled back with us to the dorms, it never left the VCR.

We watched the movie every night, sometimes two or three times a night, over the course of two years. The movie was so familiar that everyone that would frequent that dorm room (and there was quite a following) had every line of the movie committed to memory.

That was the legendary room 210 of Caldwell College, NJ.

After a while, the repeated playbacks began to degrade the quality of the VHS tape. We scoured every movie store in the area, but couldn’t locate another copy. Drastic times call for drastic measures. I used my work-study access to the communications studio to create several copies.

Even then, the quality was so shoddy. In fact, the volume was mostly white noise. This was no matter, as we had memorized every line. From that point, we’d watch the film sans volume, and chant the lines back to the video. Then I transferred to Rutgers University, and later my only copy bit the dust.

Years ago I managed to score a copy off eBay for a very reasonable price. At best that video was a fourth or fifth generation VHS copy, just as piss-poor as my worn-down copy. Even as the Internet began to boom, there was no information to be found on the film.

Even today the facts are scarce. All I do know is a Northern New Jersey film fanatic overdubbed Night of the Living Dead with his own soundtrack, in the style of What’s Up Tiger Lily. Most of the humor is based on stereotypes, but the scenarios are so outrageous that the film is gut splitting hilarious.

My latest Google search managed to produce some You Tube clips. Although the movie is not hosted in its entirety, these video clips capture some great scenes. I’m still on a hunt to procure a lossless copy.

Field Day: A Study in Chaos

2007-05-31T20:08:00.000-04:00

Field day.

Ungh.

I shudder at the prospect. As if middle school wasn’t chaotic enough… But someone had to invent a day to uncage students from the classroom. It’s like a zoo without bars- literally!

I can’t even say that the field day schedule brings “organized” chaos. Four revisions later, and the principal still needs to make an all-call announcement for the teacher to check their email one last time for the latest draft… and just minutes before the festivities begin!

What!?!? An hour of basketball? The kids don’t want to play basketball! Yeah, they might whine and cry that they want to go outside, but 15-minutes of direct sunlight and they are whining and crying to be let back into school. Let them back in, and fifteen minutes later they want back out. They aren’t happy inside; they aren’t happy outside. They just want to be somewhere other than where they are at that particular moment- end of story.

Then there are the teachers. Did you know that some teacher plan to call in sick for the day just so they don’t have to bother with field day supervision? They don’t proactively protest and schedule a personal day; rather, they wait for the last minute to make their sick day call. “Mental health”, eh? Well that means madness for the rest of us. Thanks a lot! Talk about contracting June burnout (yeah, and it’s only May).

The real clincher? They took any element of competition out of field day. Years ago (well, ever year up through last year) “black” team competed against “silver” team in various mental and physical activities. The admin tallied the points from the day’s activities and a winner was declared. That was the motivation to participate. This year everyone is a “winner”. No, change that- they eliminated any semblance of sport. The kids played a game of basketball, watched a talent show, ate burgers, played on inflatable carnival rides, and then watched movies for the last two hours of the day.

Sigh.

Alright- so teachers will always begrudge the heat and hellish chaos of field day, but don’t take out the games. Some kids thrive on this day. Bring back the sport for them… or do away with the day altogether.

My First Screencast!

2007-05-28T22:39:00.000-04:00

Right now screencasts, or a video capture of the computer screen, are all the rage with tech bloggers... so therefore I also needed to get in on the action. Apparently most of the software falls to the PC-side; many tech bloggers reported a general frustration with software offerings on the Mac. Google after Google, and traceback after traceback, I came across several recommendations.

Ambrosia's Snap Pro ranks as the best utility of the lot. The $70 price tag, although relatively cheap in terms of software, was $69 more than I was willing to pay-- especially in light of freeware options. Other names came to the top of the pile, but I didn't want to bother with trial-versions or $20 shareware donations.

It didn't take me long to come across a favorable review for Danicsoft's Copernicus. This program is streamlined and easy-to-use. In a matter of minutes I was creating both screen captures and screencasts without ever consulting an instruction manual. Only drawback is Copernicus records video without an audio track. Ah well.. Actually, more like not a problem. This project only required a voice over, which was easy to add during post-production.

I dropped the screencast movie over to Mac's iMovie HD 6 to dub the audio track. iMovie has the promise of a fairly powerful video edit program for amateurs; within minutes I was able to record and sync audio using a Samson C01U condenser mic without ever having read a manual or one of those "Blah Blah Blah for Dummies" books. This program has a user-friendly interface, yet has enough options to appease someone who is willing to take the time to learn all the various features.

One hour and sixty audio takes later, I produced my two-minute web tutorial. Alright, so this movie won't be nominated for any web equivalent of the Grammy Awards. In fact, I'll be lucky if the intended audience even give it a peep. Alright, perhaps this does earn me another merit badge for the techie scout sash. I see this as another step towards accomplishing more audio/video home recording. It appeals to my indie DIY calling...

Andrew Bird Live in Review

2007-05-19T20:08:00.000-04:00

Ever play a CD for the first time, and it becomes an instant classic? Case in point—Andrew Bird & the Mysterious Production of Eggs. Thanks to my little brother, last night I had the opportunity to see Andrew Bird play a sold-out show at the TLA, South Street, Philly.

Street side parking is very tight for a Friday night. I squeezed my VW Gulf into a spot along Front Street, and managed to avoid a parking ticket despite having parked three hours in a two-hour parking zone. Sometimes you have to wage the odds, especially when circling the block with 15 minutes until show time.

With only minutes to spare, I dated down the back alleys and side streets of Queens Village, arriving at the venue with only minutes to spare. My brother was waiting at the door with ticket in hand. We were good to go!

What a great venue. Back in the day, the TLA was a concrete box with a small stage at the far end. What a change! The “new” venue had all the renovation of a While You Were Out episode. The walls were finished with a crimson-colored velour was hung; faux crystal chandeliers topped the room off. It had all the charm of a vintage, thrift-store rendition of Radio City Music Hall—charming.

And then there was the live music...

The violin produces one of the most shrill, piercing tones in all the musical families. It is a deadly weapon in the hands of an amateur—producing sonic waves that can cut through the eardrum like a power saw. Elsewhere it is the bland backdrop that wallpapers contemporary music. We’ve all heard midi-emulated, orchestral arrangements added post-production. Lifeless.

It takes either a virtuoso or a madman to make the violin sing.

Andrew Bird was a little of both... He could play the violin like a banshee, wailing over a loved one, long since passed. I was simply blown away by his musical ability-- whether singing, whistling, or playing the violin, guitar, or glockenspiel. Bird has an amazing knack for playing legato, or with a great amount of fluidity. He would contrast legato segments with quirky, off-rhythm or off-key phrasing.

Quirky is a good word to describe the experience.

As a solo artist he used two DL4's, a looping device that records a musical phrase, then plays back that passage to infinity. This allows the solo artist to lay a drum track, and then overdub a chord progression or harmony. playing/singing the melody on top of it all. Not only does the musician have to focus on melody-making, but (s)he also has to manipulate the looping devices. The end result? A full-band sound with only one or two band members.

For example, Bird might pluck out a staccato bass line, using an octave divider to make the violin sound like an upright bass. Next, a shallow layer of harmony is produced by strumming or bowing the chord changes, and then another layer of electric guitar. Bird creates the melody by alternating singing, whistling, and playing the violin. Like a quick draw in a spaghetti western, he slings from violin to guitar and back with accuracy and agility. In the end, you have to see the act for yourself.

The show far exceeded my every expectation.

Graduation

2007-05-17T21:33:00.000-04:00

Graduate School of Education

4th Commencement Ceremony

The 11th Hour

2007-05-14T22:12:00.001-04:00

the eleventh hour
Originally uploaded by olivelife.

Uh... I finally received the official word from Rutgers U.

I PASSED MY COMPREHENSIVE EXAMS!

*whew*

Now I'm all set to walk in graduation this Thursday.

Failure is a Moth

2007-05-09T21:37:00.001-04:00

Moth on a lantern
Originally uploaded by ZekaG.

Failure
is a moth
seduced by
the kitchen light
enmeshed between
the bulb and screen door.

Not to be confused with giving up-- that is the loser’s luxury of choice. Giving up is the decision not to run another mile, study another chapter, or stay at work another hour. It is the excuse to circumvent ever having to face failure.

Real failure is being up against the wall, pushing ahead, knowing success is not an option. It’s all in the not giving up. Like a boxer, beaten down by the punch, clinging to the ropes for another round.

That’s how I feel right about now, beaten down and clinging to the ropes for dear life.

Commencement for the graduate school of education is scheduled for next Thursday. I’ve already purchased my cap and gown, called out for work, and invited my family to attend the ceremony, which will take place with, or without me.

Right now my comprehensive exam in under final review. I’ve worked to the exclusion of friends and family over the last four months. Forget that. Count four years and thousands of dollars invested into this education. And it all comes down to two blind reviewers with their pass/fail stamps.

So, I wait with seven days until commencement, considering the possibility of the red-inked stamp of failure.

It's Time...

2007-04-28T21:07:00.000-04:00

Web 2.0 ... The Machine is Us/ing Us

2007-02-06T20:08:00.000-05:00

Simply amazing. This four minute video gives a quick synopsis of the Web 2.0 revolition.

Guitarist looking for band, songwriting, or jam situation

2007-01-30T20:46:00.000-05:00

This past Saturday The Earthtones took stage at an Hibernian hall in NE Philly. Outside of parties and no-name bars, this is their fourth self-hosted gig; the first since I left the band little over a year ago. They were a garage jam-band with a ton of perseverance and heart when I joined their scene; rough around the edges, like the Velvet Underground in the heyday. Amazing what time, practice, and a new lineup can achieve. In a word- on fire.

Seeing them live after all this time has made me anxious to get more experience playing / jamming / recording with other musicians. I’m currently in collaboration with a singer / lyricist, but I’m looking to start a second project with more of a guitar focus. I’ve decided to place another ad on Philly's Craigslist Musician section:

30-year-old male guitarist. Just finished with graduate school, and want to start playing again. Looking for a laid-back situation that will give me more experience songwriting, recording, and/or playing live with other musicians. I'm thinking small bars and coffee house sized venues. Nothing more.

I've placed and responded to a few ads. I know what I want and don't want to waste your time. I'm not ageist, sexist, racist, or discriminate on appearance or personal style- everyone welcome. Need a good attitude- in it for fun and personal satisfaction; not looking to make it big.

I have a wide listening range, but looking to play something the likes of: Jeff Buckley, The Beatles, Elliot Smith, acoustic Trey Anastasio, The Decemberists, Coldplay, Radiohead, Wilco, Dave Matthews & Tim Reynolds, The Couriers, Death Cab for Cutie, Minus the Bear, The Velvet Underground, etc. Acoustic folk, singer-songwriter, jamband, indie, alternative formats, WXPN-style music OK.

Have own equipment- both electric and acoustic- ride, and rehearsal space. Would be willing to travel in a 45-minute radius if possible. An hour if the situation is ideal. Respond if you are interested in setting something up.

Within the first 48 hours I had six replies: four MP3 exchanges, and two phone contacts. Only one of which has left to an audition. The instantaneous and interconnective nature of the Web simply amazes me. In celebration, I'm reposting my MP3 link hosted through MySpace: Post Graduate Automotive Maze.

I've always hoped that I would record some of my new material, or at least re-record a more polished song. Hopefully a combination of seeing The Earthtones live and the upcomming auditions will be the motivation I need to get back "into the groove" of things (pun intended).

Lazy Sunday

2007-01-21T22:10:00.000-05:00

I can't seem to pull myself off the couch. For the first time since starting graduate school I have some serious downtime to chill out and decompress. Result? I'm sucked into the void of the 100+ hour video game otherwise known as Final Fantasy. I've logged about 20 hours playtime in the past few days. You know what? It feels great! This is exactly what the doctor ordered to bring me back to my anxiety-free, laid-back self I used to know as a 20-year-old.

Eventually I'll get the motivation to start back with guitar. Check it- maybe in another 80 hours of gameplay?

Who Yarked?

2007-01-19T22:33:00.000-05:00

No Puking!
Originally uploaded by QuestingBeast.

Friday. Last teaching period before a long awaited weekend. I’m through, and the kids are string to unravel. At this point my best battle plan is to allow them to buddy read a chapter from our class novel. They are freed to partner up, find a cozy spot on the floor, read and journal the period away. Productive, but not high maintenance. They win, I win.

Well, that is if you get out of line. This is a well behaved group, mostly. “Out of hand” is that typical middle school chatter about going to the mall or riffing each other. Nothing malicious.

Case in point.

The kids are all silently reading, or so I think. Two boys in particular are getting a bit rowdy. They seem a bit too excited, most likely not focused on the book. I call them over once: warning. Twice: seat change. Third time and give them that talk “It’s not what you do, but what you get caught for” to waylay their protests of being singled out. They snicker at my comment. This time they behave…

for five minutes at least.

I realize there are two sets of eyes fixed on me. These two students are standing, silent, looking directly at me searching for their next word. Then it came.

“I threw up.”

Ok to the point. Need to clarify? “What?”

“I threw up.”

So matter of fact. Puddle of puke at his feet as a testimony.

“Uh, go to the nurse.” A nod and a hall pass later and the sick boy is sent on his way with his partner-in-crime tagging along to make sure he arrived safely. They swaggered down the hall, all smiles and giggles at what just happened.

I knew something was up.

Upon partner-in-crime’s return, I thoroughly grilled him about the circumstances. Granted, a kid gets sick- no problem. But their before and after behavior sent up signals.

“I need to know what happened”

“Uh, I can’t talk about it here. Can we discuss this in the hallway?”

“What?”

“Uh, it’s too embarrassing,” he replied.

I nodded again, and we continued this discussion in the hallway.

“Uh, well you see. Uh, this is embarrassing to say…”

“Out with it!” I demanded.

“Well, whatever I had to eat at lunch is giving me gas, and I had to fart really bad. So I told him my plan. I didn’t want to fart in class, because everyone would stare and laugh at me. It’s embarrassing. So I told him that I was going to sneak into the hallway and let it rip.”

“And?”

“And it grossed him out.”

Apparently all the fart talk triggered a gag reflex. Seriously. I didn’t know whether to laugh, sympathize, or reprimand him. I stood there, with this are-you-serious look on my face. Paused to comment, but said nothing. All I could muster was an assertive “Back in the room,” to which he promptly complied.

Partner-in-crime now is besieged by his classmates about why gag-reflex boy yarked over my carpet. Surprisingly the class carried on with little shrieks or protests. Maybe they sensed mh inner bewilderment, and couldn't find it within themselves to find an appropriate response.

Seriously, truth is stranger than fiction.

Runners Need Not Apply

2007-01-12T22:47:00.000-05:00

My running shoes
Originally uploaded by somebear.

“Didn’t you read the sign on the door?”

I shifted uncomfortably on the doctor’s examination table.

“Uh…” I shrugged my shoulders.

He snickered. “It says, ‘Runners need not apply.’”

I shifted again, letting out a snicker.

“Yeah, I guess we are a tough lot,” I replied.

“You guys don’t know when to stop.”

I was the case in point.

The doctor started in again. “Ever hear the one where a patient walks into a doctor’s office. He says, ‘Doc, it hurts when I do this…”

“’Yeah, so don’t do that anymore.’ Old joke, eh?”

I began to explain how my foot hurt after a typical run. I spent a week off the road, but was anxious to make goon on my New Years resolution. First, I promised myself to run more consistently throughout the cold winter. This was an exceptionally warm January, and I was well underway toward my second resolution: run a marathon by next November. Philadelphia, Chicago, New York, or Marine Corps. Perhaps.

He looked at my foot. Looked at me, and looked back at my foot again.

“To tell you the truth, I’m not much of a foot and ankle man myself. I recommend some RICE. Know what that is?

“Yeah,” I said, “rest, ice, compression, and elevation.”

“And stay off that foot.”

This sucks. Two weeks into January and I’ve already suffered a running injury; either a stress fracture or torn ligament by his account. Not a good start to my new resolutions. Two weeks rest- a minor setback. In the past year my running took a backseat to graduate school. Two weeks was a minor inconvenience, but I am back into this for the “long run” (pun intended).

I left the doc's office in hurry, certain to stay light on my feet. Two weeks...

Well, here is to a New Year and good (running) health.