William's Too Heavy Back-Pack

by Gladys Li
I helped my Mom with the first draft of this story in 1981. I didn't like how it came out. She never gave up on the story. She kept sending me new editions of the story until about 2005.  Really, she wanted me to contribute some effort to a draft. She kept calling it "our" story.
This is my first direct revision of the story in 28 years.

"What's the difference between a turtle, a tortoise, and a terrapin?" William demanded as he came charging into the backyard.

I smiled. "You're asking a good question."

He threw down his back-pack and sat himself down on the porch steps. I thought about Aesop's Fables and asked "Do you know that Grandpa used to tell me a story about the race between the tortoise and the hare..."

"YES! Heard it, like, a gazillion times already." interrupted William.

"And?" I prompted.

William continued, "The turtle is so slow that the rabbit thinks he has time for a little nap."

"That's right. The tortoise wins and puts the hare to shame."

"No. Wrong." William flatly contradicted me. "You see this back-pack?"

"Yes?"

"No, I mean, really check it out. It weighs a ton."

"Maybe I'd better move it before someone trips over it," I said,followed by an exaggerated groan and a "Heave Ho!"

William tried to supress a giggle by frowning. "Now you understand why it takes me so long to go anywhere when I'm lugging that thing around. Tortoise, turtle; turtle, tortoise. A rabbit is faster. Much faster" he said authoritatively, pointing his finger for emphasis. "Grandpa didn't tell you that story to teach you about animals, he wanted to teach you a lesson."

"Oh yes? What sort of lesson?"

"Don't be a lazy rabbit, or else you'll be a loser at life!"

"In that case, I proclaim it only just for the rabbit to lose and the turtle to win!"

William snorted, "Justice has nothing to do with it. Anyhow, it's a dumb ending to the story because everyone knows that a rabbit can run circles around turtles. At least if its a story, justice could come with a twist. Where's the twist? A story needs to have a twist, Mom. And, by the way, you still haven't said anything about the difference between a tortoise, a turtle, and a terrapin."

"Well, at least you seem to know the lesson of the tortoise and the hare." I said. William looked pleased by the compliment, then confused when I challenged him, "How about frogs and terrapins?"

"What's that now?"

"Oh, so you don't know the story about Miss Betty, a terrapin who lived in Old Quarry?"

William straighten his back a bit, and dropped his shoulders. He rested two relaxed foreams on his knees, and a smile crept across his face, like he knew a good joke but was keeping it a secret. Although he liked to talk, this was his posture when he was ready to listen. So I began...

*   *   *   *   *

Saturday turned out to be beautiful after all.

Everyone would go to the Beaver dam party at the left bank shallows.  Miss Betty Emydidae made her way through the stand of trees near the ox bow. She was wearing her favorite straw hat. It was held on by a ribbon.  The ribbon was in a diamondback pattern that matched her black and orange shell.

Miss Betty spied her friend Samantha up in the leaves and branches of the tall white oak.  Samanatha was lost in thought, acorn in her hands, mouth open, although her bushy Auburn tail twitched ever so slightly. More of a pulse, really.  Miss Betty guessed that Samantha got distracted during breakfast.

"Good morning, Sam," Miss Betty called up to her. "You are up early."

"You know me, Betty." Samantha replied, " I love the morning. So full of... possibility."

"I hope it is possible that I will see you at the Beavers' party?" asked Miss Betty gently.

Samantha startled, "Is that today? Thank you for reminding me!  I nearly forgot."

"You have plenty of time, don't worry."

"Oh... but which way shall I go to cross the creek? What's the water level? Can I take the stones? Maybe the branch bridge, if its not to windy. Is it too windy, Betty?"

"No idea, but here's how you can find out.  Just wait for the Cardinal Brothers to pass overhead.  If they are beating their wings, its calm.  If they are soaring, it means they are riding a wind.  Then you can make an informed choice." explained Betty.

"You sure know a lot about flying.  Are you sure you are not a flying Terrapin?"

"I'm sure," laughed Miss Betty. "But I appreciate the compliment."

Miss Betty entered the gap between the crocuses and soon was in the thorny underbrush.  She could no longer see Samantha but heard her cry out, "Oh look, there they go! Soaring. Thanks again, Betty. I'm avoiding high winds and taking the low route, in case anyone is looking for me!"

By the time Miss Betty emerged from the thorns to reach the large roots of the white oak, Samantha had set off on her journey. Miss Betty looked forward to seeing her friend at the party.

Clear out of the blue came Charles Grenouille. He was practicing his long-high leaps and jumps.  Miss Betty admired his debonaire moves, and the charming way that his eyes could non-chalantly move independant of one another. But Charles could be careless.  Today, he landed a bit too close to Miss Betty, who began to retreat into her shell for fear that she might get hit.

"Comment ca va?" asked Charles, with eyes wandering rakishly.

Although he was technically an invasive species to Old Quarry, Charles was not actually born in France.  His father, Gilles Grenouille had actually escaped from an expensive restraurant that served retro Indo-China delicacies, married Teresita LaRana, and to everyone's surprise had a son who was his fly-catching image. The point being: the accent was an affectation.  Some of the inhabitants of Old Quarry gently teased Charles about the way he spoke, but Miss Betty knew that Charles did not like this.

Miss Betty carefully answered, "Bon matin, Monsieur Grenouille. Je suis en pleine forme! Et vous, bonhomme vert?"

"Tres bien, Mademoiselle Betty. I see you have been practicing. It makes you even more... how do you say? Irresistable."

Miss Betty felt herself starting to blush, so she changed the topic. "Oh Charles, I wish you would be careful when you jump so high.  Do you know that you almost didn't clear the big root?"

Charles' eyes suddenly stopped wandering and focused instead on Miss Betty. Charles lashed out, "You think Charles is a silly French, too? Do not put at stake that I can not clear this or any obstacle. I am jumper par excellance!"

"No, no.. please do not be upset with me." protested Miss Betty,  "I only want you to be safe because...:"

"Forgive me, Mademoiselle.  They say frogs are cold-blooded. Mais, I feel such passion from time of the time." said Charles. There was an awkward pause as Miss Betty slowly trudged under the big root, so Charles spoke again. "Are you to go to Chez Beavers?"

"Oh yes. It will be such a grand event.  Everyone will be there. Why, just this morning, I saw Samantha Sciurini, who is going. And the Cardinals have flown by.  I am fairly certain that they are on their way to the party too."

This last bit of information made Charles think about how marvelous the Cardinal Brothers would look, with their brilliant red wings shining in the sunshine.  Like always, they would get all the attention and no one would notice his impressive leaps. He upset himself so much with these jealous thoughts that he jumped off without even bidding Miss Betty, "Adieu."

Miss Betty sighed.

"No matter." She told herself as she made her way around the white oak.  Her heavy shell, the pastron on top and the carapice on the bottom, protected her from falling debris. Finally, past the pine stumps, she spotted the brackish water of the ox bow portion of the creek. Here, the current slowed as the waters meandered around the largest part of a mineral outcropping covered in overgrowth. This was also where the diamondback terrapin (unlike her cousin, the freshwater turtle) was most comfortable. Although it took her a long way to make it from her nest to the water, she was used it. Many members of the Emydidae family did this.  Anyhow, she was confident that she had planned enough time to make it to the water where her webbed feet would propel her with great strength through the secondary flow, and then across the main current, to the banks on the left bank shallows.

By late afternoon, she was passing the pine stumps near the water's edge when she saw Charles asleep on a log.  The scene reminded her of a story about how another cousin, a fully terrestrial, thicker-shelled tortoise, had beaten a rabbit in a long-distance race.  Getting closer, however, Miss Betty realized that Charles was not asleep at all. Instead, he was passed out with a rather large bump on his head. Charles' breathing was weak and he looked a little less green.

Miss Betty's mind worked furiously as she walked along. By the time she got to the water's edge, she had her plan.  She untied the ribon on her hat, and took it off so she could use it as a little pail.  She scooped up some water.  Going over to the unconscious frog, she called him by his full name, "Charles Pablo Nguyen Grenouille!" She splashed him with some water from her hat.

"Ouch. My head. Mom is that you?" He moaned in his actual Middle-Atlantic voice.

"It's getting late, my friend," warned Miss Betty. "Can you get up?"

"My head is spinning," Charles croaked. "I guess I won't be able to go to the Beavers' party today." But Miss Betty had already had figured everything out.

"Of course you will," she consoled Charles in a soothing voice. "We are right by the water.  I'll give you a little push in, and then you can take a ride on my shell."

"That is so kind of you, Miss Betty.  But everyone will laugh at me, just like they always do." Charles complained.

Betty pushed Charles into the water.  The amphibian was clearly refreshed by the change. "Tell you what: Why don't I just swim along side you, for safety?  We can get to the left bank shallows together. And if anyone asks you about the bump on your head, just look at me and say 'Cherchez la femme.'"

And of course, that is exactly what they did.  Miss Betty smiled as Charles swam along-side her. Occasionally Charles would rest a webbed digit on her shell, in order to right his course, or to get a bit of a tow.

The Cardinal Brothers did arrive first. And once again, they were the life of the party; garnering the most attention and adulation for their fabulous plumage.  Nevertheless, Charles and Betty made it safely.

And everyone enjoyed themselves immensely.

* * * * *

"Charles was very lucky that Miss Betty came along when she did" was William's first comment.

"The lesson is supposed to be that friends help each other." And for good meaure, I emphasized "Two heads are better than one."

William saw it differently, "Charles' head was of very little use to him, and none to Betty.  I can't imagine why Betty would even want to befriend someone with such disgusting vanity."

"Miss Betty is brave enough to be kind, William. It is very easy to be mean to Charles, and many in the Old Quarry are. But Miss Betty appreciates that Charles has chosen to face the world in his own style. And she appreciates being appreciated."

William said nothing for a while. A distant neighbor's wind-chimes softly sounded a weird melody. The shadows from the afternoon light through the latticework on the porch grew progressively longer. I savored the moment. Finally, William stood and picked up his back pack. He was ready to move on.

"Thanks, Mom. I'll think about what you said."

"I know you will, my sweet. You're welcome."

a haiku by Dakota Li

Everyone can talk
Also, everyone can walk
When given a chance

New Months

I explained to Dakota that July through November was in honor of little boy because he is so sweet and likeable.

This drove Dakota into a Veruca Salt fit of envy. And because I am a super villian, I have done something that the Coopenhagen conference cannot: force all 193 to do something for ME and my kids.

Anyhow, just for 2010, you can enjoy some "special edition months"

• Awesomary
• Krapactulary
• October
• Tarch
• April
• June
• July
• August
• September
• October 2: The Squeak-well
• November
• December

Mark your calendars now. Or else.

Merry Christmas from William Li

Because nothing says "Christmas" more than a white tiger, at an aquarium/downtown restaurant, demolishing raw hamburger inside a cardboard box in front of an ersatz maharaja adorned with an evergreen tree that had been earlier torn down from the rafters and "marked" by said tiger, please consider this my personal Christmas card made especially for you.

Me Three Shirts From Mail Order Far

In typical William style, this is a post about avoiding writing a post about what I am thinking about, which is that I went back to my church.  I will proceed to say that I won't say anything about it other than I don't exactly know at this point why I stopped going. Basically, there was no good reason, but almost three years had passed. There is a lot that I could say about that, but it is private, so I won't.

I had a digression here that had to do with something I purchased at office depot my senior year, if you were there (Dave, AChen, etc.) then you will recall that you felt I paid too much for it, but I felt that because it was exactly what I wanted, it was worth it.  The point is (a) I still have it, (b) there is no longer any thing for which I will pay the "no haggle" price because its exactly what I want. In fact, I am not sure there even is anything that I would point to and say "this is exactly what I want."

I don't think this is a function of being any more mature.  I think its the times.  I am just not convinced that anyone wants a new Lexus or a big-screen TV anymore, even if they could afford it, which (of course) they can't.

So, I got myself a Christmas present.  I got two white shirts and a french blue shirt for work: two from Amazon.com and one from Lands End. Total price is something like $55.  If I am an indicator of the market (and I am) then we are in for a long winter.

Discussing the meaning of irony with Dakota

"Dad, do we have any Lays?"

"Check in there," I say, pointing to the Frito-Lay variety pak.

Cheetos, Fritos, Regular D'Oritos. The kids love the lays. I had purchased Pringles snak paks as a decoy but Jason, outraged, opened them all and stomped on them.

Dakota was disappointed. Consoling her I said, "Gotta stop Jason from opening the chips, eating two and then opening another. Jason can eat just one."

I looked up at the ceiling, as I often do when I am pleased with how clever I am to talk over the head of a child. That's when we both spotted the 6-pak of Lays.

"Hey!" we shouted in unison.

Opening it up, Dakota asked me, "Why did you put it up there?"

"Its my stash for when I want chips not broken up by Jason, I forgot about it."

"How ironic."

"Dakota, what do you think ironic means?"

"Very silly."

I paused, reflecting on how Eugene talked me out of saying "a keen sense of irony" was one of my greatest strengths on my Rice application. I thought about the nights I spent puzzling over my Swearingen's "Rhetoric and Irony" readings for Tyler's class, wondering if maybe I had the book upside-down.  I thought about how I was sent back to physical therapy because after finally completing physical therapy for my achilles, I decided to get some shorts at "sports authority" and I got whiplash and aggravated a herniated disc in my lumbar from being rear-ended in the parking lot of the "sports authority." I remembered the first time, as a senior developer, that I told an end user that a feature he hated wasn't a bug, but the correct and intended functionality; and the first time, as an IT manager, that I told an overloaded employee to work smarter instead of harder. I thought about how badly I wanted to have a real conversation with my father but how unbearable it was to listen to his spiel on any topic until we found that we could talk candidly and without acrimony about my career, then he died just as I started to have one.

. . .

While all of these thoughts and memories raced through my mind and Dakota looked at me, searching for approval: her big wide eyes, paired with a sly sideways smile.

"I can't think of a better definition that that. Enjoy your chips."

Chachews and shellfish

I pronounce the c in "cashews" as a ch and and the sh in "cashews" as a ch.

I smelled some pepper: ca ca cha-chews!

Dakota decided that the s in selfish should be pronounced as an sh. She found this to be hilarious. I just stared at her blankly, but inside I was ROTFLMAO.

I told her that shellfish people run the risk of being all abalone. She just stared blankly at me, as I laughed.



I wonder if she was laughing on the inside?

High Comedy

Thinking about the best family moments growing up, it was the high
comedy that just came from Mom, Eugene, and I taking a funny situation
and making observational humor. All great improv high comedy relies
upon the players catching each others' groove and keeping it going.
You know what I mean, right?

Haven't you ever thought, when you were with your family or friends,
"Wow, that could be on TV"

I have a segue here jealously against Bill Cosby actually putting that
experience on TV but anyway...

It makes me happy to see the kids crack each other up. In particular,
I can see how each has their own shticks and style of madcap humor.
Nevertheless, both do impressions, props, spit takes, prat falls and
irony. Dakota seems to also like puns and observations. Jason likes
funny faces. Neither kid goes blue.

--
Sent from my mobile device

Sketch - "Why The Monkey Fell Out Of The Tree"

Over Thanksgiving, I discovered that basically every piece of paper that I ever wrote and left at home was amazingly preserved by my Mom. I found a stenopad that I bought on clearance from W.H. Smith for 25p in the summer of 1995. I was working out a MMORPG. I had character classes, a combat system for fighters and a different one for Clerics. But at several points, I got distracted and wrote other things. I think I wrote this after the R.E.M. concert but before I went home.

To be clear, this is not the first revision of this idea, but its more or less the best sketch in terms of how the whole situation plays out.

Sketch

Old man - 72ish on his death bed. Makes a bet with the Devil. The rest of his days for a single day of his youth to re-live.

Chooses the day his 1st true love rejected him; late in his senior year of high school. He plans to change it, the bet is that whatever he does today will not change the outcome of his life.

At 1st he is thrilled. He is young and fit, and savors simple things like healthy kidneys.

Sees his mother and his childhood best friend, both of whom he has not seen alive in decades. At the Diner, best friend is making purposely dumb jokes; funny. Importantly, his friend tells the titular joke:

"Why did the monkey fall out of the tree? Go, on ask me.... go on!"
"okay, why did the monkey fall out of the tree."
"He was dead."


He tells off the vice-principal.

He sees _The Girl_ and proceeds to fall in love all over again. With a lifetime of experience and confidence, things look like they might go better; at first. But he is overwhelmed by the combined weight of his past memories and a lifetime of his fantasies about what "should" have been. He forgets his age and what that means. The result, ultimately, is he's rejected again. Despite some superficial changes, The Girl, had made up her mind long ago about him, such that the time, place, and circumstances are basically the same as the first go-round.

He realizes that he now has not only lost The Girl, but also lost his soul to the Devil. He is very distraught. So much so that he makes a last desperate attempt to prove the Devil wrong by driving onto the railroad track.

The sound of train whistle turns into the sound of the Devil's laughter as the clock on the car dashboard reaches midnight. The light from the train becomes the light above the Old Man's death bed. The Devil's laughing fades away to the sound of Grandson weeping at the foot of the bed.

It's better without this next part, but if they make a movie, audiences will want a happy ending, so--

"What's wrong, kid?"
"Grandpa, the Doctor says you are not going to make it."
"He's right."

They have some sort of conversation that makes the Grandson change his mind about something established in passing before the Old Man made the bet. The Devil (who is disguised as a doctor in the hospital) drops his clipboard, to symbolize that the old man beat the bet somehow and can keep his soul.

Conversation finishes like this:

"I'm getting sleepy now."
"I'll get the Doctor"
"No, don't. I'm ready for the big nap."

Grandson starts to cry.

"A good friend used to cheer me up when I felt sad, Malachi. Malachi, come here. I want to tell you a.. something."

Realizing that he alone will hear his grandfather's last words, Malachi leans forward attentively. The Old Man starts to fade. Gently, Malachi rouses the Old Man, who finally says:

"Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?"

The Least Original Idea Ever

I know this is supposed to be the epi(lady)logue portion of this blog, but for the sake of my childhood next door neighboor, I want to make fun of a movie that I haven't and won't go see. It's called "Brothers" and its the Least Original Idea Ever.

The movie is about a Captain who goes to fight in a war, leaving his wife at home. Thinking he is dead, the wife is accidently unfaithful to the Captain. The Captain discovers this and a lot of bad stuff befalls both the Captain and a family member named Tommy. I think there is also a drunk old man in the movie who does bad stuff. Wow.

The canonical rant about X-mass music

This is inspired by walking into the cafeteria at noon today and yesterday and hearing the exact same point (almost to the note) of "sleighride". Yes, its odd and scary that I had lunch at the same time two days in a row. Does that make me Kant?
Anyhow, I am not referring to Christmas or "Winter Holidays" but Xmas, the absurd post post post modern (modern modern.... Echo echo echo) holiday that Charles Schulz and even Dakota ("People think the X sounds like Christ? Who came up with that?") think are fake.
I got so sick of Xmas music that over the years I have purchased "a muppet christmas", "a twisted christmas" (d synder), "christmas is 4 ever" (boots e collins), and "aquatic vampyres battle dolphin paladins: a christmas opera" (not really, but wouldn't that be awesome?), just to cut the sickly sweet frappe of cheese (tasty) with something else; anything.
The epitome of this cheez is the movie "love actually" which involves a really "inspirational" cover of "(all eye) want 4 x-mas (is) U" originally ghostwritten for Mariah Carey. Its super easy to take pot shots at ol' Maraiah, and very clever, so let's focus on the cheez.
What's so great about that song? The lyrics? Sing it. Don't look it up. Now look it up. Did you get them right? If you did, you are excused to resume reading your dog-eared copy of "Us" magazine. But before you go... Your schmaltzy rendition of that yoddle without a< melody is what passes for a "hit"
In that spirit, I invite everyone to sing along schmaltzily to my Xmass hit:

Xmas comes at Xmas time
Xmas cheer with Xmas love
All around the Xmas tree
Merry Xmas--- you and me
(Refrain)
Xmas Xmas Xmas Xmas!
Xmas! Xmas-Xmas, Xmas.
Xmas! Xmas! Xmas!
Xma-aaaaasss!

;
How does the melody go? Do you pronounce the X in Xmas as X like X-ray or like the Charlie Crist? Do you want to sing other lyrics? Go for it.
IT'S UP TO YOU!!!! Just be schmaltzy

Sandwich Therapy Breakthrough

#12 Is a breakthrough in my Sandwich Therapy

 

The Thanksgiving Leftover Sandwich

 

Ingredients / Assembly sequence:

• 2 slices of stuffing bread. Jo gets unsliced sandwich bread, which I sliced thicker than normal but thinner than Texas toast. Place on a microwave safe plate.
• Spread mashed sweet potatoes on it.
• White meat, it's ok to show a little skin
• Cranberry dressing on topof that
• Dark meat on top of that
• Stuffing on top of that
• Spread mashed potatoes on the other slice of bread
• Cut chunks of brie and jam it into the mash potatoes

 

Put the brie-tatoe slice on the palm of an open right hand and in a swooping motion, flip it onto the pile of food on top of the other slice. Microwave 30 seconds... DO NOT TOAST

Flip over sandwich, don't be afraid to touch it. Put a piece of pumpkin pie next to sandwich

Microwave another 30 seconds

 

Cup you palm and push the whole thing down. The fillings will spread out and be mushy with odd hot spots. Cut into triangles and use a big spoon to help eat. Wash it down with hot apple cider or OJ. Something fruity and acidic. Delicious

Count Your Blessings

I admit that I don't often count my blessings. Part of it is fatalism: enumerating and explicating the good things in life is an invitation to have those things taken away. In part it is also because I often can be an ungrateful jerk who likes to complain about and expand upon the many hardships in life; big and little. But, Thanksgiving receives special dispensation from curses, so the first part is not a concern. And I'm working on the second part. Ergo:

 

1. My children. Every day with them is like gold.
2. My parents. They've gone on ahead, but are not gone. I am proud to be the link from #1 to #2 on this list.
3. Eugene. He likes brevity so...
4. Jo, my nieces, and the extended Li family
5. My sense of humor. Mom was right. It is really important for me in so many ways. Some guy yesterday said to me "You are aggressively smart, but you also seem like a funny guy and that makes you alright." If that could be the first impression that I make for the rest of my life, I'll take it!
6. Old friends. This trip has been like a mini-reunion, I've seen a lot of old friends. Its great to know that there are people out there who really get me, but they are spread all over the world. There are different ways to view that. I'll choose to say that they're inflitrating the collective unconsciousness, such that one day everyone will get me. I just read that over. Maybe I don't want the world to get me. "Ahhhh!!! The world's gonna get me!"
7. This photo of Cthulutu at carnivale (Thanks, Louren)
8. Being a lawyer. It was worth it. The point is not lost on me about how culture has really done a whole song and dance number on the profession on the profession in an effort to tarnish it's esteem. Nor am I blind to the proclivity of a few lawyers to live down to that dirtiness. But lawyers are like everybody else, and the system works to produce and maintain a competent group of qualified professionals.  The result of this effort is nothing less than the frontline of keeping this great experiment called the United States going. Many areas of law (I had a list here, but it got lengthy; lengthier than this parenthetical remark; and anyhow it was besides the point, so the list is gone) seem to draw out attempts to impeach the character of practioners in that area who are merely doing exactly what they are supposed to be doing, which is to diffuse power. I know I've gone on at length before about Federalist No 51 "if men were angels, there'd be know need for government" and whatnot, but the crucial vitality of our system of checks and balances matters. It matters as much today as it ever did. To quote one of my greatest law professors "People around the world are literally willing to kill and die in order to have a legal system as good as ours"
9. walking. Spend some time on crutches and it'll be in your list too
10. information. I said I'd get back to this topic a few posts ago. Here it is: Although law school has totally cured me of the desire (and means) to ever be a student again, my appetite for consuming and digesting raw iinformation lives on. Yay!
11. Holidays. I needed a break and this is that break.

 

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Louren Li <lourenli@hotmail.com>
Date: Tue, 24 Nov 2009 16:25:49 -0500
Subject: Chthulu at carnivale
To: William Li <william.li@gmail.com>

 

--
Sent from my mobile device

Kids, watch this!

My Thoughts About Thanksgiving (reprint)

The following was originally published in 1981 for Ms. Edelstein's first grade class. I suppose that makes it property of the Yonkers School System or perhaps its dedicated to the public domain because
its academic writing. Anyhow, its the sort of thing only your mom will keep:

MY THOUGHTS ABOUT THANKSGIVING
A long, long time in England there were Pilgrims. But they were not happy. They had no freedom. So they sailed across the Atlantic Ocean and they landed on Cape Cod thanks to the Mayflower. Some people, were still alive after the winter. They found Squanto. They had a party and the Indians got drunk and had the party for three days.

William
-----------------------------------------------
The point is not lost on me that if I were a first grader today, writing an essay about death and drunkenness would draw a big fat "letter home to Mom". I wonder how my mom would have reacted. No, I don't: she would have told the teacher to do her job and stop bothering her. She would have also given some sort of lecture about academic freedom.
--
Sent from my mobile device

William Li, for real not fiction

I named a RPG character "William Li, for real not fiction."

Dr.Mitchell once told E$ that most of his students' first plays/novels/etc. are a thinly veiled pantomime of their unfulfilled fantasies. OK, but that's not really a criticism. "Your fantasy world is boring" or "You are a d-bag who, unlike the Heezy, we can't root for." Now, THAT's criticism. But I digress.

Fiction is a construct that can never be made real. I've spent a lot of time thinking about the ontological status of fictional universes. And trust me: fiction is always fiction. Naming a character with your name and adding the suffix "for real, not kidding I mean it" doesn't change it.

Neither does slavishly recreating it in real life (a la the first "Harry Potter" movie).

"What about the fact that the same images, characters, plots, feeling, etc. that you have... can also exist in someone else's head?" Good question that I've asked myself as a rhetorical device. Here is the answer:

•  "Abraham Lincoln"
•  "The mystery of the Adam Walsh kidnapping"
•  "The Challenger Disaster"

Get it? It is the ontological status of semiotics and memory, not of fictional characters. To illustrate further, you can also make fiction that is totally unsharable for those who didn't already have the necessary keys to decode the signal.

• While visiting Palette town town, Ash saw a Chimchar evolve into Snorlax.
  "Impossible!" he shouted.

Where am I going with this?

The topic that originally made me write about this at Rice (a few times, actually) and which still puzzles me is reality television. Starting with the 1970's PBS series, "An American Family", which featured The Loud family, and which was supposed to be mundane television about an upper middle class family but turned into juicy voyeurism, reality television seems to cast doubt on my ideas about the ontological status of fiction. To explain further: The Louds themselves were somehow freed by the presence of camera crews... The eldest son got a whole lot less closeted, the awkward daughter got a whole lot more bulimic, the bemused wife kicked out the overbearing jerk-face husband, and EVERYONE in America hated on them.  Big time.

Today, The formula remains is basically unchanged.

But the format itself did not re-surge until the 90's with MTV's "The Real World." The original rationale for "The Real World" that Bunham and Murray had for using real people without scripts was to improvise a soap opera rather than pay writers.  The essence of the genre is now various attempts to perfect this formula. My personal impression is that reality television is often a tautly-paced contest between real people trying to do an unscripted and grotesque hyperbole of what they think are the most interesting aspects of themselves, and the producers trying to keep the cast members drunk, tired, hungry, cut-off from any means of emotional anchoring, and under duress.

So at precisely what point, in this reality tv circus, does the fiction begin? My best guess is that fiction begins immediately. It flows from the bare lie of the whole contrivance.

But! There is a major difference from fiction. Notwithstanding, the fact that non-professional actors are merely pretending to be themselves, the real people who are on these reality tv shows can actually hurt each other; psychologically. The producers can really hurt them, too. And, as we saw with the Louds, pundits can really really hurt them (far more so than a TV critic could ever hurt an actor playing a character)

Most of this reads like a big "well... Duh." And I'm not satisfied to simply leave the issue there. Why should there be this dichotomy between the artifice that gives rise to fiction in reality tv and the very real human suffering? The answer has got to be "intent."

For a good demonstration of this, I recommend (no kidding) "Pauly Shore is Dead"

What, you say? You say Pauly Shore is really low brow and that he has no talent? You are so wrong. The movie is hilarious cringe humor with the sensibility and pacing of "Curb your enthusiasm" but with a much more likable protagonist.

Pauly is keenly aware of his meteoric rise and fancies himself to have had an F Scott Fitzgeraldesque fall. On this conceit, the movie milks the idea that Shore faking his death would be the ONLY way to revive his career for many laughs. (In real life, I believe he eventually went back to his family's business of running a big LA comedy club.) Stylistically, the movie stands out for the unrelenting stream of highly personal put downs and humiliations that Shore endures.

But, he is also the director.

That means, "the wee-zel" can yell "cut" whenever he wants.  Moreover, all the actors are keen on making "Paul Shore, for real not just a character" as funny/real as possible. Big difference from reality TV, which just scoops up hours of footage and then plumbs it for the depths of human depravity.

 Pauly Shore... solving life's mys-teries BUUU-dee

Dakota and Dad's recipe for Thanksgiving Cranberry Sauce

People think that havinga a recipe for Thanksgiving cranberry sauce is
very important because of tradition. Here is ours:

Step one: get money
Step two: go to store
Step three: buy a can of canberry sauce
Step four: for Thanksgiving dinner, open the can and pour it into a fancy dish
Step five: put dish on table
Step six: say "Look we have cranberries"
Step seven: ignore the dish for the rest of dinner
Step eight: throw cranberries out

--
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My idea of what poetry could and should be

I
A Guy
A Guy who Buys Pies

Hi.

The Forgotten Joke about Moses

I had something funny to say about this picture that I drew on MS Paint, but I started it months ago; well after I thought up the joke and then I forgot to finish the picture. Then I finished it a few weeks ago, then I forgot I had it.  Now this is the sad end to a really funny joke.

This was a joke that was so funny, it would have made Angels cry tears of joy and deamons wet themselves.  It would have united Yankees fans with so-called fans of baseball who do not love the Yankees.  It would have turned cat people into dog people and dog people into fish people.

Such is the nature of things that don't come to pass.  They are awesome beyond all get-out.  We'll never know by how much my absurd hyperbole isn't so because I forgot.

But Will, you can't do that! You can't claim to have made up a funny joke and then when asked to tell just say "I forgot." That's even worse than stealing someone else's 40 year old punch line.

Well excuuuuuuuse me.

Duets (the Karaoke movie)

I'm in the cafeteria, so I can't remember if I have already posted
this, but in any case, there ought to be at least one post about
Karaoke.

I re-watched "Duets" on cable the other day. As much as I'd like to be
more like Huey Lewis (and to sing like him too) the fact is that I am
more easily identifiable as Paul Giamatti. I think most working
professional men are, so its not a particularly stunning insight.

That said, there are many things the movie gets right and more that
the movie gets wrong. So in no particular order:

1. Karaoke contests are a rarity. The movie depicts a pro-am
underground of karaoke singers akin to "the color of money" (not akin
to "the hustler") but so far, I have only been in one Karaoke contest,
although I missed the Halloween "scary-oke" contest. Which brings me
to my next point:

2. Karaoke is extremely corny and the people who sing regularly are
nerds, like me. Except for Huey Lewis (who has made it hip to be
square) and Maria Bello, the movie is very accurate on this point.

3. The crowd is mainly indifferent unless you are awesome or
extremely terrible. Most people eek out an unimpressive middle. Paul
Giamatti on beta blockers getting the rock star treatment just doesn't
happen.

4. If you don't jump up on stage when you are called, you get skipped.
Maria Bello puking in the can... would get skipped.

5. True dorks bring their own CDs. Except now its a USB thumb drive
and the KJ kinda doesn't mind because it increases his catalog, but
Huey Lewis gettin his a** kicked for being the jerk with his own
special personal version of "Lonely Teardrops" is accurate in spirit.
Most places are not alright for fighting, not even on Friday nite.

6. Its better to have a friend. You don't need to know them all that
well either. So, a hitch-hiking escaped con, your newly discovered
illigetimate daughter, or a down-on-his-luck cabbie will definetely
fit the bill. Your local meetup.com group or the regular gang at the
watering hole will fill in those blanks, and that brings me to the
point of this post.

7. Singing is what you do for about 8 minutes of a 2 to 5 hour
evening. Most of the night, you will be working the nerve up and then
waiting. Have something else to do, preferably talking to your friends
and not getting fubar.

Here are some afterthoughts not related to the movie:

8. I think its ok to watch the TVs at a bar, not just special sports
events like the NCAA tourney. Its there and its on for a reason. You
don't have two or more TVs set up next to each other in your house, do
you? So relax and enjoy the Rockets, a re-run of "The Practice",
Jackie Chan and american sidekick buddy movie, and sham-wow commercial
all at once. You aren't being rude to the person singing.

9. But you can't play the jukebox during Karaoke.

10. If you are going to get up and dance to someone singing, the time
to do it is right before the first chorus. That way you know the
singer isn't butchering your song but there is still enough song left.

11. Karaoke night does not make a bad place better. But you and your
group taking over karaoke night can make any place fun... For you and
your group.

12. A good KJ can run a fun karaoke with even a bare minimum of songs
and the equivalent of a home boombox with a B and W monitor. A bad KJ
can destroy even the best setup.

13. The bartender likes tips. The KJ likes drinks. If its backwards
and the bartender drinks and the KJ has a cash tip jar: leave.

14. Caveat on #2, karaoke is sometimes also enjoyed by really really
old people. Its nice to have one person much older than the rest of
the crowd to be colorful, but a bunch of old people together means
you've walked into an old person bar.

15. There are a lot of great country songs to sing, and if you hear 5
in a row... You've walked into a country bar. If you hear 5 songs in a
row either in spanish or an asian language... You've walked into a
latino or asian bar. You will not get the same indicators for Celtic
themed bars.

16. Use your smartphone to lookup the lyrics before you go onstage.
Really you should do that even before you pick the song. You might be
surprised at how you only know one line to "I want you back (abc 123)"
or "come on eileen"

--
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