Beer Seven

10:07 Kevin Smith dropping the uber-meta-references. But funny, cause it's really Matt Damon and Ben Affleck. It's Hunting Season! Also, starting over with regular Sam Adams. So nice to drink beer for the first time in almost three hours of drinking.

10:11 Gus van Sant and Wes Craven. Kevin Smith had a fuckload of pull after Chasing Amy and Dogma.

10:15 I wonder how much of being famous is actually being talented, and how much is being in the right place at the right time.

10:17 Chris Rock is fucking awesome. I love his stand up. "Pour some Tussin on it!" Also Ron White is a great. He definitely doesn't follow the same redneck standup theme as those others NASCAR humpers.

10:24 I wonder how much weed does Kevin Smith actually smoke? Seeing as it plays a major role it his movies, you'd think they guy gets toasted pretty often. But maybe he just does it to appeal to his crowd.

10:33 End of movie, end of beer seven. Sam Adams is great, as long as it doesn't try to be anything but Sam Adams. Kevin Smith kissed a monkey.

10:38 Morris Day and the Motherfuckin' Time! My Jungle Love - Oh-wee-oh-wee-oh - I think I wanna know ya know ya! They do the swinging leg dance! I saw that live!

Beer Six

9:37 Sam Adams Light. Beer One was regular ol' Sam Adams, and I'm wrapping up the variety with a Sam Adams Light. I had to go back to basics after that awful Kool-Aid. The light version is alright. You can definitely tell it's a water-downed version of regular Sam Adams, but it's still light years ahead of all that flavored shit I just drank. Here's tonight's lesson: Do what you're good at, love doing it, and don't get fancy. Damn, I like me some Sam Adams.

9:42 I'm still trying to chase the sick sweetness of that last beer out of my mouth.

9:44 Well hey Will Ferrell! There you are, doing your goofy ultra-authority thing before you burned it out. I heard your latest stand-up was really funny though, with your great Bush Jr. impression. Can normal people see what happens on HBO?

9:47 Jon Stewart? I'm drowning in the pre-famous culture! (movie released 2001). Loving the Will Ferrell and Jon Stewart back-and-forth.

9:52 Butt-fucking-Brady Bunch. Thanks Will Ferrell. Way to avoid tales of bigorty from the heartland of Utah. "Fire a warning shot into his bulbous ass!" What other films have we seen now-famous (infamous) actors cut their teeth? Thinking...

9:57 Ben Stiller? What was his earliest non-famous film? Reality Bytes? Never seen it. Owen Wilson was part of the Wes Anderson thing (bottle rocket). How far back does Bill Murray go? Haha Tracy McGrady is in this shit!

Beer Five

9:08 Blackberry Witbier. I'll say going in that I have no clue what Witbier means. Let's give it a try... This is a Smirnoff Ice with a Sam Adams label. Fuck.

9:11 Fuck Grapefruit.

9:12 George Carlin talking about giving head to truckers is weird, cause he's grandpa age (and alive) in this movie.

9:15 Freudian Slip: When typing George, I twice typed "Georgia".

9:18 This beer is a fucking travesty. I'm sorry - this is not beer. It is diabetes-inducing swill. Hey, Shannon Elizabeth is very attractive. Also, Elisha Dushku and Ali Larter dancing to Run DMC. And Kevin Smith's wife, in the ultimate "You're way out of my league but if I put you in movies you'll be my wife" move. And Sean William Scott!

9:24 Note to self: Find some way to call someone a sheep fucker.

9:27 I am choking this swill down in a hurried fashion. My insulin-producing cells are freaking out. Not cool, Sam. Losing tons of respect for the Sam Adams brand. This brew has caused me to stop thinking of Sam Adams as a reliable brand. That is very poor, Blackberry Witbier. I used to like Sam Adams.

Beer Four

8:39 Let me note that in the last post I stated that even if the Magic took the lead, Lebron would still do something amazing to win the game. With one second left, the Magic took a two point lead, with ONE SECOND LEFT. So Lebron shoots a three over a 6'10" defender to win the game. I think I believe in Jesus now.

8:41 The fourth beer is Hefeweizen. This beer is a little closer to being interesting. It's got that cloudy taste going for it, but still kinda mild flavor-wise. I have noticed that the different brews have different color schemes, but it's always the same smug Sam Adams. I'd like to see this changed. Give him some different hats or something.

8:52 Does anyone still wear sweat pants? On purpose?

8:55 Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, mother mother fuck fuck, mother mother fuck fuck. Who smokes the blunts? We smoke the blunts. My jungle love, I think I want to know ya know ya... Morris Day and the motherfuckin' Time! I saw them live at Music Midtown. Awesome. Jerome's only job was to hold up a mirror so Morris Day could fix his jerry curls.

8:59 Kevin Smith loves the self-reference. Very meta.

9:02 What the fuck is the internet??

9:03 Zac and Miri Make a Porno wasn't bad. It was a Kevin Smith film all the way but it was fun to see Seth Rogan and Justin Long go at it with Smith directing.

Beer Three

8:06 Sam Adams Summer Ale is brewed with "Grains of Paradise, a mysterious spice used by Renaissance brewers centuries ago." What the fuck? Am I drinking beer or riding the fucking Silk Road into China with Marco Polo? Summer Ale has a little more flavor than the Pale Ale. It's kinda fruity and sweet, but still falls well within the standard, unremarkable beer range. So far my favorite beer has been the regular Sam Adams.

8:12 As much as I want the Cavs to lay waste to the NBA, they're getting way outplayed by the Magic. With four minutes left the Cavs are up 1, after leading by 23 in the first quarter.

8:15 Damn that Varejo knows how to flop. The guy is "a great actor", straight from the announcer's mouth. He's a tall soccer player, that's his contribution to the team. He never stops complaining to the refs. I hate that style of play, it's very Wadeish.

8:18 With no regard for human life! How can you not love this guy?

8:24 I love that the game is tied, Magic has the ball but there is a 6 second difference between the shot clock and the game clock, meaning that Lebron has the final posession regardless of what happens. You just know that's going to be awesome in all ways.

8:25 God dammit the Cavs fouled, giving the Magic a new shot clock, meaning they get the last shot. And the Cavs arena is playing sad violin music during the time out? I'm confused. Is there some classical connection that Cleveland residents understand? Now there's a piano! And now the Star Wars theme... I'm totally lost.

8:26 Still no game play... I wish I was on the East coast meaning, I'm watching this game at 11:30 instead of 8:30. I'd be much drunker for this exciting conclusion, is what I'm saying.

8:30 Oh shit Hedo. Hedo makes the children cry. I wonder how much Patrick Ewing has to do with the Magic's success.

8:32 OH MY GOD HE IS THE SON OF THE LORD. PRAISE BE UNTO KING JAMES!

Beer Two

7:46 Sam Adams Pale Ale claims "the finest English ale hops, slightly roasted specialty malts, hand-selected Fuggles and East Kent Goldings". Am I drinking a Harry Potter book? This is definitely not a magical beer. It tastes like a slightly meatier Coors Light draft. Not something to be proud of, you smug Sam Adams portrait.

7:54 Has Lebron James ever fouled out of a game? I don't think he's ever been called for a charge.

7:59 Every time I see a commercial, the first thing I say to myself is, "Does this make me want to buy/use that product?" Cutting through the bullshit, that's what every advertisement is: USE JIFFY LUBE. SEE TERMINATOR SALVATION. BUY BOUNTY PAPER TOWELS. Some ads have dressed themselves up so much that they eschew any direct reference to the product and instead flash some random scene followed by their product. This worked the first time - now it's just another trick. Best commercial ever.

Variety Show

For dinner tonight, I had a salad. BUT NOT JUST ANY SALAD. Oh no my friends. A salad with strawberries and peaches, red bell pepper, sauteed onions and fried tofu, organic roasted garlic balsamic vinaigrette and goat cheese. That's what I call an Emperor Salad.

I've also got a Sam Adams Summer Variety 12-pack, which I fully intend on sampling to the fullest tonight. I've also got Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, which I really rented only to watch one scene: "What the fuck is the internet?"

Quick thoughts: Watching Lebron James play is like watching the New Testament live. Kanye West's "Amazing" song is a stupid anthem for this year's playoffs. It's slow, quiet and faded, and is itself in no way amazing or able to inspire amazing things. And you know who I think of when I think great drama? Steven motherfucking Botchko.

Jab #3

The Republicans re-naming the Democratic Party the "Democrat Socialist" Party. Zing! Way to stick it 'em, Republicans! Man, that'll really teach those democratic fuckers. Sure, you could be focusing on why every single demographic in the nation is fleeing from the Republican party. You could try and figure out something constructive and helpful to do for the country instead of blustering on about seceding or refusing money to pay teachers. You could come up with a more sensible, logical position and message for your party other than the pyschotic Rush Limbaugh and walking whoops-a-daisy Michael Steele. But hey, fuck that! Let's just continue with the same shit you've been doing for the past 8 years and slime your way outta this one. Also, I had no idea the political parties controlled the naming rights to their opponents. If that's the case, then I'm holding a conference to rename Los Angeles "Festering Shit Pile".

The day of the conference, the Republicans change thier tune, sort of: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/30846926/

"The name-changing resolution supported by Jim Bopp of Indiana and David Norcross of New Jersey had drawn criticism from GOP Chairman Michael Steele. Other party leaders called the move "stupid" and "absurd," saying it made Republicans look petty during a troubling time for the nation."

Jab #2

More than half of Latinas get pregnant before they are 20.

There are a laundry list of reasons for this: the Latin population is generally poorer, less educated, more religious, and carries different social values than the rest of American society. These reasons are not excuses, but the cause of the high pregnancy rate (82 per 1,000 Latin teens give birth between 15-19). Latin culture is extremely macho. In many cases the concern with appearing macho overrides anything else, including rational thought. It's the real life version of Dave Chapelle's "Keeping it Real" sketches. The lack of education is a cycle - 69% of Latina teen mothers drop out of high school, which in turn means they can't support their multiple children, which in turn grow up poor and also do poorly in school (the single largest indicator of a student's success is their socio-economic status). A highly religious culture means students are less likely to use contraception and even less likely to get an abortion. And because Latin culture places more value on family than anything else, including education, there is always the safety net to fall back on when dropping out of school, making the loss of education seem less important in the immediate, but of course that has enormous long term consequences. This pattern has been seen before - when the Irish came over, they were cranking out babies as fast as their Catholic lust would allow. But that was 200 years ago - this is no longer an agricultural society. You must have an education in order get by in this world, and the current cycle of Latin teen pregnancy is troublesome because it makes up such a significant portion of the population. Of the 45 million Latinos in the U.S., barely half have a high school diploma. In 2025, Latinos will make up a quarter of the population - will they be a prepared?

Jab #1

Tuesday President Obama announced he was raising the national mileage standards to an average 35.5 mpg by 2016, with a required 5% increase each year leading up to 2016. This is the same law that was already in place, but just moving the deadline up 4 years. Automakers obviously fought the changes, saying among other things that it would increase the initial cost of a vehicle by $1300. Here's the thing: right now, I am driving a car that gets 36 mpg highway, 33 road. It's 8 years old. THE AUTO INDUSTRY ALREADY MAKES CARS THAT MEET THIS STANDARD. THAT'S NOT THE PROBLEM. The damn problem is that no one will buy a car that gets good gas mileage!! My car has a V4 engine. It does not accelerate very well. It's small. There's not a DVD player installed. It's gas tank is barely 13 gallons. BUT - I've never gotten a speeding ticket. I've never dangerously cut someone off. I've never tailgated someone, or blocked someone's view of the road. I've never ran a red light. I've never been in an accident. I've never paid more than $50 to fill up my tank, even last summer. I've never done these dangerous, wasteful things mostly because my car CAN'T do those things. And it doesn't need to! Nobody needs a 300 horsepower engine. The problem isn't that we don't have the technology, it's that we don't have the will to live greener, be thriftier, and be more aware of our place in the world.

Dropping the Hammer

On Wednesday I told my first group of students that I was leaving over the summer. Even though I received my non-renewal notice in March, I figured there was no point in letting the students know. What would that accomplish? If anything, I figured it'd make teaching more difficult. So I dodged their questions, always answering in a vague and noncommittal ways. But Wednesday after school was one of the final meetings for the FCC (Fontana Conversation Club), the paper recycling club I had re-purposed from its original bland "Science Club". Started in December with a trip to see Bill Nye give an environmental talk, the club had quickly grown to 24 members. Requirements were simple: to be in the club you had to help collect and recycle paper. This involved customizing a collection box using construction paper, glue, and paint, and getting another teacher to agree to keep it in their room and fill it. Once a week these boxes were collected, the paper sorted into white, mixed, and newspaper, and then I would haul it to the recycling center about a mile away where our club earned a few dollars (they paid by the ton - a typical load for us weighed between 60 - 100 pounds).

A slow start eventually grew into having recycling boxes in over 50 classrooms, raising enough money to throw a pizza party, plant and maintain two new trees on campus for Earth Day, and purchase custom made t-shirts. My trips to the recycling center earned me a VIP card there - I'm not quite sure what that means, but when the recycling center recognizes your small Corolla showing up three times a week amid tractor trailers and pick-up trucks hauling cardboard, you're making an impression. Typical loads now usually run between 100 - 200 pounds, sinking the frame of my car as we load it up. As of Friday we had recycling 2,250 pounds of paper.

So it was with some anxiety that I told this group of hard working students that I wouldn't be around next year to help the club continue its rapid growth. Many of these students I had last year as freshman, and now they were working with me outside of school as sophomores. But despite the history there I was still taken aback by the strength of their reaction. The guys were pissed, but the reactions of the two girls who played the biggest role in the club's growth, having been there from Day One, struck me the hardest. They both cried - one had to leave the room. It was then that I realized that a teacher isn't just an academic instructor, or even a role model for students. A good teacher helps students become better all-around individuals, not just in the classroom. And in doing so you become looked up to - which is really weird to think about, if you know me - and being someone that the students can look up to I now realize is very important to me. And now I feel as if I'm abondoning them at this relatively vulernable time in their lives.

This weighed heavily on me. So much so that I bailed out on a planned baseball game the next day. Instead of calling in sick and spending the day at an Angels game with another teacher, drinking beers and getting a tan, I found myself wanting to go back to school to be there for my students. The other teacher was understandably pissed - he had taken the day off in advance and I bailed around 6pm the night before. But what it came down to was a self-indulgent act or continuing my role as a teacher. And I found myself wanting to be the teacher much more than wanting to be self-indulgent.

Now when summer comes around, that'll be a different story...

I gotta get to bed!

Tendons creak and crack. Ligaments slide across muscle, kinking into cramps. The unexpected pain so sharp you yell, wanting to grab the wretched calf while fearing movement will aggravate it further. You bite off your cry and keep your teeth grit, arching your back until your crown is pressed into the couch. Ten, fifteen seconds later the muscle unwinds just the slightest amount and you breathe again. It'll be days before this pain retreats fully, but right now you're concerned about walking again. Time passes. Bending your toes back becomes a three-act play, maneuvering tiny muscles to extend the injured calf a millimeter at a time.

I would like to see the tide come in and go out again. I haven't been to the beach for a vacation in years. I want to plant myself in a low chair with an easy book and soak up a morning and afternoon on the sand. The ocean's slow march up and down the beach would be the only way to mark time. The endless soft sounds of the breakers banishing thought. Staring out at the sea, a blank landscape holding my attention for far longer than a television or movie, letting my mind float atop the ocean's depths... Getting so hot that you don't feel hot anymore. Feeling the physical pressure of the sun on you, washing out stress... The two glasses of ice water and an afternoon nap in preparation for a night of silly drinking with friends. Romping on the beach at night, stumbling through sand and surf. Crashing into the ocean chest deep and noticing the bioluminescent plankton that swirl around you, electrifying your every motion with an orchestra of living, glowing creatures. They flash and light up the dark water as I swirl my arms and legs, twisting and turning through the sea trying to excite all the life I can reach! At the beach, your own life is ironed out, pressed flat and clean by the depth of the ocean.

Listening to NPR on the Way Home

Today the first U.S. citizen died from the H1N1 virus, or swine flu. The 33-year-old teacher lived in Mercedes, Texas, a border town in the Rio Grande valley. Authorities were quick to calm fears, explaining that the person has several other medical conditions which made her susceptible. Soon enough, the initial panic over the swine flu subsided and the world shrugged it off as another pandemic false alarm, much like the bird flu and SARS before it.

But a virus is a beautiful thing. It exists in a strange limbo between life and death. As nothing more than DNA enclosed in a simple protein coat, a virus is incapable of surviving independent of a host. A virus cannot reproduce, it cannot actively seek out prey, and it is so vulnerable to changes in the environment it is the rare virus that can maintain it's physical integrity if exposed to air.

But its simplicity is what makes it so dangerous. Once inside a host cell, it replicates itself extraordinarily quickly, overwhelming the cell until it literally bursts from its sudden lethal pregnancy of new viruses. This swarm attack is very effective. The larger the swarm and faster the replication, the more damage is done to the host organism. If the host organism cannot find the correct antibodies or medicine in time, the virus will have reached a "critical mass" of sorts, where it will be able to destroy enough of the host's cells so as to kill the host.

If that weren't enough, the virus' simplicity is a double-edged sword: because it has no cellular membrane or nucleus, and its DNA is often exposed, the virus can undergo dozens of mutations as its replicates millions of times in a few days' time. HIV is incurable largely because of this. It also explains why there is no cure for the common cold, although that is typically bacterial.

So as the summer of 2009 drags on, several more people die from the H1N1 virus. This goes largely unreported. The world views swine flu as no worse than the regular flu, and while its unfortunate that a few have died, well, people die from the flu all the time. In March of 2009, the swine flu became transmissible by human-to-human contact, instead of swine-to-human. In May 2009, a Canadian farmer re-transmitted the virus back to his herd of swine. Other reverse transmissions occurred: in June, a Mexican cattle rancher and a New Zealand shepard infected their respective stocks; in August, a U.S. farmer infected a poultry farm.

As the H1N1 virus was passed back and forth, it continously mutated. Being exposed to a variety of organisms, with different but similar enough immune systems, encouraged the evolution of several strains. When these virus strains once again made the leap to humans, the results were quite different than earlier. In the winter of 2009, as the typical flu season rolled around, governments around the world were reporting huge increases in flu outbreaks. Almost before the numbers could be processed, people began dying. There wasn't anything grotesque to these deaths, like the pus-filled boils of the plauge or the spontaenous hemorraghing of Ebola. Rather, people simply exhibited the typical flu symptoms - fever, chills, headaches, coughing, sneezing - but at the end of the week, instead of recovering, they simply died. The virus overcame their body much too quickly for medicine or their immune systems to respond.

Chaos ensued. People no longer trusted hospitals, governments, doctors, or each other. The slow onset of the flu meant individuals were contagious for days before they knew they were sick. Communities saw deaths occur in waves. The first infected group would unwittingly pass their viruses onto others. When that group died, the second group followed a predictable 5-7 days later. The reaper's scythe swung in back and forth over the world's population centers once a week.

They fled the cities. Urban areas were deserted as survivors sought to avoid crowds, where the virus could be transmitted effectively. Small country hamlets were under assualt by caravans of SUVs and imperious or panicked city-dwellers needing sanctuary, a place to hide. But inevitably one flu carrier would get in, often unknowingly a carrier, and another commuity would fall before Death's touch. Some small towns barricaded the roads leading in, guarding their health by whatever means necessary.

The virus, of course, didn't care. Its simple existence centered soley on replicating itself. There was no consciousness, no intent. When a host died, the viruses could not survive. Eventually, the population of humans became so spread out and isolated that the virus could not reach another host before it disintengrated. Humans, having reached a population critical mass, exploded. The population crash in fact insured their continued survival. Resources were abundant again. Earth, having the cancerous tumor of humanity excised, began recovering its ecosystems. Birds sang, rabbits hopped through a meadow. A bee buzzed lazily. Other pastoral images. Adam and Eve, Garden of Eden type thing going on. Maybe the human population returns but shuns clothing as a divisive symbol that encourages hate of the other! The whole human population becomes nudist! Ah, I like you better when you're naked anyway.

A Few Sentences

Treading through the hallway, almost awake, she trips slowly over the undulating floor. Pitching forward softly, she breathes out to slow her descent, resting her hands and forehead gently among the carpeted waves. Alas, to be at last down here, knowing rising again is not needed. She lies there, just enjoying the movement, because there is nowhere that needs to be moved towards. Not tonight. The ocean kneads her body, stretching her like dough over a dozen baker's fists, coated in flour and pushing out the original forms and releasing the stress within. The intended form is free to exist now, drenched over her present and soaking, slowly, seeping into the future.

Full Circle

My first month in California I lived by myself in a spartan one bedroom apartment. Because I drove from Atlanta to Riverside, I only brought what I could fit in a 1991 Honda Accord, which amounts to a few boxes of clothes, some pots and pans (but no dishes or silverware), a TV, and a cat. Because I didn't have a job yet, I was very concerned about money. I ate out of Tupperware, leeched internet access from the rental office, and didn't hook up my cable. I was so frugal that I didn't even buy a bed, instead spending what was at the time an exorbitant $30 on an air mattress from K-Mart.

The cat I brought with me is a very loyal, and very tailless, breed called a Manx. This cat and I had been together for several years in Atlanta before I shanghaied the poor thing across the county. Being very alone and in a new place, the cat would follow me closely around the small apartment, even waiting next to the tub while I showered. And when I would go to bed on the air mattress, the cat would plop herself on my chest!

Well, one morning I awoke to find my ass touching the ground through the mattress. It being early, and there being a severe lack of caffeine in my system, I found this perplexing. My air mattress was, well, squishy. It felt like I was on an under-filled water bed. Before going back to bed that night I blew the thing back up, waited for the familiar weight to settle on me, and drifted off. But the next morning, there I was, being uncomfortably unsupported. It actually took me a whole other day and night to figure out what was going on - the damn cat's claws had poked a small hole somewhere in the mattress, and over the night the air would leak out, slowly contorting my bed and my back.

Well after that I began sleeping the second-hand couch I'd picked up. For an entire month I would settle down onto the couch, never thinking of a mattress because it existed outside my "price range" of single purchases. Eventually I did bite that bullet, and that bed is still around today.

The reason I'm telling this story is that now, at the end of my time in California (it feels great to say that!), I've just spent another month sleeping on a couch. Crashing on couches are the bookends of my two-and-a-half year trial out here. With one more month left before I leave, I am back to living in a spartan one bedroom apartment, leaving the way I came in. Over the next few weeks I'll be selling the remaining pieces of furniture, including that mattress and a second-hand couch. I'm shedding the remnants of my time here. When I return to Atlanta, the first thing I'll buy is a good bed.