Kind of a dork

So I spent this past Saturday and Sunday mornings here, and some people, myself included, call this crazy.

Yet it never really occurred to me just how dorky everyone else was, and how entertaining that might make my freakishly early morning be. The honoree for this classics conference was Tony Long, a classics professor here at Cal, who I presume is retiring after many years of teaching young people about dead people. Almost all of the presenters were former students, and at least three were under 65!

The grad student I took Latin from was there for one of the lectures, and there were a couple of reminders about how "non-guests" weren't supposed to eat the food (I'm guessing that by 'non-guests,' they meant me and everyone except the speakers, though technically wouldn't that make US guests, and everyone else conference members?).

The old people were uh, old, (sound familiar?) and it was clear from their various arguments about whether Socrates' "Socraticity" applies to his physical reincarnation or his intellectual reincarnation-- or whether there's a difference-- that they had been studying these things for longer than I have been alive. That was perhaps the most unsettling realization of the whole experience.

Other than that, the Faculty Club (you know, that ski lodge behind Hertz Hall) is really nice. It's pretty, quiet, and totally unspoiled by students.

Maybe it's the irony.

Kyle's latest obsession is really bizarre, and the fact that he can't stop laughing-- has had intermittent uncontrollable fits of giggling for the last several hours-- is a testament to just how bizarre he really is.

The life of a perfectionist who errs

Sometimes, I mess up. I don't like to do it in public, but every once in a while, it happens. When the mistake-- which someone else pointed out to me-- follows a blog post about me being a perfectionist, it only seems right that I should watch an obscure Indie film, chain-smoke in front of people to look so uncool that it's cool, and bask in my ironic life. While listening to Alanis Morrissette's "Ironic" (none of the scenarios in her lyrics, of course, are actually ironic, but that makes the whole thing even more ironic).

If my editor lets me, I'm going to post a correction, or at least a clarification, because I didn't even bother to look at who voted for and against the City Council's UC lawsuit settlement issue... and the one I poked fun at actually wanted to settle the whole damn thing and move on. Oops.

But he did vote Student Action in 2006, and we all know how informed he must have been to have favored that accident.

The life of a perfectionist

I applied for a copy-editing position at the Daily Cal, but it appears the Chronicle might need me more.

They might have corrected a few things by the time any of you read this, but here are a couple choice errors, however common and obvious and banal they may be and bolded for emphasis:

Jobs was particularly pleased with the update, saying it was the best lineup of products Apple has every created.

and

At $399, "we want to put iPhones in a lot of stokings this holiday season," Jobs said.

Every once in a while, I read KGO's website, because I don't actually listen to the talk radio but I like to listen to Jenna every once in a while to know she hasn't died or anything because, you know, she's still at work. The sad part is, some of the errors will last for weeks. I won't even bother with examples here.

And the cream of the crop-- the people who hardly fuck up-- are the Brits. BBC, on two or three occasions that I've read, has published typos on the front page leading stories, either in the teaser or the story itself.

Is it sad that I practically live for these moments, moments where my inhuman rapture with others' errors makes me feel more human?

John McCain needs a Joe Camel

With the 2008 presidential campaigning already heavily underway, it's no surprise that politicians are testing the waters with the hottest voting bloc: high school students, many of whom will conveniently turn 18 by the time November '08 rolls around.

And Arizona Senator John McCain is no different. He trekked to New Hampshire Tuesday to stand on a (small) soapbox espouse the values of paying attention to news that marks history, like decisions about Iraq.

But it seems the students were already fairly knowledgeable. They knew that, if elected, 71-year-old McCain would be the oldest president. And we all know what happens to old people. They eat at Country Kitchen Buffet, hate young people, and have large medicine cabinets to combat senility. I guess that's keeping up with the news, or at least Jon Stewart.

McCain aside, the potential geriatric ward of GOP candidates (excluding the young Mitt Romney, whose candidacy is shaky for other reasons) will have make do without the hip the Democrats seem to have gleaned from their youth and vigor. Perhaps McCain should take a tip from Big Tobacco and adopt a cuddly mascot.

Maybe the election will turn into a battle between the Ancients and the Moderns, and maybe I've just read one too many philosophy books, but when the hottest piece of news coming out of a campaign stop is how the audience worried about a guy's age, maybe McCain should be worrying about more than just coddling the young.

I'd hate to be him,

because the SF Chronicle really seems to do his quote justice. Is it just me, or does it sound like this guy has spent too many lonely work shifts with his feet up watching the security cameras?

"'You should see the stuff I see here,' he said. 'People don't think we see them, but we have cameras. I can't count how many people have sex down there and think we don't notice.'"

Uh...

The moments that make me want to write

At the cafe; morningtime:

Elderly Husband, approaching Elderly Wife: Does the table wiggle?
EW: Not too badly.
EH: I just got a smile from a beautiful girl.
EW: Oh? How'd you manage that?
EH: She was about this high. [gestures to approximate three-year old height]
EW: Oh-h [chuckles]
EH: But she just gave me this big ol' smile.
EW: That's nice, dear.
EH: You know that lady at the cash register?
EW: Talk softly!
EH [softer]: I don't think she's ever given me the right change.
EW: Oh well, dear. It probably evens out in the end.
EH: I suppose you're right.

[They continue eating, reading newspapers and switching sections, sipping coffee. Also being old and settled and utterly free of social responsibility.]

Narrator [opening up a private conversation recounting the story]: ...and all I can think about while this old lady scolds her husband for gossiping about the counter staff too loudly is that I am not wearing underwear, a thought only interrupted by the circumstances under which I lost the garment.