Tears for Keith (And Hopefully Nadal)

I'm staying up again to watch tennis. I had a feeling Nadal would struggle against Verdasco so I stayed up, hoping to be rewarded. It paid off. The match isn't over, but it's 1-0 Verdasco and a 4-5 Nadal lead in the second set.

But that's not what's funny. Here's what's funny: a commercial came on advertising the basketball game this Sunday between the Cleveland Cavaliers and the Detroit Pistons, referring to the teams as "Eastern Titans."

That's funny. Detroit stopped being an "Eastern Titan" about two months ago. Just ask Keith. Wait, don't. He might cry.

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FeDeReR Roxxors My Suxxors

After closing out the second set with Supreme Authority (and going up 2-0 against Roddick), Federer spent the break in between admiring the replays of himself on the Giant Screen in the arena. While Roddick tried to collect himself with internal (though very audible) admonitions and rebukes, Federer leaned back in his chair and smiled as scene after scene on the Giant Screen (really: it's probably about 20ish feet wide) showed his tennistic* prowess from the last set. He may have imbibed some water. I think, though, that replays of his own Insane Ability may have satiated any bodily desires he may have had.

*Probably not a real word.

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For the Love of the Game?

I'm staying up late to watch the Australian Open Semifinal Match between Roger Federer and Andy Roddick. Because of the time difference (I think it's 18 hours ahead, as in , tomorrow [er, well, tonight for them]) it's on at 1:30am. So here I am, school and everything, preparing for what's hopefully an epic tennis match.

Just to spite me, I bet God will make the match a straight set doozy...meaning my staying-up adventure will be for naught.

But that's not likely. Federer has regained his legendary form (The Velvet Sledgehammer!) and Andy Roddick is playing out of his mind with a serve that could, literally, kill someone. He's consistently serving at around 120mph or something - which means people could die and shit.

But Federer has consistently crushed Roddick. In fact, if not for Federer, Roddick might have four Grand Slams instead of one. He's been to four finals and lost three of them - all to Federer. He's lost nine single's titles to Federer. So, without Federer, Roddick might have had three more Grand Slams under his belt along with three ATP Masters Series Tournaments and six tournament wins.

Tough luck, I guess.

For juxtaposition's sake, here's what Federer has been doing for the past few years: out of a possible 20 Grand Slams over the last five years, Federer has been to the Finals in 16 of them and won 12. The four he lost were all at the hands of Rafael Nadal...meaning he might have gone 16/20 if not for that Spaniard. Crazy. He's got 13 Grand Slams, one less than Pete Sampras who holds the record, and he's still 27, which, while not young for tennis standards, is still a ripe age, especially when you're sicktastically good. Aghassi won a Grand Slam at age 33 (which is stupid old) and Sampras won one at 31. So he can keep it up, I think.

Federer won 13 Grand Slams in 39 attempts whereas Pete Sampras won 14 in 54 attempts. So, yeah, I'd say he's retardedly-good, as in, I'm-a-savant-and-I-play-piano-really-well-and-drool-at-the-mouth. Some people argue about whether he's faced as stiff of competition as Sampras, but whatever. I'm just gonna sit back and watch.

For the record, I don't care who wins. Roddick was always cool, even when I never really paid attention to tennis, and Federer is just unreal and beautiful, in that way that's difficult to look away from. Besides, I want him, badly, to break Sampras record, by, like, three or four slams. I think he can do it, considering his talent and his age.

Whatever, it's 1:35 and about to start.

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Teachers that Don't Think

Three of my English teachers have administered mini-lectures on their anti-"inappropriate use of technology in my classroom" stances. It's been pretty blah. Here's what they say, more or less, about laptops specifically:

"If you use laptops to look at Facebook, Myspace, or whatever, other people can get distracted by that. They look over and see you on websites and what not and they get distracted."

So basically, looking at websites is distracting to other students because those other students will look at them over your shoulder. I gues that makes sense?

Well, as much as I'd like to dispute other students being distracted by someone engaging in non-note-taking activity on their laptops, let's grant that it's entirely, 100% true, all the time.

Students, then, are distracted and so you shouldn't be allowed to do anything on your laptops other than take notes. Well, in that case, typing shouldn't be allowed because in a classroom filled with, at first, only the teacher's voice, even one person typing can be loud as hell. So, right away, typing is out. That, or people have to type really softly. Try that sometimes, and keep in mind you have to keep up with a teacher who's not going to pause much.

But here's my favorite consequence of this anti-"inappropriate use of technology" stance: you can't let people with nervous ticks in the classroom. Yes, I just. Said. That. If other students are going to be distracted by Facebook on someone else's laptop, then anyone with a nervous tick is going to be just as much as a distraction. So there you go: teachers who adopt this stance for this reason have to put a disclaimer in the course catalogue: "No nervous ticks. Drop them or drop my class."

I may be a dick, but seriously, just sayin'.

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Curious Case and Some Curious Reactions, Which I Expect No One To Read

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

I don't know who all has seen this movie among people I know, or what their reactions were, but I liked it. Broadly, it was tender, excellently crafted, and - most significantly - beautiful.

But a bunch of people disagreed. It was received favorably from most critics, but a number of them couldn't forgive what they saw as a "lack of passion" in the movie, specifically between Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett. I think they simply misread the parts and the people, but I'll leave that till later.

What prompted this post, really, though, was the awful review (both in terms of perspective and execution) offered by a fellow opinion columnist at the ASU State Press. His reasons for disliking the film consist in pointing out that it didn't make much money and that it doesn't "feel" as good as other top-winners at the Academy Awards - he mentions Titanic, The Godfather, and Ben-Hur approbative examples.

Well, first, box office gross is a notoriously misguided and stupid angle to take when critiquing a film (emphasis on 'stupid'): not only have a number of low-grossing films won awards/been nominated for awards (how about last year's No Country For Old Men and There Will Be Blood?) but the only way it reflects on a movie's quality is in the summation that "it wasn't interesting to the American public." And, for fuck's sake, when has that ever mattered? Geez. That's pretty much an affront to art everywhere, in any time.

And second, what can we draw from this idea that it didn't "feel" like other big winners? I'm not sure. I can understand a certain feeling that the films he mentions might elicit (though not Titanic; that movie was good, but it wasn't deserving of a bazillion awards [it had the fortune, though, of competing in a weak year for cinema - seriously, check the list: As Good as it Gets, Good Will Hunting, LA Confidential, and The Full Monty; solid films, but none of them quite legendary or unique]), but "feeling" is certainly a bad way of judging a film. Any film by David Lynch is guaranteed to draw ire for being nasty, strange, disturbing, but that doesn't mean the films are bad, just different than mainstream.

It seems we can easily dismiss this weak attempt as, well, something, though I couldn't say what. Perhaps it merits a response next week in my own column.

The top critics that have reviewed it have offered unfavorable sentiments that consistently point to a few things: 1) the acting chops of the cast; 2) the lack of "passion/chemistry" between Pitt and Blanchett; and 3) the film's familiarity and similarity to Forrest Gump (which was written by Eric Roth, who also wrote Curious Case).

1) We can first look towards the Academy, comprised of over a thousand members, people who act, direct, produce, write, and so on, who nominated multiple members of the cast for awards. They aren't always correct in determining winners, but they do a fine-excellent job, for the most part, in selecting nominees. Aside from the Academy, we can look to our own sense of the film's acting. Curious Case didn't include acting performances that we normally consider "great." That is, it wasn't like The Godfather where scenes were tense and crazy and wild and angry and passionate and just really all around front-of-your-seat wow. And it wasn't like No Country For Old Men where scenes were so weird and and full of intricately constructed dialogue that we were forced to concede "greatness" because of the sheer ability it takes to execute such scenes with the kind of precision and delicacy that Josh Brolin and crew provided.

Curious Case was different, though. It's power emanated not from Al Pacino scream-fests nor Javier Bardem creep-fests, but rather, from tender, tranquil scenes that required nuance beyond the capabilities of even your run-of-the-mill strong actors. Button's father had to engineer a performance that spoke to a man beset with copious amounts of guilt, the kind that eats away at you in a way that makes you want to melt, as opposed to blow up. Tilda Swinton, an affair of Pitt's, had to show a sort of stern and aloof tenderness that didn't require over-the-top acting, but a kind of reserved passion, an adulterer who didn't want to give too much away, even though she was loving and reveling in every minute. And Pitt himself was a paragon of reservation, but I'll get into that later with 2). Other parts merited large amounts of acclaim, but to save time (and fascination) I'll leave it to you to see the film and judge for yourself.

2) And here we are. The claim that there was little or no passion/chemistry between Pitt/Blanchett seems to disregard both Button's character and a number of scenes in the movie. Button's character was a walking exposition in how to be reserved yet precise and assertive. Button, possibly because of his unique situation, constantly sat back and observed everything and everyone around him. So, a portrayal of such is going to give a non-detailed watcher the feeling of a lack of passion/chemistry. But Pitt's character was always observing. What made the film so great was the fact that Pitt's character grew emotionally and psychologically. By the end of it, he was the one giving advice as opposed to being the ever-ready listener. To miss this seems strange because it was pretty important to the overall story arc.

And there were many scenes full of chemistry. Every scene before the full-on "we're totally in love with each other" part towards the end was drenched in reservation on Pitt's part and the friendly, immature, self-consciousness of Blanchett. As it progresses, you see spats between the two, and a sort of defiance in Pitt as he tries to continually win her love and stay by her side. Eventually, they fall totally in love, to the point where they're so comfortable with one another that a mere look or a few words will say everything at once. So I can see critics mistaking this sort of peacefulness for a lack of chemistry, but it's still a mistake.

3) I'm not sure how this one detracts from the film's overall awesomeness, but I'll try. I think the claim is that because it seems similar to Forrest Gump it's somehow less cool and less unique (and thus less good?). Eric Roth did write both, and there are similarities in terms of plot and narrative structure, but there the similarities end. Where Forrest Gump concerned itself with intertwining one guy's life with the historical events of his time while exploring that guy's place in society, Curious Case explored everything and more without putting too much emphasis on historical context. Benjamin Button's life involved the complexities of race, prejudice, love, passion, struggles, and the overarching thought that life is dragging you someplace and though you have some control, you're largely at its whim. A big point in Curious Case was that we're put in situations we can't always control and it totally sucks balls to have to make any decision, much less the right/best one. But, as usual, we do the best we can.

So where the two films part is where they become unique. In fact, I think Curious Case explores much stronger ideas and themes than Forrest Gump and, partly because of it, is a better film. Eric Roth seems to have shed the somewhat superficial nature of his earlier film for the strong, yet strikingly placid, temperament of his latest.

I could say more, but this post is already long past the point of normal motivation to read. And I think I've proved my point, or at least drubbed the points of some other people. Of course, watching the film is the best way to decide for yourself. So, you know, find three hours and give it a go.

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Sports Related but Anyone Can Enjoy It! Yay!

I've been watching a healthy amount of tennis the last seven days, partly because I'm beginning to like tennis - a lot - and partly because the Australian Open (the first major of the tennis calendar) began seven days ago. In any case, other than getting better at recognizing all things tennis, the more complicated noodlings and what not, I'm admiring more and more the fans.

Tennis is unique among "Sports the American Public Cares About," which includes football, baseball, basketball, tennis, hockey and maybe a few others (that's the general order of popularity, too): it's an individual event, one in which, literally, the cream rises to the top. It's incredibly transparent, which is awesome and usually unheard of; the transparency, though, is mainly the result of 1) a lack of calls that require complicated officiating and 2) the ease at which competitors can review calls - any calls - they think went the wrong way. The fact that it's an individual sport and very transparent means the best people win the most often, an attribute that's highly attractive and addictive.

But here's what I like about the fans: they cheer, scream, hoot and holler whenever anything cool, awesome, incredible or inspiring happens, no matter who is the progenitor of such a moment. There are loyalties, to be sure, but even if you're in love with Roger Federer or Rafael Nadal, you'll make some noise if Andy Murray does something incredible. In your other mainstream sports, this is not likely to happen. The only time a fan will fawn over a non-team-player's action is if it's really ridiculous, like when Nate Robinson blocks Yao Ming (Nate is 5'8" in heels and Yao Ming is 7'6" straight up) or when Kobe or whoever hits a stupid turn around jumper with two seconds left on the clock and three guys in his face. But if, say, Kobe makes a similar shot in the second quarter or something, the average non-Lakers fan will usually snarl in disgust (because they hate Kobe and whenever Kobe does something awesome, they get angry [because it's a constant reminder of their deep desire to cheer for awesome talent and their inability to do so when it's someone they hate/isn't on their team]).

Of course, part of this disparity between tennis and football/basketball/baseball/et al is the reality that one is a team sport with teams holding camp in a specific geographic location (and geographic loyalty has a certain hold over people's inclinations) and the other is an individual sport in which athletes represent various countries, rather than specific geographic locations. When multiple athletes originate from the same location (in this case a whole country) it's harder to have loyalties. You're all at once loyal to the location (the country) but you can't possibly be loyal to all it's members, because they interact and play eacher and so on. It's like rooting for the Clippers and the Lakers; they're both from Los Angeles and they play each other all the time, the same division and conference, and so it's difficult to be loyal to both. It's a lot easier to be loyal to, say, the Lakers of LA and the Knicks of New York because they play each other rarely, if at all. It's easier to keep loyalties intact if they never come into conflict.

Since tennis operates on a different fidelital (is that a word?) level, it's easier to hoot and holler for different players and it's a lot harder to hold loyalties to a specific player. It's also difficult to sustain loyalties because players get old and retire after a while. And, unlike a team sport, you can't stay loyal to a franchise as it keeps replenishing players and coaches and staff and whatever. When a guy retires from tennis, you have to pick another guy, or another couple of guys. I imagine most tennis fans do something like this: they naturally root for one country, usually the one they're from, and then they latch on to individual players, even players from outside the country of loyalty.

Even so, people don't stay stock still or snarl in disgust when the guy whooping the ass of the guy they root for makes a sick play on the baseline; they bang their head, of course, in empathetic anger and frustration, but only after first marveling at the sick play on the baseline. When you watch tennis, the crowd will respond almost uniformly to each player. There's usually a difference, but it's only noticeable to a small degree, or to a degree that's irrelevant/doesn't matter/who cares. In fact, this unform hooting and hollering makes most matches feel more intense than the first or second round boredom it normally would feel like. In Big Team Sports, regular season games sometimes feel lackluster, for whatever reason, and others feel like playoff games, with the crowd going crazy and especially if the two teams are close together, where the fans split 50/50 in terms of representation. When one side does something the place erupts; if the other responds, the place erupts. That's how tennis feels all the time. It's great.

Tonight, Roger Federer, best player in the world, one of the greatest to the play tennis, was getting his ass kicked by some 6'5" Czech youngster, and the crowd was responding by cheering the Czech youngster. But everytime Federer started to claw his way back, they let him know they still cared about him, and that he was still awesome. If you were looking to discriminate between loyalties, you'd be confused. It doesn't matter, though, because the crowd was responding to good tennis, not regional/ethnic/whatever loyalties. Of course, when Federer got his shit together and won three straight sets to complete an incredible comeback, the crowd let him know that they enjoyed every minute, every grueling, "will he or won't he?" moment. But people cheered just as much for the effort that the Czech guy put up in order to make the great match possible.

I think what it amounts to is this: in tennis, people are there to 1) watch their favorite players and 2) enjoy the hell out of the sport. If two players play well and give a good match, people are going to let them know. And when it's not too eventful, people still whoop and jump because of regional/ethnic/whatever loyalties. It's win-win-win.

And, just for kicks, I should mention that not all fans of Big Team Sports react this way. Keith and I, for instance, marvel at any awesome basketball play, even if it is the result of, say, some Spurs player we loathe (which would be all Spurs players, come to think of it). This indiscriminate cheering makes things interesting when attending games, because people start to think I'm either a) a moron or b) epileptic. At a recent Suns/Hawks game, for example, some girls in front of us thought we were from Atlanta because I screamed, Braveheart-like, whenever Zaza Pachulia so much as touched the ball. "Paaaacchhhhuuuulliiiiaaaa!" would ring out across the stadium and people started staring. Confusion erupted, though, because I would yell every time Steve Nash ran up the court and shot a stupid, "this-isn't-real" three pointer. So, you know, there are exceptions to those ridiculous people who paint their skin red and white and attend Nebraska Cornhuskers games wearing nothing but shorts and giant corn on the cobs arm guards.

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Kobe and Clutch and Why Jon Will Be Mad at Me

A recent Basketbawful (a sports blog) post took to task the idea that Kobe Bryant is "clutch"; two things were readily apparent: one, no one is really sure what "clutch" means, least of all the author of the relevant post, and two, the guest author was an admitted life-long Celtics fan. Take from that what you will.

The accusation that Kobe is not "clutch" was supported by copious amounts of statistical data compiled by Those Great Men at 82games.com, a website devoted to the painstaking job of compiling all manner of NBA statistics. The stats were laid bare, conclusions were drawn, and cheers went up to the heavens. (This post, I suppose, will be better understood if one has read the Basketbawful post, which I assume many of you haven't; but I'm not worried because the people who would read this kind of post (the current one) all the way through are the people who have read the Basketbawful post.)

But let's ask some questions: how was the data compiled? 82games.com takes "clutch" to be any action taking place with five minutes left in the 4th quarter or overtime (which is five minutes long). The implication here, then, is that "clutch" is simply whatever statistical data one might amass in these narrow chronological constraints. That's a fair enough assessment, but it fails to take into account all sorts of things, like the effect a player has on his team and the defense (the way they space the floor, the way his teammates react and play, and the way plays are run and defended based on a certain player being on the floor) or the ways in which the player amasses statistics inside these narrow chronological constraints.

For instance, let's say Kobe Bryant is guarded man to man for most of the game with the occasional double team, but when the second half of the 4th quarter comes around, the defense begins pressuring him more by double teaming much more often and bringing weak-side help almost every possession he touches the ball. In that case, his shots are going to be much more difficult to both obtain and make, and his avenues for passing will deteriorate as the space around him closes in (the double/triple teams). Also, his ability to steal and/or block the ball may be mitigated if a team forces the ball away from him on defense so that other, weaker defenders are seeing most of the action. All of these things combined make one wonder if a greater statistical prowess inside these chronological constraints is really a measure of "clutch-ness."

Shot selection is itself the most obvious area where things are going to be different. In the final five minutes, Kobe will see the toughest and densest defensive structures teams have to offer and the types of shots he takes are much more difficult than the average basketball shot, or even the average Kobe shot. Most of the game he's doing things like running into the lane and taking jumpers, laying it in, dunking, pick and pops, rolling under screens, catch and shoots, and so on. In the final five minutes, though, he's dribbling the ball, observing the defense, and then he might run at the defender, create space and attempt a turn around fadeaway jumper (with the added pressure of this being a must-make bucket) or he might go at the defender and watch the defense collapse, forcing him into a situation where he has almost no avenue to shoot but an even smaller avenue to pass - so he's forced to rise up and attempt a shot, often with his left hand. And the fact that he makes these shots - at all - is incredible.

And that's another issue with the 82games.com statistics: it doesn't differentiate between Kobe taking these kinds of shots and Sasha Vujacic taking an open three-pointer made possible because Kobe drove into the lane and drew defenders. Statistically, relevant to field-goal percentages (which are apparently very important and meaningful), these shots are the same and thus have the same power. Well, if Kobe Bryant is making 48% of his crazy, awkward, absurd shots and Vujacic is making 60% of his open threes, which one is more clutch? Does it matter? Are they the same?

Kobe makes 77% of his "clutch" shots unassisted whereas Dirk Nowitzki makes 50% of his unassisted. Does this matter? Kobe's shots seem harder; is that more clutch? Is it more clutch to be able to take more assisted shots? But doesn't that mean your team is better able to rotate and get open shots? Do the statistics differentiate between clutch minutes played when a player is playing alongside four idiots and he has to take a lot of dumb shots (such as Kobe during the years 2005 to 2007ish)?

And speaking of dumb shots, what about late game situations where a team is down by a large amount (say 20) and so is indiscriminately taking 3's? Most of these are going to rim out or brick horribly, and yet they will count towards "clutch" statistics. Phil Jackson will not take his starters out until 60 seconds left in the game, unless his team is up/down by 20-30. If it's a 15 point game, Phil will keep Kobe and co. in the game until there's under a minute remaining. So shots in this situation, for the team that is down, are going to be haphazzard and rushed - and yet count the same as other "clutch" shots. And since Phil is more likely to keep his players in the game to be taking such indiscriminate shots, Kobe is going to be taking more useless shots that have a low percentage to begin with. And there's no way to make better shots in these situations: with time almost gone and the deficit so large, any team with any player is going to be rushing possessions and attempting poor shots. If you play with Phil, you'll be in this situation more often than if you play with, say, Greg Poppovich, who takes his starters out of 15 point games at the three minute mark every time.

So clearly there's a problem with identifying statisical prowess as the main component of "clutch-ness." But what else is there? I mentioned a certain aura a player brings to the court, perhaps bolstering his teammates or whatever, and maybe that's it, but honestly, it seems a very difficult attribute to ascertain. Statistics alone will not guarantee - or even hint - at a possible definition. These numbers, because of their neutral mode of compilation, cannot show or explain any more than we want them too. They are simply a measure of what was physically gained and lost, but not how, why, or when it was gained or lost, which is very important if you're going to draw the types of conclusions from them that people have attempted to do.

And Jon will be mad at me for this sort of argumenation, because he'll think I'm just deconstructing whatever hurts Kobe and/or the Lakers. Also, he'll feel I'm just deconstructing for the purpose of deconstruction (though I'm not sure what that means). A constant grievance laid against me is that I staunchly defend (somewhat irrationally) the Lakers and its members against any and all criticism. This if, of course, not true and I'd like to think I'm less biased than, say, Bill O'Reilly or your average social conservative. Obviously, though, it's hard to determine bias when someone is talking about something they love/appreciate/like a lot: how do we discern between me engaging in argumentative discussion because I see something wrong and between me engaging in argumentative discussion because I want to find something wrong? I guess we don't. We have to hope and trust (and watch and learn, too) in order to know if I'm arguing for altruistic reasons. Ideally, whatever ideas I present will be examined in their own light to see if they do, indeed, obtain (thus clearing me, perhaps, of bias?).

Anyone who knows me (or reads this blog, I suppose) is aware that I like to argue - even lost points that have no meaning/relevance. I'll argue anything, or discuss anything, just because life is interesting. When I argue about Lakers and Lakers paraphernalia, am I doing so because it's interesting and I find something wrong with the opposing view, or because I'm adament in my pursuit of making the Lakers et al. the greatest?

Your decision. But it seems likely to be the former, as opposed to latter, because I argue and discuss so often and about so many things. It seems more probable that I'm doing so because I like to argue/discuss than because I'm over-protective of the herd.

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The End of the First Week (I'm going to get flak for this post)

Well, almost the end of the first week. In any case, I'm pretty much aware of how things are going to go and how they're not.

But no one cares about that. Let's talk about something else.

The syllabus: my discussion teacher for fiction writing (grad student) has an interesting one. The thing you notice right away is the abundant use of bold and italics throughout...which is unsettling to the eye and probably unnecessary. If you look out of for these sort of things, you're in the clear for nearly the first two pages until the bottom of the second page where you're greeted with "I will check attendance..." and so on. In that same paragraph she uses "*'s" (four of them around two words) to emphasize, as well. I can't imagine what reading her fiction is like.

Here's a good one: "Respect for your peers is not only appreciated, it is mandatory."


Four sentences later she italicizes an entire clause. This clause is surrounded by a number of sentences about sexual harassment, which is a strange paragraph to include in a syllabus, much less speak out loud with special emphasis (which she did). I'm hoping she had a past experience (probably not a good one), otherwise I'm seeing this as a little weird.

I guess, on second thought, I shouldn't be "hoping she had a past experience" because that means someone was sexually harassed, which, um, sucks.

Another awesome sentence: "Written, one 1/2 page (typed), constructive critiques of each of your peers' work on workshop days are a large part of your participation grade." If you had to guess, what guess would you guess as to what (exactly) I find displeasing (very) about that sentence (sentential-ly)?

Here, I'll emphasize everything I find odd/weird/interesting/bad: "Written, one 1/2 [sic] page (typed) [sic], constructive critiques of each of your peers' work on workshop days are a large part of your participation grade." It was difficult to point out mid-sentence, but she wants this constructive critique to be "written" and also "typed."

And one final treat: "(This outline is subject to change at my discretion as needed or desired.)


I suppose it's a little mean to critique her syllabus in this way, but honestly, I had a hard time doing anything else while she read every word *out* ^loud.^ Plus, she's a fiction grad student, so she, like, writes fiction - a lot.

I'll give her the benefit of the doubt; she's nervous, even though (as per her word) she's taught four or five classes. Here's why I think she's nervous (italics added by me, this time): "There are no excused absences, but in the case of emergencies, that's obviously not the case." This came after talking for a few minutes about how there were no "*excused*" absences, under any circumstances, whatsoever. She was implicating, through certain words and what not, that even illnesses wouldn't be excused, and I'm sure she actually said the words "if you're sick..." But then she ends with that beautiful sentence and cleared everything up.

Another reason I think she's nervous: She has high self-esteem, she's very comfortable with who she is and what she's about - which is great. The problem, though, is that people who are comfortable with their lives and who they are as people sometimes realize that others look at this in an odd way. People who are this sure tend to stand out as a different and no one likes to stand out; 'cause that's weird and people stare. So she's aware of this and therefore a little uncomfortable in front of the class, which is ironic. She's uncomfortable because she's comfortable.

The textbook for my American Lit class is called "The Norton Anthology - American Literature: Shorter Seventh Edition." Most of that's true, but not the last three words, specifically shorter. Seriously. The book (tome, really) is 2800 pages long, thick, dense, weighs five pounds, and reminds me vaguely of Jason Alexander. I'm certain that if dropped on my cat, it (the cat) would no longer be a cat, but would look much like the cat from Boondock Saints - which, after receiving the business end of an accidentally discharged pistol, resembled puddy and mush, thick soup sprayed across the wall.

It's the kind of book that, if dropped on a table from a 12 inch height, would thunder ominously, like the beginning of a small quake or the beginning of a Michael Bay movie.

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