Today’s guest blogger is my real world friend, digitalrob, from All of Us. He is both a gentleman and a scholar.  Thank you for helping me keep my vow to the Cult of Insanity.

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I’ve been reading the new Will Wheaton book, “The Happiest Days of our Lives,” which is essentially a collection of memories. Since he’s about my age, I connect closely to most of his experiences.

My mother has been bugging me for years to start storytelling my life, so here’s a story, maybe the first story.
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High school kids are invulnerable. I teach, so I know; but I also remember being invulnerable when I was younger. (It lasted a lot longer than one might think. I remember being pretty superior and invulnerable into my mid twenties.)

Despite my invulnerability and possibly the result of my crazy parents who didn’t think such things were mandatory childhood experiences, I never saw a horror-slasher movie until the summer after my sophomore year in high school. I was 15. It was A Nightmare on Elm Street III: Dream Warriors.

As slasher flicks go, this is still my favorite. Just sitting here typing I can vividly remember my favorite parts: as soon as a red-shirt (the common term for any actor who’s only purpose is to die gruesomely) falls asleep (obvious, I know) his veins and sinews rip from shoulders to hands from both arms, then from groin to feet from both legs. Freddy turns the boy into a marionette, making the Puppet Master look like an amateur. I don’t even remember how this guy died, just the terror I felt trying to see as much as possible through my fingers. Eww!

My teeth got itchy and I actually shuddered while writing this.

One might think watching deep, well-rounded characters gruesomely mangled for 90 minutes would be enough terror for one night, but guess what dear reader: I still had to ride my bike home.

Robert and I had rented the Beta Max version, so we could watch it at his house. We’d had to wait until his younger, groin-punching siblings went to bed before we could put it on, so I headed home, riding through the Las Vegas suburbs, about one o’clock in the morning.

The streets were well lit and I didn’t even think about being scared as I hopped on my ultra-cool black 10-speed and headed home. About two blocks down the street, it suddenly came to me: “Hey, I’m alone, in the dark, and really tired. Shit.”

Despite repeating the phrase, “It’s just a movie… It’s just a movie,” at the front of my brain with every pump of the pedals, the night noises of suburbia started to haunt me. “I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell.” Well, maybe not, but it sure felt that way.

I had a headlight on my bike. The kind that has a little generator that runs on friction from the back tire. The faster the tire turns, the brighter the light. I think that headlight started to melt my front tire by the time I got home.

I dropped my bike off in the back yard and bolted into the house. I don’t remember if my mother was waiting up for me. She usually did, so I’m sure I tried desperately to look calm as I came through the sliding glass door: “Everything’s fine mom. Had a great time. Oh, you’re going to bed now. Are you sure you don’t want to stay up and, um… um… watch a movie?”

Nope, I had to face the music and go to bed. Crap.

I remember not sleeping a whole lot that night, waking up every time I dreamt that I’d fallen asleep. Crazy.

Since then, I’ve seen all of the Nightmare films. I love them, even the later ones, which for some reason have a lesser reputation than the others. I remember going to a Nightmare-a-thon the next summer for the release of the 4th movie. (That’s a story for another time.)

I still love horror flicks, not so much gore, but definitely a movie that makes me watch the shadows or define those subtle and harmless background noises in the house.

(That’s just the dog’s collar banging on the water dish, nothing to worry about… really.)

Today’s guest blogger is my husband, Boog.  It took all kinds of convincing, but he relented.  I love him to the sky for loving me in spite of my psycho hose beast and cultish behaviors. Leave him some comment love so that he knows what a great blogger he could be.

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“Go to college!” was the mantra repeated when I was a high school student. Get your education or you will not be successful in life. The best jobs all require college degrees. Unfortunately, the path I took out of high school would not include college for many years. In his essay “College Pressures,” Zinnser stresses four pressures that weigh heavily upon the college student - economic, parental, peer, and self-induced. Besides peer pressure, all of these have played their role, influencing me and my decisions with respect to college. Even today, 23 years after graduating from high school, these same pressures bear heavily on my mind. So I now find myself, 40 years old, entering college without any clear goals other than I wish to complete something that I missed all those years ago. I am unsure of my expectations of the college experience, but I hope that as I progress I will have a more clear understanding of what it is I want and expect from the educational experience. While my past financial and parental circumstances affected my current expectations, my own personal desire to be more complete has drawn me to college, but it also has left me with many self induced pressures.

My failure to attend college right out of high-school was in many ways due to economic and parental pressures. Perhaps lack of parental pressures would be more accurate. I knew that my parents would not be contributing to my education fund. I also was never really “pressured” by my parents about the importance of obtaining a college education. And my father worked at a community college of all places. Without the financial or emotional support required for college, I instead chose the military route. That also turned into a failure, as various things kept me from honoring my commitment. Honorably discharged, with no college fund and no means of support, I began working menial jobs, and my life passed as the years slowly moved by. I was lucky to eventually obtain a job in the field of gaming, first as a dealer and now as a supervisor. It has been a lucrative career. However, it is one that has left me unfulfilled, unhappy, and unsure of where and what I want to spend the rest of my life doing. With the blessing of my wife and a determination to succeed, I find myself a bewildered college student, questioning the choice I have made to re-enter college so late in life, so long after high school.

The registration process alone is frustrating for a first time college student. The options that are available are mind-boggling and offer no direction. I register for two summer term classes: English Composition 101, and Psychology 101. Wow, what was I thinking by taking two eight week courses? Here my expectations start to fail. Psychology is an online course. We are assigned to read a couple of chapters then write a short discussion question and a research article. But where is the instructor? I thought I was going to be taught. There is no interaction, guidance, or direction whatsoever from the instructor. This has me frowning at the online experience. English 101, my campus based class, has also made me reevaluate my expectations. Besides needing the course as a basic requirement, I wanted to get back into the habit of writing. I also needed to learn the more modern methods of structure and formatting. I have to read all these essays and write a response to a few questions. I suppose I was expecting a more technical class. It is quite alright as I love to read. Along with my expectations for the class work, I suppose I expected a little more out of my classmates. With a few exceptions, I sit for two and half hours in a class made up of children. There are girls who are constantly talking or texting. Another kid is always playing computer games. Several students are always arriving twenty to thirty minutes late. If I was the instructor, I think I would flip out at some point. Maybe I thought everyone would have a little more dedication; you are paying for this class after all.

Now my self-induced pressures come into play. I tend to be a perfectionist, sure of what I am doing yet weak to criticism. I feel like an imbecile now. It is very apparent in my English class, as that is the only feedback that I am receiving at this time. The response I got from my first rough draft just floored me. I did not understand what the instructor wanted; I could not see what was needed. I was not sure where to look for help. I agonized and fretted over my revision for days. I managed to pull it together and was relieved to turn in my final draft. I was relatively pleased with my work, but upon receiving my grade, doubts began to creep into my thinking. The uncertainty I felt about my work has left me no end of heartburn and confusion. Perhaps I am in over my head. Did the perfectionist in me assume that this was going to be easy? My pessimistic side thinks maybe this was not such a great idea after all.

I now head into my fourth week of school. Halfway there, I tell myself. I only have to come up with a research topic for both classes, investigate it, and write 10 pages of babble that sounds somewhat coherent. I fully expect to be absolutely overwhelmed with the amount of work that I will soon have to complete. Maybe I can talk the doctor into prescribing a sedative. Still, I am resolute in my desire to see this through to the end. I may be old and slow, but I am sure that my efforts will indeed be rewarded. I cannot continue to discourage myself, and I will not let my preconceived notions interfere with my own personal learning journey.

]]> http://ireadbannedbooks.net/2008/07/18/out-of-the-mouth-of-the-40-year-old-college-virgin/feed/ cajunvegan http://ireadbannedbooks.net/2008/07/17/terrorist-tactical-maneuvers-tt-54/ http://ireadbannedbooks.net/2008/07/17/terrorist-tactical-maneuvers-tt-54/#comments Thu, 17 Jul 2008 04:05:00 +0000 cajunvegan http://ireadbannedbooks.wordpress.com/?p=1810

The Terrorist, here.  w00t! I hijacked Momma’s laptop while she is making sweet love to her iPhone!  Do you remember the last time I was here? Well, she’s been much more careful about letting me around her gadgets ever since.  I have had to resort to other ways to get her attention.  Anyway, if you have not heard it yet, they are kenneling me later today for fun in Saint Delicious, and I am not happy about it.  In fact, I think I am going to use every Terrorist Tactic I can think of to make them stay here or take me with them.

1.  Carrying her unmentionables into the yard when I go do business

2.  Biting her on the left check of her ass to match the right one I did earlier this week

3.  Chewing up another pair of her “special occasion” shoes

4.  Eating two-thirds of another ten or twenty dollar bill when it falls out of her wallet

5.  Bringing in rocks from the yard to add to my collection

6.  Hiding carrots (or broccoli) under her side of the bed and dragging them out in the middle of the night

7.  Ripping her bath sponge to shreds when she doesn’t put it up high to dry

8.  Tearing up the new red pillows on the sofa (since she slip covered the project I already started on the sofa cushions)

9.  Unrolling and shredding that Charmin Mega Roll she just added in the master bathroom

10.  Breaking down all the baby gates and licking The Three Beotches for days on end.

11.  Jumping in the bathtub with her when she is relaxing … I love the bubbles!

12.  Posting all her dirty little secrets on next week’s Thursday Thirteen, especially the one about how she and Daddy met in 1996

13.  Burying that new iToy of hers.  Geezy Pete, put that thing down!

I gotta go now. I just heard her say she was going to bed.  It’s snuggle buddy time.  I’ll make her never want to leave me.  She cannot resist The Terrorist Trifecta!

Until next time …

Slurps, Smooches, and Snuggles,
Spenser (The Terrorist)

I command you to play this video as you read this post.  I am certifiable at this point (as you already know).

Yes, I am completely in love with my new iPhone.  This song was playing on a local NPR story about the musical Jersey Boys when I was in route to the Apple Store this morning.  How fitting!

I am a material girl and a lemming after all.  I was in line for 4.25 hours.  I know I wrote about my embarrassment for my materialistic and foolish behavior just four days ago, but I really wanted to possess the coveted iToy before we go to San Diego this weekend.  When I arrived at the mall, a dude who looked just like John Cusack with retro eyewear (swoon … drool … faint) told me that it would be a two to two and a half hour wait.  In my head I knew I should not wait in line; however, the voices started talking again, and insanity prevailed.

Not surprisingly, Boog wanted nothing to do with it when I came home.  He asked if the screen was yellow and mumbled something under his breath that sounded like psycho hose beast when I said it was not and was the best.toy.I.had.ever.owned.  Boog’s a PC guy, hates cell phones, and would rather play World of Warcraft with all of his free time.  I give it until the end of the week before he’s a converted iTard too.

With that said, I am now the proud geekdorknerd owner of an iPhone …

I love you, baby,
And if it’s quite alright,
I need you, baby,
To warm a lonely night.
I love you, baby.
Trust in me when I say:
Oh, pretty baby,
Don’t bring me down, I pray.
Oh, pretty baby, now that I found you, stay …

I hope I am not California dreamin’ with this post/request.  Boog’s on vacation, and we are getting away for a few days in San Diego later this week.  We’re looking for some fun outside of the Las Vegas heat.  Believe it or not, Las Vegans do not enjoy spending all of their free time on the Strip.

Am I remarkable enough to solicit guest posters for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday?  Anyone?  Anyone?

If you are interested, gmail me (cajunvegan AT gmail DOT com) or respond in the comments for this post.

Please say yes.  Please say yes.  If not, I will be resorting to redux or another freaking meme posts.

I am not worthy, but I am shamelessly pimping my fucking fabulous blog space out to you.

Whadayasay?  Remember, I’m sexy. I’m cute.  I’m popular to boot.

Not to be confused with the three-word meme is the two-word meme.  I’m not in the mood for a real post today.  And, for the record, it has been a while since I posted another freaking meme.

1. Where is your cell phone?

Apple Land

2. Your hair?

Cherry chocolate

3. Your eyes?

Greenish brown

4. Your brother?

Lt. BIL

5. Your sister?

Flea Fly

6. Your favorite thing?

Being right

7. Your dream last night?

Included family

8. Your favorite beverage?

French roast

9. Your dream/goal?

Make difference

10. The room you’re in?

Family room

11. Your Ex?

Which one?

12. Your fear?

Epic fail

13. Where do you want to be in 10 years?

Sitting pretty

14. Where were you last night?

Red Robin

15. What you’re not?

A loser

16. Muffins?

Anything berryish

17. One of your wish list items?

New furniture

18. Where you grew up?

Eunice, Louisiana

19. The last thing you did?

Hellboy 2

20. What are you wearing?

Severe cramps

21. Your TV?

Dear Prudence

22. Your pets?

Sideshow freaks

23. Your computer?

Dell E1705

24. Your life?

Not finished

25. Your mood?

Pissy bitch

26. Missing someone?

Not really

27. Your car?

Dodge Caliber

28. Something you’re not wearing?

Happy face

29. Favorite Place?

Good book

30. Your summer?

Almost over

31. Your favorite color?

Cabarnet Sauvignon

32. Last time you laughed?

Spenser’s attack

33. Last time you cried?

Hurt feelings

34. Who will repost this?

Tense Teacher