I just got back from watching the latest installment in the reboot of the Star Trek franchise, Into Darkness. I have to admit, it had many admirable qualities – action, suspense, actors moving to and fro, throwing punches with surprisingly little blood. At some level though, I felt as though I had seen it before. Several hundred times. Despite the excellent special effects, great acting and overall presentation, I got a profound sense of deja vu in the theater. There were some memorable scenes to be sure – Khan whaling on Klingons, spaceships firing things, outer space, Spock talking to himself again. I also did enjoy pondering the connections between cinema and history – the villain being a terrorist that carries out both bombings and flying aircraft into buildings is like a historiographical bingo card in itself. Would it kill the director to throw in some gay marriage debate thinly disguised as alien union debate?
I do miss the day of saving the humpback whales though. Classic. I watched Star Trek IV many, many times. I am a big fan of the movie franchise, although I don’t particularly care for the classic television show – give me The Next Generation. Captain Picard owns the Star Trek block. I will never forget the ear scene from Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.
At any rate, I can give you a synopsis of the film without giving away the plot too much.
Damn it Jim, Not Logical, Meaningful Stare off to the left, Captain’s Chair, Wessels, Tribbles, Khan!, Phasers set to stun, drunken Scotsman, rising action, falling action, rising action, falling action, rising action, falling action. Rising action.
Also, many action movie tropes: bomb defusing, hanging off a cliff holding somebody with one hand, dramatic firefight, fistfight on a moving vehicle, jumping off of moving vehicles on to other moving vehicles, flying superfast through space/air, crashing to Earth, crashing into buildings, blowing up buildings, jumping through windows, pushing pedestrians out of the way, and shooting Klingons.
I felt like I have seen this movie before. I enjoyed watching it, felt like I got my money’s worth, but felt like I had seen it. Perhaps because it is such a mash of modern summer action blockbuster and Star Trek fan service that it is somewhat predictable? Am I caught in a Spock-like time loop? I really feel like this movie could have been half an hour shorter and not lost anything of importance.
At least there weren’t any damn Ferengi anywhere, or CG Hutts getting stomped on. An awkward position – I was entertained and completely bored at the same time. The face of modern cinema.
I was walking around the Mall one day, and I notice the strangest advertisement I have ever seen. it was for a gift card from American Express and Simon, nothing unusual there. But the slogan was the most bizarre and utterly confusing set of words to mingle together in the whole of human history. Well, maybe not that bad but still.
“The Gift Card With Nothing to Lose.” I looked once. Still there. Looked twice. Huh. Three times. Well, that’s awkward, I have been standing in the mall staring at a banner that is kind of hard to see. It just boggles my mind that American Express paid somebody a whole heap of money to come up with that slogan. First, what the fuck does that mean? Seriously? Could a credit card lose something – its wallet, its sanity, its….. bar strip? I felt like grabbing passersby and pointing it out, “Look! Look at what they’ve done! You took a horrible slogan and blew it up! You blew it up….” Then I would fall to my knees and start crying Charleton Heston style. Or Roddy McDowell style. Definitely not Gangnam style. It just floated up there, eternal, mocking me with its obscure essence. Somewhere, a group of advertising gurus sat in an office and hammered out this ad campaign. Why God? What cruel joke is this?
I then began to unravel the deeper meaning of the slogan. My mind went to this:
A busy office.
A gruff man with grey stripes in his chair slammed down the phone as he chomped his cigar. He smoked because the cigar gave him something real to sink his teeth in to in this crazy world. He had seen some shit. When you work in a metropolitan police department, you see shit as much as toilet paper sees it. “Simon, get your ass in here!”
Simon sat at his desk nursing a cup of black coffee that was laced with Taaka and silent tears. He was staring into the putrid mixture as the chief yelled his name. Last week his partner had been killed by the Guernsey Boys, beaten to death with a bag of doorknobs. The memory of that credit card, broken into pieces in an alley was seared into his mind. He had seen some shit, but that was some shit. Real shit. Shit got real that night. Simon had been there a moment too late. He waited for his Egg Yuk Foo while his partner went to the car. If he had only been there… He had spent the next three nights drinking his grief away. He thought if he poured enough liquor on it, it would drown. Didn’t work that way. Instead he came home and found his wife in bed with his neighbor. As she screamed at him, Simon knew she was right. The job was all that mattered to him, and it had cost him everything. The long hours, the haunted morning looks. The drunken nights that he couldn’t be close to her because of the job. This city, it took over your soul, the violence and inhumanity was infectious. A part of him died every time he saw the latest murder victim, the latest hooker slashed up by her pimp.
The Chief’s bellicose command got his attention. Here we go again. Simon took a final pull from his coffee, feeling the burning sensation work its way past his number, all the way down to his security code. His strip was not as black as the rooks, but it would solid as steel. Marching across the office, he swung open the door and looked at the Chief with a sneer. “What is it this time Chief? Got a papercut that needs attending to? Why don’t you call your mom.” They locked eyes.
“You know damn well what this is about Officer Card. Four A.M. this morning, getting into a fight at McGurkle’s Bar – you can’t be pulling that shit. It makes the department look bad. How am I supposed to assure the people that we have the Guernsey Boy situation under control when our best cop is out there brawling with thugs and making headlines? What the fuck were you thinking?” The Chief chomped his cigar and stared at Simon. Hard.
“Guess I should have filed a complaint with City Hall when they laughed about the murder of my partner. At least one of us has the balls to do what it takes, out there on the streets. Look in your filing cabinet, they might be in there.” Simon lit a cigarette and took a puff, blowing smoke the Chief’s way.
“God Damn it Simon! Hand over your gun, you are suspended until further notice! Clean yourself up and get your head out of your ass and maybe, just maybe I’ll let you come crawling back. Now give me your gun and your badge and get the fuck out of my office.” Simon tore his badge from his plastic chest and threw it at the Chief, hitting him squarely in the forehead and knocking him off his chair. He pulled his gun out of its shoulder holster and slammed it down on the desk.
“Good luck you spineless bastard.”
Simon walked out of the doors of the department and stood on the concrete steps. The sky was churning, and a cold wind was blowing in from the East, bringing with it torrential rain. A thunderclap, and fresh rain fell. Simon stood in the deluge and looked upwards. He walked to his car and looked in the trunk. All his old friends were there – Smith and Wesson, Herr Glock, Jack Daniels and Uncle Beretta. I’ll get your motherfuckers, he thought to him. The Guernsey family had better watch their shit.
There is nothing more dangerous than a gift card with nothing to lose.
Simon got into his chair and tore out of the parking lot.
I thought this was the United States of America. Sad to say, the Constitution has been violated, murdered, torn apart, ripped asunder by radical secular humanist liberal tyrants. Their benevolent monarch, President Slowbama, has led them to their destruction with this latest exercise in despotic domination of the free market. I am speaking of the plastic bag ban in Ukiah. Clearly, even thought it was passed at a local level, it is violating my basic and fundamental rights as an American.
Thomas Jefferson himself said that: “Governments that govern best govern least.” At least I think he said that. I know he owned several assault rifles. In fact, I think he invented the AK-47 to battle environmentalists. liberals and feminists. When I was younger this was a free country. Bill Clinton wouldn’t have allowed this hippy town government to enforce this draconian provision. He was too busy trampling the Oval Office for that. Wait, Clinton was a tyrant too, somehow. Hy tyranically had a surplus. Sounds like Godless communism to me. Republicans, we need to get rid of the deficit.
In the history of the world, this is the worst violation of human rights ever. Obama is the worst dictator the world has ever known. Worse than Mao, and Hitler and Xerxes the great. His cronies are trying to install Xerxes-style despotism on American soil through this plastic bag ban.
Welcome to the People’s Republic of The Persian Empire! Rush Limbaugh was so right. We are all going to have to wear paper bags on our heads and salute Kim Jong Un. Plastic bag companies are going to go under. The Obamacession is going to destroy the economy all because of this ban on plastic, that wonder of the modern age.
A threat to rights anywhere is a threat to rights everywhere. We cannot give an inch, we cannot yield to this intrusion into my rights to carry goods from place to place.
To paraphrase Patrick Henry: “Give me a plastic bag or give me death!”
I would just like to take a moment to point out that this “holiday” has pagan origins. The egg is about fertility. I am doing this to show how enlightened I am, and to illustrate the fact that I know enough about being cool to google “Easter.” Also, I am countercultural. I don’t think like other people, except for the three million other people that repost a vague and banal message about the evilness of Easter. Look at me drag out tired stereotypes of popular holidays to prove my street cred amongst the casually indifferent.
ON THIS DAY IN SOME YEAR A CHRISTIAN KILLED SOMEONE. That makes the church the most evil thing in history, because some person was killed somewhere. All because of Easter. Keep that in mind while you choke down candy made by an evil corporation. Corporations are evil you know. I have a pamphlet from the co-op to prove it.
I don’t believe at all in the mysticism and simple stories of Christianity. That’s why I am a Wiccan.
This is all part of a conspiracy of the Church/Big Candy (Big Can) to enslave us and take away our Volvos. Maybe the Pope owns shares in Nestle. Coincidence?
I think not. Every time somebody mentions children or holiday fun, I am going to inform them of the origins of this holiday. I already have my hipster I.D. card stamped and ready to whip out at a moment’s notice.
I knew all this before it was popular. I have been ruining holidays for way longer than you.
note: i wrote this before I went on facebook today.
Of course, the first answer that comes to mind on this topic is: all of them. I can’t tell you how much of my soul I pissed away watching reruns of Mama’s Family. Don’t get me started on Saved By the Bell, Step by Step, Full House or Roseanne. I still cough up soul fragments from my time on the couch staring slack-jawed at Boner’s antics on Growing Pains. In a strange way I almost enjoyed how much I didn’t enjoy them. I could see myself watching the shows, already knowing the jokes, yet still I watched them. Perhaps the familiarity of the formula was appealing. So Meta it approached Abed Nadir levels of perception: “I am watching this, but it is watching me. I am the show and of the show. I am the viewer and the studio audience.” Distinctly, the thought would come to me: Why am I watching this shit? We all know they are cookie cutter, time-filling, cookbook television. Yet come time for Saved By the Bell Hour, there I was, hopelessly waiting for Lisa and Screech to hook up. I am still waiting for a Zack Attack reunion show – I heard rumors they would tour with Warrant. I do think Seinfeld and Arrested Development reached great artistic levels though.
Motivating this entire post is a conversation I had with students about my weekend. I mentioned that I saw The Croods with my son, and enjoyed myself despite the depressing context. Then I made the cardinal mistake in a room full of teenagers and women, and told them I hated The Land Before Time. A sea of sad puppy-dog eyes somehow laced with hate riveted themselves on me.
Outrage, scorn, bitter invective was hurled my way. I explained my argument against ice-age style movies: they are about mass extinction and depress the hell out of me. Even when I was little and sat through those insufferable Land Before Time movies, I couldn’t stand the torment. What was the point? They were all going to die anyway. Is that the lesson we want children to learn? Can’t they wait until they are adults to learn that? I sketched a plot graph to prove my point. The exposition of these movies is always about death, the brutal struggle for survival, extinction. Ubi sunt is not a plaything for children.
One show in particular is responsible for the eventual death of my incorporeal form. I remember vividly the day Dinosaurs was aired. I have always been a fan of Henson-style muppeteering, from Fraggle Rock to The Muppets to Labyrinth. Give me a giant anthropomorphic puppet, and I am yours. Hurl your advertisements at my way for as long as you want. It goes without saying that I was a huge (literally and figuratively) Ninja Turtle fan. The movies were excellent, and featured some effective costuming/puppeteering. More on the TMNT movies later.
This is the essence of the 1990s – strange outfits, hip hop slapped on aspects of culture to make them “modern,” and Ninja Turtles
It was in the heady days of 1991, Bush’s America, that special recession nobody remembered. At least I didn’t. I was a seasoned 9 year old, tired of watching boring clips from Desert Storm. All I knew about politics was that my shows weren’t on the air. Having the old rabbit ears limited my viewing options.
This new show came on, it was classic situational comedy. Long-suffering Dad, wise stay-at-home Mom, Smart Daughter, Dumb Brother, baby. Baby was cute and slammed his dad with a frying pan and had lots of one-liners. Best of all, they were all dinosaurs! How cool is that? Sure, they reeked a little of the Flintstones, and every other sitcom family every, but hey. How many of them are dinosaurs? Personally, I loved the show. I watched it every week, and thought it was the greatest prime time tv of the era. It is on netflix now, I suggest you watch some. After 20 or so years I can finally watch it again without having flashbacks. Last night my kids and I watched the first episode and it was all there – the humor, the family drama, the vague underlying moral lesson. Classic sitcom. Over the course of its life it would tackle some pretty intense topics, as well as a jurassic level of hi-jinks. Good times. Staying up until 8:30 to watch Dinosaurs.
Just like the Roman Empire, things were bound to go wrong. I faithfully watched the show. Then came the finale, the epic conclusion of the adventures of the Sinclair family, the magnificent walking off into the sunset moment, the finis, new directions, new paths for the characters, spinoff possibilities….
This is what I got:
Watch it. Shudder at the horror of life. Watch Earl Sinclair promise his baby that they will all be ok. This is like Shakespeare smashing together MacBeth, Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet in a blender and forcing a kitten to drink it.
What the fuck?! My favorite show, the dad ends up causing an accidental apocalypse? I mean seriously? The end shot is so sad and pathetic and miserable….just a bunch of lovable dinosaurs, freezing to death, marching their way to extinction..
The news forecast: cold, forever.
That is the moment my soul died. R.I.P. Sinclair family.
He came to town with blazing eyes and a thunderous voice. Gravitational forces pulled him to this place, this town, a crossroads of space and time. A billion variables resulted in his voyage. Here the fertile soil grew new shoots of belief and vision. The ground was moist and ready for his seed. The flock was in the field, he would build a fence with God’s word.
His origins were obscure. Through town he drifted like a cloud, misting passersby with his version of scripture. Often I talked to his congregation, but never directly to him. A web of mystery surrounded him – like the redwood trees surrounded his house. Many people went there, frequented by locals and foreigners alike. Ohio, Nebraska maybe? No one was sure. It really didn’t matter. People blew into town like old newspapers, littering the streets with their faded headlines. Few people stopped to read the stories.
Charismatic, the preacher left an impression on the townspeople. His name was forgotten, as well as his face, but the ideas remained. Some laughed, some scorned. More than often they simply ignored him. Proving a stereotype, they said. Look at those hippies up there, people said. When you hear stories of people like the preacher, you don’t think about the details. It is hard to imagine Martin Luther King Jr. at the drugstore buying antacid. But there he was, buying cereal and carrying on like he wasn’t full of God’s truth. In short time he was accepted by the town, another beast for the menagerie. Lately there were too many to overly worry about one.
Often I spoke with his girlfriend, who defended their church. “He is a real priest you know. We are for real. His message is legitimate. “ I don’t think I ever expressly disagreed, but my suspicion was obvious. It generally is when I talk to those full of conviction.
“How does one get to be a priest? Is there a license of something?” I asked with interest. I honestly wanted to know how it came about. A description of some sort of program was delivered. It sounded like a correspondence school to me. I imagined the disciples mailing off checks to an agency in Alexandria. Her conviction was real though.
“As it says in the bible, the tree of life planted its seed in the garden of Eden. The tree of life is the marijuana plant. It gets us closer to God, to his truth.” I thought there might be a punchline coming. But there wasn’t. The congregation grew for a short period of time. The message was spread. Smoke your way to salvation. It was not the typical teenage approach to drugs, not a thinly veiled excuse to use them. Behind the bluster, there seemed to be an actual seed of belief. A sapling that might grow into a forest, given the rights conditions.
The papers reported it as a burglary. “Man Shot During Break In.” I heard the story from his girlfriend. Of course the preacher was sitting on a lot of dope at his house, money too. Given his religious mission, he did not have a firearm. Men with masks kicked in the door and demanded the drugs and money. The preacher acquiesced, offering no resistance. He opened the safe. The masked men took the goods and shot the preacher. His girlfriend stayed on the floor, witnessing the horror. The robbers also shot another sleeping man. The Tree of Life. The Preacher. Gunned down over some marijuana, slain by modern-day Romans.
The Preacher came to spread the word of God, but instead spread his blood on the floor, dying far from his place of birth. I did not agree with his vision, but the tragedy of his death shocked me. His followers were seen for a little while but soon the message disappeared. The Tree of Life was mown down by human greed. Such sorrow and pathos for such a remote little town.
Another Monday, another chatty group of teens flowing through the door to my Intro. to U.S. history class. It is a remedial class, so the transition is marked by horseplay and obscure handshakes and immense laughter and commotion. The bell rang I once again told them to sit down, even though the Pledge of Allegiance was the first thing on the agenda, so they immediately had to stand up. I forget this every Monday and every Friday for the National Anthem. Right before the Pledge started over the loudspeaker, I said “Anybody who doesn’t stand up is a dirty communist.” The students laughed and looked confused. Pledge accomplished, the class had a seat and I informed them that I had a list. Silence. “I have a list that shows that eight students in this class are communists.” I looked meaningful at several random students. “What is a communist anyway?” one boy asked.
” That sounds like something a communist would say.” I then explained communists and capitalists and returned to my previous point about the list. “Seriously, I know who is a communist in here.”
I harangued the class and challenged them to prove they weren’t communists. They started accusing me of being a communist. They asked me to prove I wasn’t a communist. I pointed out that having more than one person accuse you puts you in a bad spot. “Imagine if five of you go around campus saying Silva is a communist.” Hard to disprove right?
I told everybody to raise their hands if they would sign a loyalty oath right there and then. Those that didn’t, I declared them communists. Lesson on McCarthyism begins.
Coming back from lunch (roast beef with avocado sandwich – but that’s another story), I walked back to my classroom. As I approached the main walkway of the high school two Hispanic students that happen to be identical twins yelled at me: “Hey Silva! You’re a communist!” I called them communist. One of them said “There’s two of us.”
Sometimes I forget why I like to teach with my horrendous schedule. Having a couple of teenagers call me a communist filled me with pride. That’s my style, and I’m sticking to it.
The denizens of the United States have long been accused of being culturally deprived. We are starving, lacking an appreciation of the fine art of mime, Goethe and weinershnitzel. Viewing a recent thread on Facebook, I would have to agree with this sentiment. Nothing proves this point as well as the jeremiads delivered on the movie Teen Wolf, first released in 1985, starring a young Michael J. Fox. The spurious comments regarding this cinematic masterpiece are worthy of a settling of honor. Unfortunately duels are illegal. Unlike the Dude, I will not abide. I offer this apology (in the formal sense), laying forth the visionary nature of the film.
The premise of the movie is familiar. A teenage boy, Scott Howard, is ostracized by his community. His awkwardness is legendary, and he has a crush on Pamela Wells, the archetypical American beauty of the 1980s. Inevitably she is dating the local tyrant and athlete, Mick McAllister. Just listen to the alliteration of the name. Tell me that is not Shakespearean. Scott lives with his father, his mother having tragically died before the events in the film begin. Scott’s father is a blue-collar Everyman that owns the local hardware store. Scott also helps out in the store. Scott also plays on the Beavers, a sub-par basketball team that lacks the will to power of the Dragons, Mick’s intimidating squad. Scott is secretly loved in turn by his best friend from childhood, “Boof.” Truly this is a situation of desperate pathos, rife with sexual tension, undertones of war, issues of manhood and parochialism. Exposition finis.
The true surprise in the film comes when Scott learns that he is only partially human. Scott learns from his father that the family is one of werewolves, stricken by the cures of lycanthropy. Dumbfounded, Scott hides from his father only to learn that they are both werewolves. His father had hid his terrible secret because it sometimes skips a generation. Scott’s father knows full well the prejudice of man, and urges Scott to keep his true self hidden from a hostile public. A powerful theme emerges – when should a person keep their identity secret? Should ethnic origins be concealed? At what point does repression of culture become an abandonment of principle?
Should the young werewolf assimilate, or suffer the consequences of revelation? Surely the writers of this script were addressing similar issues to those in The Scarlet Letter, in which the local priest hides his nature until he can bear it no more.
Scott reveals his bestial nature in a dramatic scene. During a basketball game Scott loses control of himself and metamorphoses into “The Wolf,” a hirsute version of himself. Here is the existential crisis of the film, the underlying theme – should Scott run from himself? Instead of cowering, Scott boldly begins to play basketball as The Wolf. The crowd is shocked, but quickly won over by this exhibit of athletic prowess. It is amazing.
Scott is literally slam-dunking discrimination away, making a powerful statement about the role of sports in breaking down cultural barriers. This goes to the modern theme of race in sports. Once again, this films tackles controversial social topics.
The Wolf becomes a local celebrity, his athletic ability transformed into superhuman status as a man-wolf. Scott loses himself in his new persona, leaving his past behind and embracing a new cultural, assimilating into the mainstream. As a token of wolfkind, Scott is lauded and embraced by the student body. His past as a nerd is forgotten. Wolf fever grips the town, and his friend Styles starts to merchandise the image of Scott as a Wolf. Does the town accept Wolf-Scott, or expect him to conform to stereotypical norms?
Boof tries to warn Scott of the results of his arrogance. Boof represents wisdom and innocence, unrequited love. The voice of reason, warning Scott that pride goeth before destruction.
Scott overlooks Boof and is pursued by Pamela Wells. Underlying this romantic tension is the question of celebrity. Pamela clearly pursues Scott because of his exotic nature. Really, Teen Wolf contains some great character development. Who can forget Stiles’ wardrobe?
The edited T.V. version is even more hilarious. “You Mr. Murphy, the shop teacher? He got his *nose* stuck in a vacuum cleaner.”
Who would have thought this guy would be part of the great win at the end?
There is a class element to this tension as well. Scott is from a middling family and “sells out” his family past in order to move up the social ladder. A Marxist reading of the film reveals a stunning example of class betrayal. By embracing the capitalists in charge of the social hierarchy, Scott supports the same economic system that has crushed the lower classes. Class betrayal – WWMGD (What Would Maxim Gorky Do?)
Once again I ask: is not Teen Wolf a masterpiece of contemplative film?
Perhaps the most memorable scene in the film is the infamous “car surfing.” Of course, I am not condoning chugging beer and driving around town on the top of a moving vehicle – but this scene does raise significant issues.
Essentially the scene is a grand metaphor for life. You can either hang ten on a speeding car and play air guitar, or fall off. This is Teen Wolf as lived experience, as cultural metaphor. It is also an inspiration for stupid people to see past the metaphor and actually try to surf on a car resulting in serious injury. You are not a teenage werewolf, or Stiles. Until you are, don’t try it.
There are so many memorable moments in this film they are hard to count. From The Wolf acting in a Civil War play and delivering the powerful “First burn the fields, then burn the houses,” to Scott’s impressive beer buying from the cantankerous shopkeep, this movie has it all. “Give me… a keg….of beer. And these.”
Eventually the role of celebrity werewolf reveals itself as the paradoxical hell it is, and Scott is estranged from his friends. The final moment in which Scott realizes that everybody still sees him as a freak is powerful and profound. Lashing out of Mick, he sees his violent capability. A fitting reminder of our bestial origins. In the end, Scott comes out for the championship game against the Dragons and saves the day as himself, Scott, proving that being true to your self is the way to success. Powerful. The final game is a tribute to eighties inspirational sports scenes, behold the wonder. The final game is full of action, drama and suspense. The team comes together as a unit and pulls victory out of the jaws of defeat. A fitting ending for a fantastic movie. This clip even has stats. *Spoiler* Scott rejects the vacuous Pamela Wells and ends up with Boof.
If there is one thing the cinema of the 1980s did right, it was the montage. Think of a prominent movie from the 1980s – isn’t there a song associated with it?
Hello
Seriously
A story about coming of age, young love, fate, family, racial and cultural struggles, class, teenage recklessness, sports, social issues and a werewolf to top it off. Do yourself a favor and rewatch this movie. I know when I am LARPing with my buddies, I always choose to be The Wolf, shades and all.
Amazing Teen Wolf drinking game for those of you over 21
The warm spring sun beamed through the window of the classroom. Students hastily checked their phones for last minute texts and ifunny updates while I did my traditional pre-lecture ramble. Last week it was about a radiolab podcast regarding mutant rights and the tariff – anytime I can connect McKinley and Wolverine, believe you me I’m going there. Before the scheduled exam I spent ten minutes connecting the dots between the 14th amendment and the X-Men. If you don’t listen to Radiolab, do it right now. Hypnotoad commands you.
At any rate, the students correctly pointed out that I was three minutes late. I was waylaid by another student about an issue and strolled in fashionably tardy. I passed out our reading for the persuasive essay, “Did the Progressives Fail?” With tears in their eyes, students thanked me. A standing ovation was delivered. Well, they took the handouts anyway. I fired up the old computer for my powerpoint presentation – I entertain myself quite well thank you. My big hit of the day was comparing Taft to Rich Uncle Pennybags, the Monopoly guy. The technology failed me again (for the last time star wars fans), and it cut off the first two letters of every sentence of my presentation. Not really a big deal, but groans abounded. I thought about trying to change the projector angle, but it is ten feet off the ground, and I minored in Sloth Studies so…. too lazy to finish that sentence.
I came to a section header about the “Progressive Era.” The letters it chopped made it look like “ogressive Era.” I thought that was interesting so I started to make commentary. “Well, this time period is marked by a focus on the rights of ogres. People thought that ogres should have the rights to marry – there was a controversy about Shrek and miscegenation. It really is a question of rights.” Looking confused, the class laughed and waited for me to continue with my lecture.
Shrek This is what Strom Thurmond was warning us about.
“Well I guess it says ‘ogress,’ so that would mean female ogres. That would mean it would involve lady ogres fighting for enfranchisement – a question of ogress suffrage.”
I said out loud: “What the hell am I talking about?” A few students said they didn’t know. I still think it is a topic worth pursuing.
GIVE ME. A KEG. OF BEER.
Who would have thought this guy would be part of the great win at the end?
