Jack of All Trades

       

            I am a Graduate Student.

            That’s an odd way to identify yourself, especially the area in which I live where you are pretty much defined by your job. In the Washington, D. C. area, you identify yourself by your name and what you do. It’s like the same way some wild animals tend to identify themselves in the wild, each one kind of wondering who the Alpha actually is.

            “Hi, I’m John Smith, and I’m the Deputy Undersecretary to the Assistant Vice President of the Secretary’s Office.”

            Which means he could do anything from going to get coffee to being the only guy in the office who knows what happens when the printer jams. But not really descriptive of the alpha role.

            “Hi, I’m Jane Jones and I’m the Assistant to the Deputy President of Vice President Relations.”

            Again, impressive title, but at some point someone is just throwing out words until something sticks.

            So I don’t say that I’m a graduate student lightly, because over the past couple of years that’s been my main identity. Well, not a main identity, but the primary way I identify that nebulous question” What do you do.”

            While I was going to school while trying to get my Education Degree, I was a Senior Analyst. That was a very impressive title, despite the fact that I was not senior, nor was I much of an analyst. I did a lot of data entry. I didn’t mind the data entry, I just did a lot of it. Plus they were just on the cusp of reorganizing as I left, which means my title could have been just about anything at that point, I guess.

            Somewhere along the line, I stopped being much of anything other than a Graduate Student.  If you really want to know the number of jobs I do, I have a lot of them. I’m a part time swim coach, which mostly involves standing on the side of a pool and trying to get the one kid that doesn’t want to do the drill to actually do the drill. The 99% of other kids who just want to swim make it really worthwhile, to be honest with you. But if you asked me two years ago if I was going to be the “coach” of anything, I’d probably laugh while changing the show I was watching on Netflix. This was back before shows just automatically started. It was a dark time.

            I’m a private tutor as well. That part is really interesting, because I get to see a little bit of what life would have been like if I’d continued on the path of being a teacher, without all the extra paperwork. Also, I get to teach what I want, so when I assign my kids to watch a few episodes of Doctor Who to get a Thesis down correctly, then you’d better be sure they’re going to watch Doctor Who until they can memorize the episodes. Or at least the better ones. More Tom Baker and Peter Capaldi. I’m a little ashamed to admit that I’m still not really sure what was going on during Matt Smith’s reign as the Doctor.

            I also work at a University. The same one I’m going to, actually, advising students. I find that this is my favorite job of all of them, to be honest with you. Some one comes in with a problem, we talk, and I solve it. Or pass it on to someone who can, because, well, I’m not all knowing. I’m kind of like Lucy in the Peanuts with my little “Psychiatry – 5 cents” sign. Only they’re being charged WAY more than 5 cents for me to hang around. Also the last time I brought a beagle into work it did NOT go well.

            The truly amazing this is that I do even more that those jobs. I think I counted it out and I had six at last count, which I guess is pretty incredible. But the great news is I don’t really have to wear a tie, which is a major bonus. With the coaching one, I even get to wear flip flops, which is incredible thank you very much.

            My point for writing this? Well, to be honest with you, sometimes I write things that I want everyone to read. I want them to disseminate the information, and try to figure out what it is I’m thinking, and hopefully walk away with a better understanding of who I am, and who they are. But for today. I mentioned in my big “don’t call it a comeback I was never gone I was just resting my eyes” post that I needed a break. One of the reasons I needed a break was the fact that yes… I was working a lot of jobs. And the thing is this, it’s rough. I’m not going to lie. I go to sleep tired, and I don’t get much time for breaks. I don’t even really get much time for sick days.  

            But the thing is… I kind of love it. I love not having the exact same schedule. I love all of my co-workers. I love knowing that I’m making a difference. Plus, it cuts back on a lot of those bored times that you often have at work. Those late Friday afternoons or early Tuesday mornings when you’re having a meeting, or trying to fit in that sodoku puzzle in between checking Pintrest for healthy recipes you won’t actually make. It gives me a sense of purpose, so when I’m billing for those hours, I’m less likely to surf the internet or goof off. (Not that I don’t. I’m just LESS LIKELY to do it.)

            I just wanted to post something to remind myself that I do a lot. And that even though I'm tired, I love every minute of it. So, today's post is more for me, but thanks for reading.

            I wear it with pride. I am a Graduate Student. And I do a hell of a lot.

Bad Shakespeare Takes England: The Crime Report

        We had a lot of fun in London. That’s a good way to start a last post, but trust me, I’ve got posts about my time in Europe to keep going. But, there’s one thing I can’t really gloss over while I was there, and that London, for all its beauty, enchantment, history, and fish and chips places strewn about like hot dog stands in New York, is still a city. And with city, comes crime. So, one of my first days there for class, we had a discussion with the English Police.

            I have to clarify that I mean, “with class” because technically I had been there for over a week already on vacation, apparently blissfully unaware of all of the rampant crime that was around me. But it’s all good, because for the most part, London was a pretty safe place. I mean, I felt safer than that time I left Bourbon Street in New Orleans.

            So, we had a quick lecture on keeping our heads up while in London, and avoiding being victims of crime, because while London is a fun adventure, at that point we were in a foreign land, one that at that point we only knew about from Harry Potter, James Bond, and Doctor Who. And, thankfully, the threat of Dalek attack was pretty low for the time we were there. (Of course, we were told to be on the lookout for dark wizards.)

            The biggest thing that was impressed upon us was the fact that crime in London hadn’t advanced much since Charles Dickens times, and we needed to be on the lookout for pickpockets. Which apparently are more devious than traditional American pickpockets, which also incidentally would be a great name for an indie band.

            We were told to keep our wallets in our front pockets. I had tried the suggestion of reminding any potential pickpockets that we were American College Students and they were more than welcome to try to get money out of us, but my opinions were rightfully shut down pretty early.  But apparently there are all sorts of tactics done by English Pickpockets, including dumping foul smelling liquid on your jacket just as you leave the money changing booth to try and get your hands on your envelope. Apparently the amount of money stolen from you while changing American dollars into British Pounds wasn’t thievery enough. There was also the standard bag slash technique, where they cut open your bag and grab the goodies within. And the usual bump and reach, which they just grab your wallet. We were advised to keep our wallets in the front of our pockets because supposedly it was harder to reach into a man’s front pocket. Fortunately I’d been doing this since I saw an old episode of Seinfeld where George kept talking about being uneven because his wallet pushed one side of his body up too much while he was sitting.

            Ah, George Costanza. Is there anything you can’t teach us?

            Moving on the other big thing we needed to worry about was the fact that we were in international territory, and as such, we needed to ensure that we would not be the victims of… international crime! Which is interesting, because I never thought of myself as ever being a victim of international crime, nor being in a position to be the victim of international crime. Plus, when people say “international crime” it conjures up an image a lot more glamorous than photocopying your passport and keeping it in another location. I think bank heists and thrilling chases that end in parachuting out of planes, not someone trying to steal the identity of a swim coach from Northern Virginia.

            Man, real life is boring.

            The cop that presented this to us of course knew that we had been in London for all of about an hour and we hadn’t yet gotten the chance to get our first beer at the local pub before we were hustled into tiny room and told all about the crime we thought we’d left behind in America was still present, just done by people from a Guy Ritchie movie.

            Is Guy Ritchie still a thing? When do we get something other than Snatch or Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels. He needs to make another movie with Jason Statham.

            Oh, and don’t get me started on the food carts. Apparently, the food carts like we have here in America are unlicensed, and as a result have been know to give people food poisoning. Unexpectedly. Not like the good old American Food carts, where you pretty much accept you’re going to get food poisoning, but it’s worth it when you’re stumbling home from the bars and you just want something to eat real quick before taking a quick nap on the Metro.

            Anyway, he was very aware that we were all on American time, we were tired, and we just wanted to pretend to go to our hotel rooms to rest up for the tour early in the morning when in reality we were going to go find that local pub and hit it up for only ginger ale and juice, because drinking is wrong until I get to my epic stories of Scotch in Scotland. So, he really did try to make it amusing, and tried to calm us down that he has to tell us all the worse bits so we’re aware, but if we pay attention the chances of us being robbed by Charles Dickens Rejects is small. (Also the name for a great Indie Band. I’m on fire today.)

            In the end, no one was really a victim of any crime, except for the aforementioned American Dollar to British Pound exchange rate, and one or two restaurants that I swear just slathered gravy all over everything and called it “Food.” And I joke, but that’s because it was a very serious thing, that I took seriously, but in the long run sometimes you just have to laugh about it. Because yeah, you’re in a foreign country, and you have to be aware, but if you spend all your time just worrying about which person is going to rob you, then you’re going to miss out on a lot of fun.

My Adventures in Fantasy Football Land.

The leaves are starting to change color. The weather is getting cooler. The pitter patter of feet at the movie theater on a weekday has gone away, as I can go see a movie without additional commentary from the cast of Bring It On. And Sunday has become an even more sacred day for those who worship not only in church but with their team on the gridiron.

Ok, at least two of those things. Where I live, the weather has gotten even hotter since the pools closed, which is my proof that whoever controls the weather has a sense of humor that we have yet to understand. 

But back to the Sunday thing… that’s right, sports fans, it’s Football Season. Or for Hipsters and British people, it’s American Football Season. And with Football Season comes, of course, Dungeons and Dragons for Sports Fans: Fantasy Football. (Only not as exciting, at least until I can get my Quarterback to a level where he can cast Fireball, which should cut down on the blitzes.) 

Now, it may come as a shock to you that I don’t follow a lot of sports. I do from time to time, but being a Graduate Student for what feels like forever, Saturdays and Sundays are spent reading and panicking that I didn’t start a project sooner. That’s the life you lead when you’re leading the exciting life of an English Graduate Student. It’s less “Who are the Ravens starting this week?” and more “Who does the Raven represent in the poem.” Yes… the Ravens are named after poem by Baltimore’s most depressing writer, Edgar Allen Poe, who would have probably drafted Tom Brady in his fantasy league, then quickly had him driven mad by some torture device if he didn’t score enough points. I’m going to say a black cat with a pendulum on his tail. You do not mess with Edgar Allen Poe.

But for some reason, I keep getting invites to join Fantasy Football teams. And for some reason I keep joining them. Maybe I have a deep sense of wanting to belong. Or maybe I need to distract myself when I have a 20 page paper due and I don’t really feel like working on it. I normally join two leagues, but this year i paired it down to one, as I really do need to focus on writing that 20 page paper and not really focusing on who all be my starting lineup this week, even it was Cam Newton who didn’t perform like he should have.

Get’im, Edgar!

I can’t keep sending Edgar Allen Poe after my enemies. I have to think about things logically.

The first step in having a fantasy football team wen you have no knowledge of the sport is having a clever name. Because, if you’re going to be looking at it every week and stay out of 11th place (there are 12 teams) I’ll at least want to appear witty. I really wanted to call my team Much Ado about Running, but there wasn’t enough space. Last year I was Merchant of Menace, which is nice, but a little too generic. I also considered Tight Endronicus, and offering freshly baked pies to my enemies, but that’s too obscure. Same with Corio-Running Back. I also considered Malvolio’s Revenge, but that’s only funny to a few people. I decided on Richard III and Long, because when you want to strike fear into your opponent, you pick the play that was the Live Free or Die Hard of Shakespeare’s Henriad. 

Now maintaining a fantasy football team when you have only a rudimentary knowledge of the sport is an interesting task. On the one hand, there are many stats that you can look at, but like I said, English Major, so those stats might as well be written in Klingon, because numbers are scary. Especially Seven. Bad things are associated with seven. Sins. Dwarves. The Harry Potter book where Snape dies. (Spoilers!) 

Moving on.

When I logged into our Fantasy Draft, late because I forgot we were doing a Fantasy Draft, the computer was making my picks for me, and probably because it was able to take those “stats” and turn the into “something meaningful” because that and arguing with a guy we’ll never meet about which Batman was the best are really the only reasons to own a computer anymore. But I had a quarterback with some great stats, but I still wanted to snag Robert Griffin III because it fit into my team name, and because I live in Washington, DC my home team are the Redskins. For now. Most of the off season has been spent trying to change their name, which is going to create a lot of vintage merchandise when it goes through. 

Anyway, my strategy for picking the team was to look at the one stat I could decipher: The projected points, and saying “sure. I’ll pick that!” Which led to the computer, which provided a nice analysis, saying that I had a powerhouse few first rounds, then I started failing when I picked people with lower stats. Which I didn’t really understand, because shouldn’t the people with lower stats be picked last, anyway? I tried not to overthink it.

The Bottom Line is, it gave me a “B” in terms of drafting. So my first official grade of the semester is a “B” given to me by a computer, because I felt I needed a kicker at some point.

I think I have a pretty good team. At least I didn’t lose by quite as much as I thought I would at the end of the first few days. It was still a pretty hefty defeat, but both a blowout or anything like that. Not enough for me to cover my head and hide. The season is still young, plenty of time to make it up.

Of course that means a lot of tweaking my roster. Which means this paper can wait, right?

Your Guide to Summer Fashion!

Whelp, ladies and gentlemen, we are officially past Memorial Day, which means despite the fact that those mean scientists keep telling us that Summer won’t hit for another month, it’s unofficially summer! As the weather changes from Disney’s carefully crafted long-term advertisement for Frozen to the warm weather that will make us all wish we were in Frozen (R.I.P. Olaf. I’ll leave a carrot on the curb for you) every news source and website turns its attention from whatever is happening in the news to the age old debate:

What is appropriate to wear in the workplace during the summer months when the fires of Hell itself scorch the Earth?

Yes, places that bill themselves as legitimate news sources dedicate time and energy to telling people that perhaps they shouldn’t be wearing flip-flops to the office, tell the “younger generation” that they should cover up, helpful ways to dress up but not really dress up, or other helpful “tips” that are either outdated, rehashed, or just plain common sense. Yes, careful reader… you probably should leave the “No fat chicks” shirt at home.

Well, thinking about this, I realized: hey… I’m a source of something. And I don’t have an office job. So I can help, because I’m helpful like that. So here we go, ladies and gentlemen… Bad Shakespeare’s tips for proper dressing for the office this summer.

-I kind of feel that the office weirdo gets left out of most of these articles. Office weirdo, you keep wearing those mismatched sweaters and wildly inappropriate-for-the-weather outfits. Ski parka? Absolutely. Aviator googles and a gladiator helmet in case you hit a personalized wormhole and get sent back in time and have to face off against Roman Gladiators? Absolutely. 

In fact, I would recommend everyone do the last part. Just in case.

-Men of course, are expected most of the time to wear a shirt and tie. The summer really shouldn’t be any excuse to dress down. Remember that there are many combinations of fabrics that should make any shirt light, breezy and easy to wear. There are also many different combinations that will not only help with the weather, but help convey a message.

Rolling up your sleeves, while keeping your arms cool will tell everyone you’re ready to get down to work and get into the weeds of the important project.

Undoing your tie signifies that you have been working long hours… longer than your so-called co-worker who is sitting there in his linen shirt, obviously not working at all. 

Untucking your shirt, unbuttoning the bottom and tying it in a knot exposing your stomach signifies that you’ve shed your winter weight, and you are ready for summer mating.

-Superheroes: We appreciate the time you save by wearing your superhero outfits under your suits, but really, we appreciate it. That bank won’t be saved any faster because you had to change completely. Unless you can control ice. Then to hell with you, you’d better be on duty all the time when we get to August and summer just won’t end.

-Now for my advice for what is appropriate for women to wear to the office. Actually, it’s a message to every other person out there giving women advice on what to wear to the office: Don’t. you’re not going to win this one. If you’re a male blogger/writer/fashion advice guy… unless your first name is “Tim” and your last name is “Gunn”, just don’t. 

-When going to a concert after work, there is some debate if it’s ok to wear the shirt of the concert you’re going to. Some people say, “don’t be that guy, wearing it.” However, I feel it’s important for my co-workers to know that the Dave Mathew Band rocks. The best way to show that is the commemorative shirt I bought for way too much money at the last show I went to.

-Footwear is important. I recommend throwing away all of your shoes in May. Just go barefoot. If you’re working hard enough, your feet are under your desk already, right? It’s not like anyone can see it.

-Also, bathing suits should be worn under every outfit. Not only will this get you in the summer mood, see the Superhero comment: you have the ability to change from boring office to summer sun in a few minutes.

-Speaking of which, if you get sunburned, it’s your duty to wear something that shows off the sunburn as much as possible. This will serve two purposes: 1) it sends the message that you did venture outside, mole-like eyes blinking in the light, and you allowed your precious, precious skin to bake in the late afternoon sun for a few moments. And 2) it allows us to give you advice that we’d never take of the most disgusting stuff you can slather on that skin to help avoid a few hours of pain.

Strawberry Jelly. Trust me. Works like a charm.

-Keep in mind that no matter what you wear to the office, you’re going to offend someone. At some point this summer, it will be hot enough that you’ll show up in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt along with a shiny “What are you going to do about it?” look upon your face. You get two. Use them wisely. 

Very, very wisely. 

Classic Literature. Original Gangsta

As some of you may have noticed, on the Bad Shakespeare Facebook page (oh... you didn’t know there’s a Facebook page? Have you liked it yet? Let’s make our relationship Facebook Official) I’ve been posting clips to a new Web Series, Thug Notes. This webseries has been picking up popularity lately, with profiles in The New York Times and NPR, and I’m surprised I haven’t said anything sooner because it’s completely awesome.

For those of you who don’t know, Thug Notes features your host, Sparky Sweets, PhD (Actually Greg Edwards, not PhD) who summarizes and analyzes classic literature in a unique and actually extremely accurate manner. But in language pretty much anyone can understand. For instance, the characters in Hamlet all “end up in chalk”; Oedipus was “boning his mama... HIS MAMA”; Wuthering Heights is referred to as “Dub Heezy”... you get the drift. Essentially re-telling all these classic pieces of literature in plain language. Well... plain-ish language. 

Also, the analysis is freakin’ awesome. It’s just... it’s a thing of beauty. It’s usually only about two minutes of analysis, so it’s not the entire thing, but everything could be used as a jumping off point for further exploration. He goes into some serious detail about what these stories are about, even managing to bring in other pieces of literature that can help discuss what he just talked about.

What I really enjoy about Thug Notes (and this is something that has been echoed by Greg Edwards in recent interviews) is that it is a different way of looking at literature. It’s a fun way of looking at literature, as a way to sort of make it fun again. I think somewhere along the line we forgot that literature used to be our television and movies. William Shakespeare wasn’t writing to make things all high and mighty or to prove a point... sometimes at the end of the day he just wanted to write a quaint little piece about a guy and his wife who bond through regicide. Alexander Dumas wanted to write a swashbuckling adventure that involved swordplay and deep political intrigue. And Herman Melville just wanted to write a book about a guy hunting a whale, no deeper symbolism.

Wait... what? Man’s quest for the unreachable? Moby Dick? Really? Wow, you learn lot watching Thug Notes.

Recently, I did an entire series of posts talking about the wonderfulness that was Breaking Bad, and how it tied directly to Shakespearean themes. I thought it was a good series of posts, but it was also a reminder that literature is where we can look for it. If we dismissed Breaking Bad as simply “not literature” because it’s a television show and for some reason not high art, we lose those themes of loss, betrayal, greed, we lose great moments of symbolism like the teddy bear in season 2, and whatever the hell purple was supposed to represent with Marie. Simply put, we lose those things because we’re too busy trying to find “what is art” and landing squarely on “art isn’t anything we produce today because it’s Television and reasons.”

Also, I’ll be starting up an analysis of Sons of Anarchy, which is loosely based on Hamlet and has similar themes that I’d like to explore. Coming in May, following this whole internship thing when I don’t go long stretches without posting anything. Which I also consider a form of literature. Why? Because it still contains those themes that we should be exploring, updated for today’s hip, motorcycle loving audience. 

But the other great thing about Thug Notes is the fact that it’s a reminder that sometimes looking at analysis can be fun.

A few years back I took a course on Shakespeare. There was a lot of analysis in that class, obviously, of the themes, symbols, etc that were deep not just in Shakespeare’s plays, but some of the earliest plays that ever graced the stage. They were good analysis, but let’s face it: it was a graduate class full of graduate students, and we were all trying to sound smart. The best classes were the ones where we had fun with it, we talked about revenge but threw something funny in it, or we played up a line out of context that was hilarious. We took our time to enjoy the class and not just sit around trying to figure out exactly what Iago meant when he looked at the audience the whole time. (It meant he loved us. All.) 

Thug Notes is just fun. And that’s the important thing: we need to have fun with it. We need to enjoy ourselves and have fun with this literature, and have fun with the analysis. There are jokes hidden deep within some of these texts. The opening scene of Julius Caesar is some of the funniest dialogue in the play, believe it or not. (Before the betrayal and killing, that is.) It’s just fun stuff that we need to start enjoying. And not pretend that scholars have some kind of hold over what makes literature great.

And where can you check it out? Well, Bad Shakespeare has a link for you! www.youtube.com/user/thugnotes

Hamlet the Wondercat vs. The Salamander

It was the morning when the invader found his way into my house. A normal morning, like any other. The door was opened for any number of reasons... maybe I was checking the temperature. Perhaps it was time to get the newspaper, or even the mail I neglected to get the night before because I’m incredibly lazy. Maybe I was running late for work and threw caution to the wind as I tossed the door open with reckless abandon (sidenote: this was probably the reason.) But as the door was open and the house was a new place, the Salamander decided it was time to relocate to better surroundings.

He was an ordinary Salamander. He presumably led a normal salamander life before venturing forth into the cool recesses of my house. Maybe he had explored other houses and decided he liked laminate flooring, grey walls, and a vast collection of Star Trek toys. But he took those first few fateful steps into the house, and the Salamander’s fate was sealed. 

Almost immediately, Hamlet the Wondercat sensed an imbalance in his household. It’s a little known fact that cats, Hamlet in particular, are finely tuned to pick up disturbances in the force. That’s why there are so many mentions of Kitten-Jedi’s in the original Star Wars Trilogy. (Think about it: the Death Star is shaped just like a ball of yarn.) His white little ears perked up, and his differently colored eyes grew more focused. No longer just an animal sitting around, sleeping or wanting to play, not he had a mission: to destroy the intruder.

The first battle took place in the living room. Fortunately not the home of the aforementioned Star Trek collectables. Salamander deftly avoided his great white attacker beast, dipping and dodging underneath the couch, then over to the dining room table. Did he have the ability to climb the walls? Yes. Yes he did, as Hamlet the Wondercat discovered, as he leapt futilely towards the lizard. After an unfortunate experience with his head an the wall, Hamlet shook his head, and began round two of the great battle. 

The second battle took place in the kitchen. Hamlet let out a might roar as he pounced towards the tiny lizard. Of course, Hamlet was no match for the combined speed of the Salamander and those laminate floors that first attracted the lizard to his non-native habitat. Hamlet slid out of control, slamming into the kitchen table with such force that it knocked over an errant glass of water that had been left out because I was rushing off to work. 

Sensing an opportunity and a vast size difference, the Salamander dashed back into the living room, then under the nearest couch. However, unknown to the crafty lizard, Hamlet was well versed in hiding under the couch, being the youngest of three cats. He was still able to squeeze under it, although just barely. What he didn’t realize was the fact that this was just where the Salamander wanted him... under the couch, unable to quickly maneuver! Salamander was off, heading back to the portal that was going to take him away... but it was sealed! His escape was cut off? What to do next?

But it was too late. Hamlet the Wondercat had broken free from the couch, and was letting out yet another mighty roar has he pounced, this time catching the Salamander by the tail. Of course, it broke free, as Salamanders tails were built to do, but it still wasn’t enough... Hamlet the Wondercat had the hunting lust. With one mighty swipe of his white paw, the struggle was over, and the intruder had been neutralized. 

Feeling satisfied with is kill, Hamlet laid down on his favorite part of the couch for a mid-morning, pre-lunch nap, confident that he not only defended his house, but the beast who brings him his food would dispose of the body. 

Then there was the slight buzzing of a fly...

Stand Up Against Neil DeGrasse Tyson's Bullying.

                Recently, I saw a preview for the upcoming Summer Movie, Pacific Rim. For those of you who don’t know, Pacific Rim is a dramatic movie how man uses technology to help overcome the deep distrust of nature and of each other. Also, it features giant robots wailing on giant monsters. Did you see the preview, where the one robot picks up a bus, then he starts swinging it at the giant monster, and then it’s all like WHAM! BOOM! SMASH! And then he fires off a rocket fist and smashes his giant arm into the head of the monster, and he all like falls. Yeah. That’s pretty awesome.

                My point is that Pacific Rim looks like an awesome summer movie, and I’m going in to enjoy it because I have an affinity for giant robots, giant monsters, and the movie’s star Idris Elba. (Who also co-starred in the soon to be cinematic classic: Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengance.) But that didn’t stop some scientists from publishing their “groundbreaking” article that talked about the physics of giant robots, and how these particular giant robots just wouldn’t work.

                I’d like to point out again that this is a movie about giant robots fighting giant monsters who are emerging from another dimension. The second the word “giant” appears anywhere, unless preceded by “Andre The” then I really don’t want to hear your scientific rants. I understand it’s not real. That’s part of the reason I’m going to see a movie. Because to my knowledge, we don’t really have giant robots that fight giant monsters, unless you count the car-sized robots that I’m sure Charlie Sheen and Nicolas Cage have built and use to fight on their secret island off the cost of Alaska.

                Next you’ll be telling me that Amy Pohler doesn’t really work at the City Council in Pawnee, or that Ke$ha is a real thing.

                I’m bringing this up because this is part of a disturbing trend where a cool movie will come out, and then some mean scientists will work as hard as they can in proving that the physics just don’t add up. Or something doesn’t add up, and that really couldn’t happen. A “big” news story (big in nerd-land) came out that professional smart guy Neil DeGrasse Tyson (I did enjoy his video game, “Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s Punch-Out!!” when I was growing up) declared that Star Trek was more believable than Star Wars.

                I’m not sure if he used it by the metric that the Star Trek point eared guys aren’t green and they don’t speak conspicuously like Fozzie Bear, or some other strange thing, but I guess we’ll never know the logic of one of the smartest men on the planet. There’s also no word on whether he thinks the doctors on Grey’s Anatomy are any better than the ones on ER, but I like to think that the ones on ER didn’t all sleep with each other. Again, I’m not sure.

                It’s called “suspension of disbelief.” Yes, I know that there’s no rocketship from a dying planet that contains a small child that will go off to fight crime. I know that if a rich guy could build a suit of armor like that he’d most likely use it to play polo in space with his rich friends (rich guys still play polo, right?) I know that Vin Diesel doesn’t actually command an army of street racing jewel thieves. And I know that Jason Statham doesn’t… Jason… no, I’m pretty sure that Jason Statham is real.

                Movies, books, TV Shows exist to help us escape from our giant robot-less, John McClane-less, Lightsaber-less, Green-skinned women-less lives. We use it as a way to say, “hey… let’s go explore the depths of our imagination.” We do it because we’ve never seen a guy fly before, and it would be pretty neat to see it. We’ve been imagining these things back before CGI existed, when it just had to be done on green screen. Or better yet back when we just had to read about it and use our own brains to figure out what it would look like when the son of Zeus decided he’d had enough and was going to lay the smack down on some Greeks. (Has anyone re-done Hercules with the Rock yet? You should get on that, Hollywood.)

                Look, scientists are awesome. They gave us all the things in life that we need to survive, like Penicillin, roads, refrigeration, Netflix, and eventually, Scarlett Johansson. I respect what scientists do. Up until they spend money to tell me that the giant robots fighting giant monsters couldn’t happen. I know that it won’t really happen. I just want to imagine that for two hours that if it did, it would look like what’s up on the screen. Rather than wasting time on disproving science in a movie, we focus on curing disease or figuring out how to make a Butterfinger so it won’t break before you eat it?

I'll Probably Never Really Grow Out of Wanting To Be A Superhero

                I was all set today to do some of my usual advice for graduating college seniors, the first of which being that the real world sucks, and you should probably just stay in college. But then I came across this story from Blastr.com about a school banning “Wrestling, Super Hero Play, and Monster Games”… you know, all those things that made pre-school (and some sections of High School) worth living. And here’s a good lesson for graduating seniors: if you’re passionate about something and you see wrong-doing, then do something to fix it.

                Why the hell would we want to ban children from expressing creativity, passion, and sense of adventure. Let them be superheroes before they're too old to know better.

                Let’s get the academic stuff out of the way first. Let’s not forget that all of the earliest stories are about Superheroes. That’s the first place the mind has gone. The earliest recorded stories are of fantastic men and women doing fantastic things usually against fantastic odds and fantastic creatures. One could even call it “fantastic.” Perhaps four fantastic individuals can form a team one day.

                Moving on.

One of the first heroes, Hercules, was a dude who was half god and had to perform miraculous feats while battling a goddess. (And his evil mother. That also leads to mother-tropes in fantasy and early fiction, but that’s another post. Let’s focus out outrage on this Superhero thing for now.) One of the earliest and boringest things they make you read in school is Beowulf, a dude who fights an evil monster and dragon, a feat that no other hero could perform. It’s almost like it’s “superheroic.” And that’s one of the earliest recorded stories, ever. But I’ve discussed the early origins of Superheroes to death, and why you should love them and bring a Superman comic into class for your next book report.

I get, logically why some school administrators want to ban “Super Hero Play.” (Note how I spell it. I spell it the right way.) I get that ultimately, they want to stop 5 year olds from rough housing, which is sort of like asking the rain not to be wet, or Ben Affleck to stop Ben Afflecking. Kids are going to be kids, and they’re going to rough house. So, why are we stopping them from throwing on a towel, saying, “I’m Superman” and rushing to save the day?

Superheroes are an ingrained part of our culture. Of all cultures. Why can’t we use them to teach kids what Superhero play is all about? (I can’t keep spelling it their way, guys. Sorry.) Why can’t we use superheroes to teach responsible lessons? Superman protects the innocent because he can. He’s stronger than everyone else. Batman, despite the fact that can knock a man down with the wave of two fingers, resorts to violence as a last method. He dresses as a giant bat to scare people into submission. Spider-man is a kid trying to find his way. Green Lantern is an intergalactic space cop with a magic ring that can make anything he wants. (See. Now you know why the movie failed.) The list goes on and on.

Or why not use these lessons to start to get to stories about heroes from the past. Superman is a gateway to the Greek Myths and ancient gods that expected it’s heroes to be larger than life. Batman is a ripoff of countless heroes that came before him, not the least of which being the Scarlet Pimpernel. What about the superheroic team-up of Athos, Porthos, Aremis, and D’Artangan?

I remember when I was little, I created my own superhero. He was invincible. I remember making my mother carry around a cape and a mask that she made for me so I could become him at any time. And while I knew about Superman, Batman, and Spiderman, this was a superhero of my own creation. And that made it all the more special to me. I still remember that hero until this day. (If you’re nice to me, one day I’ll share his name.) And while I like to think I grew out of it, the Green Lantern Ring (or some variation) I wear every day is my little reminder that superheroes are always going to be a part of me. And sometimes, no matter how old I get, it’s just fun to pretend you are one.

I’d hate to think that there’s some kid out there who gets to be denied pretending he’s a superhero because someone is afraid he’ll get hurt. There’s plenty of time to get hurt out there, and putting on a fake cape really is the least of your concerns.

Just remember to teach them that no matter what they’re wearing, they can’t really fly.