The Constant Gardener.

Well, I know what you're thinking: "Johnny rarely blogs on weekends, and it's a holiday in the US. That lazy Johnny is surely not doing anything on Labor Day!" So, yeah, you'd be correct. I'm going to the market, and then I'm going to read and lounge all day. And night. So you'd get a cookie. At this point, Johnny gets defensive and says, "What the hell are you doing reading blogs on Labor Day?" You get angry with Johnny for his gumption. But you have no answer, other than that you are bored. "Cookouts get old, and I don't want to drink today, since I have to go back to my boring job tomorrow. I'm bored, so I'm reading blogs, especially the most kick-ass of blogs. I just finished reading that one about pencils," you say to Johnny. Johnny says that he feels for you. Take away work, and most of us don't know what do to with ourselves. Well, I should say yourselves, since Johnny is a master of relaxing. So you're bored. Since you're bored, go see The Constant Gardener, not that you have to be bored to enjoy it or that you will be bored watching it. I didn't read the book (never heard of it). I didn't know anything about the movie, other than that it is set in Africa and stars a very sad Ralph Fiennes. That's more than you need to know. I'm not going to tell you what it's about or hint at the ending. That would ruin it. But trust your lovable blogging philosopher, and go check out the film. And tell me what you think of it.

Photo Friday: Order.

Line of Rocks. For Photo Friday: Order. Some rocks that my friend Carrie lined up when she and Brian came to visit in March. These are from Giant City State Park.

Blog Day.

So, I think that Blog Day is a really good idea and that good will come of it. But I am not really sure that I know about a lot of blogs that everyone who reads this does not also know about. But you know, I's gots a few, so I won't be stingy. Here are my five, in no particular order, just in the order they came off of my FireFox bookmarks when I looked for them. Timberlines -- Pencil royalty. This is a very new but also very well-done blog by a nice guy whose living is making pencils. What more could you ask for? He's also gotten himself some nice Moleskines recently and a hidden talent for drawing, so I know we're in for some treats. Front Porch Living -- Deliciously impish blog by Neighbor Girl who is from my hometown, of all places. If you don't get the title at first, watch a nice John Waters movie and notice how everyone in Baltimore likes to sit on their porch or steps or stoop. The newest post is called "At least I'm rockin the cleavage," so you know you're in for some good reading. That Shadow My Likeness -- Alcarwen kicks ass because she is also from Maryland and because we went to the same college that I did, though I can't say that we ever met. Her boyfriend does look familiar, though. Good graduate student blogs are really hard to come by, and this one definitely qualifies. Slimbolala -- Great stories and drawings, and a nice guy who, luckily, got out of New Orleans before Katrina hit. Been a steady reader for a full month or two now. Criminently, Nutsey! -- The brain behind Notes to Netflix. And a pencil fan, to boot.

Aliens and lazers.

So a certain forum on which I can occasionally be found has a section about UFOs and aliens, with the question, "Do you believe?" Because I am being birthday-lazy a day early this year, I am just posting a rant from there here. I never claimed to not be lazy, so don't look so shocked! (Sorry you have to be subjected to this again, Bowman.) Really, though, I'm just boring and have nothing to say to the masses tonight. Woogity boogity boo.

There most certainly is intelligent life out there from other planets. When I go to the store in Hick-land (where I live), the rednecks tell me, "You don't look like you're from around here, bo-ah." I say, "I'm not. I'm from the East Coast." They say, "I can tell." Then I tell the rednecks that I am not from the East Coast but am actually a spy from another planet, "Uh, Jasper, I'm from another galaxy, brother," I say, but they always think I'm joking. "That queer-looking sissy bo-ah from the ocean state says he ain't from around here, and he means it, by golly! Bubba, get me ma gun." Then the rednecks make fun of me for my educational pursuits, for the fact that I voted for Kerry but still love my country and because they think I look gay and and think that gay people are either evil or funny. So I get upset and send a message to my home planet to come and get me. Because I'm not finished with my work here (that being to study Western philosophy in an attempt to get to the true nature of what it means to be human so that we can figure you all out before we take over the universe and everything in it), the elders of my planet refuse to come and get me. This is very annoying, since the Earth body they picked for me is too large and hairy, and it's hot in the Bible Belt. So I beam the elders back an official letter of complaint. In order to shut me up, they do allow me seven lazer obliterations after this. So I hunt down the redneck who made fun of where I come from and displayed an apalling homophobia, and I use one beam on his fat ass. One on the rest of him. Three on his huge pickup trick. One on his tractor and another on his mailbox, just because that's funny. This makes me feel better, so I can stay here and complete my mission. I'm patriotic. I work hard for my planet and our cause of interplanetary conquest. Okay, intergalactic conquest. I do get paid a lot of alien bucks for my work from the elders, but I can't use it on this planet. You humans and your lowly plastic and paper money. Damn you. So yeah, I believe in aliens. I ain't from around here.

Thanks to "Sgt. Slaughter" for letting me share his story with you. But, between you and I, I think he might really be from another planet. Seriously. That dude is scary.

Cameras, boredom and boogies.

So I just haven't really felt like taking a lot of photos lately. The kiddies and little dudes are all back on campus now, and the people watching is the best it's been since April. I've spent a lot of time in Starbucks this week enthralled. Still, no photos. I don't think that my camera has set it's lense on campus since July. But, you see, my old Canon Powershot A60 is just not that fun to play with anymore. A few times this month, high humidity has made the screen flicker, and the photos I took at the department picnic last weekend look terrible, since the temperature without the humidity was above the "operationg temperature" for the camera. I know, it's my fault for whipping it out in a sauna like that, but it's never been bothered by it before. I can't count how many times I dropped that camera or got parts of it wet and got who-knows-what under the screen. Hell, I almost dropped it into the Mississippi River once, and still got it a little wet from the splashing Mahtay Mississipp'. I can't really complain about the durability. When my family and wife asked what I wanted for my birthday next week, I said that I would like everyone to chip in and get me a new camera. Because either I rock or they rock (come on, it's me who does it like that), that's just what is happened. So my new camera is coming Monday from Dell. The faster memory card is right behind it. And the mini tripod and case later in the week. At first I automatically decided on the Powershot A95, since it's an evolved A60. But I think that moveable screen is going to drive me nuts. Plus, that thing is heavy and is a year old. I changed my mind when I held the Powershot A520 at the store around here. It's smaller and lighter and newer and comes with better software. It does not have as many megapixels as the former (four, rather than five), but I have literally never ever ever printed a photo of mine. The bigger the file, the worse off I'll be. Truly, the A510 (3.2 MP) would be fine, but the sale at Dell made the price difference only twelve dollars, and I like the color of the 520 better. I know, that brings up why I don't just keep my current camera. Come on, everyone likes new toys. And I am going to start being a birthday brat tonight, and continue until after Tuesday. I really hate secure digital cards, but I found the SanDisk Ultra II that promises to be fast. Canon is fazing out Compact Flash, the memory type I like (hey, they are big, but they are fast). Time for me to get with it. And all that. So there you go. That's why I haven't been making other people's lives more awesome lately with photos and goodies and etc. But that will change soon. I'm always strangely sober on my birthday.

Photo Friday: Chaos.

Punks In Car Window. For this week's Photo Friday challenge, Chaos.

This is a photo of my two brothers that I took in the reflection of Tom's Focus while I was in Baltimore for the holidays in December 2003. In fact, I think that's Christmas. Why chaos? Come on. They look like punks, especially with that spray paint behind them on the wall. They look like they are getting ready to steal my new camera that I had just gotten that day. Or my kidneys. Even in their p.j.'s. Especially in their p.j.'s.

Let them eat evil!

Nevermind how I know. Nevermind where I found The Oprah Magazine that has it. Nevermind etc. Let's just say that I little bird told me that Jodie Foster contributed a list of six books she wants everyone to know she likes to the "Bookshelf" section of Oprah's ad-fest of a publication. The first on the list is The Flowers of Evil, by my personal favorite French poet of the macabre, Charles Baudelaire. You know, I'm just gonna quote this, because I won't get it right otherwise:

"I went to the French lycee in Los Angelos, and, like every high school student in the French school system, I studied the work of 19th-century poet Charles Baudelaire. At 15, the height of brooding and dark self-discovery, I recited his poems by heart and thrilled to the exotic language, filled with taboo ideas and strange metaphors involving death and decay. It's a must-read for any depressed adolescent."

Wow. Personally, I hit the adolescent nadir all through the ages of 15-17 and only came to be a little (very) more sunny when I got to college. I did my duty and read my Poe constantly when I was a teenager. I memorized several of his poems, and I can still recite "The Raven" if I've had enough to drink. A friend of mine tells me that she knows someone who had her life saved by Poe, by realizing that "there was at least one more fucked up person out there" and that her dark thoughts did not necessarily kick her out of the herd of the rest of us. But I still don't think I'd actually recommend this stuff to depressed teenagers. Look what reading too much Poe did to me: I'm a philosophy student. The sad little dudes should read their Whitman. Uncle Walt can save the day. Or if they really want to read the French, they should read Rimbaud between math and lunch. Totally. Though for you grown-ups, you should read Baudelaire's Paris Spleen. That's yummy stuff.

Sorry I'm so lazy.

The start of the semester is always busy, whether in a good way or in a bad way. For me, it's busy in a good way so far this year, that is, since yesterday. A lighter schedule and a dissertation prospectus to work on, getting more exercise and getting to read more of what relates to my dissertation topic. Life is good this week. No more exams for a while and the promise of cooler weather in about a month. It is strange to see the new students coming to the university this week, though, especially yesterday. It's been eight years, but I remember the feeling of getting to a new and bigger school and of not knowing anyone but assuming that everyone else knows one another already through some esoteric meetings that we shy kids didn't know anything about. I think that I can pick out the little dudes who don't know anyone yet out of a crowd of people who are all walking alone to class, just by the look of sadness and fear on their faces. Little do the little dudes know that they will have more friends than they can ever keep in touch with by the end of the first month of classes. They'll come out of their shells, fall in and out of love, make friends in the faculty and not want to leave when graduate looms yonder. Poor little dudes. I wish I could tell them, but I don't think that they would believe me. That, and I am probably more shy than they are.

Photo Friday: One.

The Claw.

This is my friend Chris' hand coming through a tree that we found which sports a hole on both ends. We each took some shots through the tree, with the background in focus and with the tree in focus. But I like this one for Photo Friday: One.

Take that, stupid exams!

Dear Prelims, I accept your apology for stealing my summer and my sanity. I realize that I was a baby to complain so much and to worry so much and that I really wasted my own energy and mental health in over-preparing for certain things. I would also like to apologize, dear prelims, for kicking your ass. I didn't mean to beat you so quickly and to bloody your nose and split your lip and knock you down. Unless, of course, I find out that you are a faker and are really Okay and that you poison-darted me somehow and that now you win. That I have to re-take you and have only one more chance before I fail out of my graduate program. In that case, I take back my apology and promise you that the next person you face will make you cry and etc. Your tires are not safe, and I will steal all of your sugar and milk, Mr. Prelims. I'll cut your electricity when you are emailing your other exam buddies to talk about how poopy you are -- just before you hit "send." I'll put beer in your shoes, Mr. Prelims. In your shoes! Mwa ha ha ha. Mr. Prelims, stay down, sucka. Do it. Love and kisses, John