Jim Henson

I love people who go all out, even overboard, for little things. It’s a good thing to spice up and excite the monotony of everyday life. A few good examples:

Last night, for FHE, we carved pumpkins. Mine was stenciled to look like The Count from Sesame Street. There was going to be a prize for the best one (two tickets to a haunted house). Not to be outdone, a friend of mine went out and purchased an electric pumpkin carving knife. Way to step up your game.

A few weeks ago, I played Rock Band at a friend’s house. Another friend of his brought with his a custom made bass-drum foot pedal, made from an actual drum pedal! Because the factory one was just not responsive enough. They also owned real microphone stands for exclusive game use.

My First Amendment professor writes and performs songs to recap chapters from our textbook. We recently finished going over cases dealing with obscenity.

OBSCENITY – I KNOW IT WHEN I SEE IT
(to the tune of “Modern Major General” from “Pirates of Penzance”)

I know a dirty picture from a gem by
Michelangelo

I know a verse by Shakespeare from
descriptions of fellatio

In dealing with obscenity and matters
scatological

My teaching of this subject is not strictly
pedagogical

When prurient appeal is made the standard
Of obscenity

We’ve got a court-made doctrine more mysterious
than the trinity

To understand the Burger Court’s conception of
pornography

You need to have the wisdom of a doctor
of cryptography

I think that those who peddle porn lack mental
versatility

They’ve reached the lowest point of intellectual
sterility

But as a way of life the stuff is almost
institutional

And forces an analysis of matters
constitutional.


I’m pretty fond of going all out on elaborate practical jokes. As a lesser example: three years ago, for April Fools Day, I played a joke on one of my roommates. He had a beta fish whose bowl was prominently displayed in our house. We nicknamed the fish “Job” because he was so poorly taken care of that we were thought he should “curse God and die.” So, for April Fool’s day, I went to Petsmart and procured a bowl identical to his with matching rocks and plant and two goldfish. At midnight, I snuck downstairs and swapped my bowl for his. It took him nearly a full day to realize that there were two goldfish where Job used to be. For good measure, I kept his fish hidden behind a stack of textbooks on the bookshelf in my room for an additional week. Both of those fish, being pet store goldfish, died shortly thereafter. But, my girlfriend thought that I had so much fun with them and bought me two more for my birthday (along with a really cool belt buckle and a toy stegosaurus). We named him Groucho for the black mark on the top of his fish lips (a la Groucho Marx’s mustache).

Groucho went the way of the buffalo this past week. He was a good goldfish. Lived for an astonishing three years in spite of three moves, my sister’s cat’s love of goldfish flavored water, and a teency-weency bit of occasional neglect. He was a real trooper and came back from the brink of goldfish death more often than a goldfish ought to be able to. He will be missed.

Groucho the Fish, RIP.

Freddie Mercury

I love singing along with the radio. Recently, I haven’t been listening to a ton of music in my car. A series of car battery failures have erased my programmed radio stations (and keeps erasing them again once I’ve painstakingly found and re-entered stations that I don’t mind). As often as not, I’m listening to an audiobook, or a This American Life podcast, which you can’t sing along to. This past Friday, however, I had someone in my car. I was taking her to the airport, which meant that we had maybe 30 min in the car together. I’m sick of the six cds that I have in my trunk, you have to have SOMETHING on in the background, she hadn’t read the vampire novel I’m re-listening to, and I wanted to talk to her. So, I put some Queen on in the background. It’s familiar enough that you can ignore it, but fun enough to add something nice in the spaces between conversation. What’s better than singing along with the radio? Two people singing along to the radio, together.

Saturday night I went to the movies with my dad to watch a western that just came out. The most enjoyable part of the movie was the terse, tough-guy dialogue between the two central characters. I LOVE tough-guy dialogue. Who can forget when Princess Leia said “I love you” to Han Solo, and all he said back was “I know.” It’s one of the things that keep me going back to westerns, noir, and pulp. A texbook example would be Humphrey Bogart’s Sam Spade from the Maltese Falcon.
(please read aloud in your best Bogart voice)

Joel Cairo: You always have a very smooth explanation...
Sam Spade: What do you want me to do, learn to stutter?
___________
Spade: I hope you're not letting yourself be influenced by the guns these pocket-edition desperadoes are waving around, because I've practiced taking guns from these boys before; so we'll have no trouble there.
__________
Sam Spade: All we've got is that maybe you love me and maybe I love you.
Brigid O'Shaughnessy: You know whether you love me or not.
Sam Spade: Maybe I do. I'll have some rotten nights after I've sent you over, but that'll pass…. I hope they don't hang you, precious, by that sweet neck. Yes, angel, I'm gonna send you over. The chances are you'll get off with life. That means if you're a good girl, you'll be out in 20 years. I'll be waiting for you. If they hang you, I'll always remember you.

Now, I think that I understand why dialogue like this appeals to me. The speakers are independent, assertive, confident, but still principled (even if it’s their own code they follow). They’ll fall for a woman, but don’t let her influence adversely affect them. They’re cool and capable under fire. I sometimes work quips like these into my conversation, but it’s always a little tongue-in-cheek or self-deprecating. Why? Because, among other things, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s not a very efficient way of going about my affairs. And, I just have too much to get done. That doesn’t mean that I can’t be tickled pink by seeing it on the silver screen.

Lastly, I’ve been reminded of the cyclical nature of things. Recently, life has been a bowl of cherries. It turns out, I may actually have some career potential after all. (whew). Weight off my shoulders. Additionally, some of the social stress common to being a young, single LDS student has been alleviated. This combined stress reduction and enjoyment infusion has made the last week and a half of my life a joy. In the back of my mind, though, was the itch of a thought that things can’t be that breezy forever. Life is still good. Great. The good things are still there and still good. But, I am starting to feel a few of those existing life stressors slowly slipping their roots into the space left by the recently vacated stressors, bringing life back to a grounded, but not entirely unpleasant, normal.