I'm going to say something. And im pretty sure that if you disagree with this thing i say. Than i think you are a douche-bag. High stakes, i know. I could lose some readers with this one. Here goes.

Talking on your cell phone while dealing with a person in the service industry; this is check-out people, waiters/waitresses, anyone behind a counter really; is the utmost of disrespect and should be punishable. I have not yet thought of what it should be punishable by (and im trying not to go there cause im obviously a bit worked up about this), but i know it should be punishable.

There it is. I'm said it. If you can rationalize doing this to your fellow human being, i would challenge you to inspect how you value those around you. And i realize that this is my second "bitch-fest" blog (wow those 3 words together made me throw up in my mouth a little) in a row. And that's not the "direction" im going with this thing. But there it is.

this young woman in line at CVS, you know, im actually inclined to call her a girl, is waiting in line for the register talking full volume on the phone. A taste: "El Em Ay Oh, you know 'laughing my ass off,' yah, laughing my ass off, like El Oh El, laugh out loud, yah, like that cept laughing my ass off, El Em Ay Oh" (folks, im not a good enough writer to make this up). And that's not great. I mean, right there you have some issues going on. This is already ignoring the fact that she is basically screaming in this kid in front of her's ear. At least she did once do a back-and-forth in the aisle she was lined up in. And listen. I'm not perfect. Talking in line happens. I realize that. I forgive. I don't know her. Who am I to judge.

But then she goes up to the counter. I am at a counter parallel to her at this point and the woman (working the 'Picture Counter') who is helping me is, somewhat ironically, speaking on a corded phone (can you believe they still have those). Now, let's be fair. That's rude. But, i would say in comparison to booming in line, it's even less rude than that. The difference? SHE is helping ME. She doesn't need my help for anything. If I were not there, she'd be fine. The opposite is not true. But, seeing her on the phone reminds me to look over at the girl who i assume is now off her phone. She is not. Booming at the same volume, she pushes her purchases over to the 16-year-old behind the counter. No eye contact. She actually doesn't even turn her face towards him (which i can't tell if that is worse or better to be honest). And here is the kicker. As the check out guy hands her her receipt he says, with a perfectly straight face, "You're Welcome, I hope you have a wonderful day." Now, im usually pretty good at telling sarcasm. But he rode the line between seriousness and utter absurdity so well, that my heart bottomed out at the same time that I let out an audible, "Ha!" in a whispered scream.

And she's gone. She's gone like that didn't even happen. Like she didn't just ignore this kid's existence as he tried to facilitate her life. It's fucking awful people. Don't do it. If your phone conversation is that important, you shouldn't be multi-tasking in the first place.

So last night i look at the T.V. schedule to see if gLee will be coming on (no such luck). While i am browsing (since i don't care to learn which network my favorite shows are on--im at max cognitive capacity god damn it!) i see that CBS's lineup consists of "Beverly Hill, 90210" followed by "Melrose Place." And just for a millisecond, just for a fraction of a millisecond, my heart pounds. In that fraction of a milli-pound i flash on the 90's, i flash on Brenda and Kelly fighting over Dillion, I think about how many times I "enjoyed" Kelly Tiffany Amber Valerie Kopowski Malone , I flash on alcohol being dispensed via back-pack dispensary system, I think of Amanda seducing clients on her office desk, of Billy "he's a soccer player in real life" Campbell, of wanting Sydney to act nicer so she could be my girlfriend, and i flash on wiping that smile off of goody-two-shoes Brendan's face (this was before the car accident wiped off his face). I flash on wigs being peeled back and faces getting burnt in house fires. I am at the height on teen drama nirvana. I don't even know there is such a thing as a teen vampire.

But alas, I cannot lie to myself. I cannot forget that i know that they have remade these classics. And let me say, THAT IS SUCH FUCKING WEAK SAUSE. Have we really run out of ideas. I mean, this is teen drama folks. Make up a new god damn high school. Dream up a whole new condo complex. Leave my god damn childhood alone you filthy tv executives who are too lazy to develop new characters that you have to mine my nostalgia and ruin tv's golden era of teen soaps. Grow an imagination. Don't disrespect today's youth and insult us Gen Xers by feeding us a recycled watered down cardboard cut out of a moldy classic and call it an original series. Cause no matter what you call it, it tastes like shit to me.


(. . . and that's how Sue . . . C's it)

If you're reading this, and you don't have a hat on, put one on. I'll wait. Because i am about to BLOW YOUR MIND, and i wouldn't want little pieces of brain getting all over the place.

My father, Harvey, is the shiz, the poo, the bee's knees. Say it however you want, but he is like a father to me and I love him. Here he is from a picture I pulled off the internet. Now if I were to describe my dad here are some ways i would do it. A) My dad is white. I know this because I am white and he pulls his socks all the way up when he wears shorts. B) My dad is liberal (politically speaking). While he may get stuck in some of those "the changing of the times" discussions, he always knows he's wrong. And, for the sake of clarification, he would never think to not let gays marry or put to a Nazi mustache on Obama (I'd be floored if he didn't vote for him). Let me go about this a different way. My dad bought me a t-shirt that said "Meet the Fuckers" (a take off on the "Meet the Focker's" movie series, and pictured are George W. and The Dick Cheney.

So, at this point I will ask you a question. Have you ever wondered what you would look like if you were a different race? Well, my dad doesn't have to wonder. In a turn of events that can only be described as unbelievably world shockingly ground shatteringly crazy, a black Harvey already exists. And you may even know him.

So, I think to myself, where to find a black Harvey. And then, as if answering my question, FOX "news" broadcasts the new GOP Republican Party leader Michael Steele. Now, I no social psychologist (wait a minute, i am!) but having a black head of the Republican party is about as random as Senor Pope being Catholic. A black leader of the GOP as a response to the new black leader of the USA--genius. I mean, not transparent at all. Now I want to be clear in saying that I dislike everything about Mr. Steele with the exception of how he looks. Example why, "Steele compared stem cell research to Nazi experiments during the Holocaust."


He seems to be going out of his way to promote black stereotypes under the idea that he is bringing more black voters to the Republican Party. He calls George W. his "homeboy" and here are some videos for further enjoyment: here and here and who can resist here. All this is to say he's a douche. Butttttttt . . . here is what he looks like:
My dad's reaction? "Good looking guy.

This is improbable.
This is crazy.
This is a game changer.
My black dad is the head of the GOP.


I put it to you. What the hell am I supposed to do about this!?!?!


And now, for the finale, the side to side view:

I had the pleasure of traveling to my parents' alma mater, and the college my cousin currently attends, University of Michigan. The Greek system is very popular on campus and my cousin, in his junior year, is currently living in his frat house near the center of campus. My father, brother, cousin, uncle, and I visited him "in his natural environment." Let's separate fact from fiction (opinions only reflect my cousins frat).

1. "Frat houses smell like stale beer and are filthy."

FACT. The smell of beer actually started emanating into my nostrils once i made it halfway up the lawn. The basement featured that smell, turned up to 11, and dueling beer pong tables ready for action at any time. The bathrooms were . . . well . . . let me approach this a different way. I peed in the shower. There were two toilets in said bathroom, but one was "Pollocked" in red (vomit) and the other toilet was much MUCH MUCH MUCH worse (think in brown and spread it around). I will say that they did have a "poop toilet" which they kept clean for the 30-some brothers to #2 in. Also, it was reported via my brother that raw chicken and onions were found in the library. I think that statement stands for itself. In sum, Martha Stewart should have had to live in a frat house for a few years instead of jail time. It would have actually taught her a lesson.

2. "Frats get girls drunk to take advantage of them."

FICTION: The only girl i even SAW in the frat was my female cousin who was along for the ride with the rest of us. All of the brothers were extremely friendly and hospitable, willing to share whatever they had to make our visit as fun as possible. There were two girls chatting loudly (Read "unbelievably vapid") from the "girl's bathroom" as we were leaving, but they seemed like they were making themselves at home more than being in any danger.

3. "Beer pong has been discontinued because of swine flu."

FICTION: While one brother did tell me that some people had taken to putting water in the cups and then drinking the beer from cans not involved in the game, that was not our experience. The two 30 packs of Natty Light were brought straight to the basement and set up for the game with literally no discussion. It was understood. It should be added that my family members and I held our own quite well vs. the brothers. Which should be embarrassing for them. It should also be said that they didn't seem embarrassed.

4. "Frats throw great parties."

FACT. Now, I may be biased as my university had 3,000 kids, and U of M has over 30,000, BUT --that said, there is nothing as hilarious than watching keg stands and 100 kids singing "Bye bye Ms. American Pie," simultaneously. In a hilarious side-note, a student who looked about 14 and was clearly sloshingly drunk, came up and reassured me that it was ok that i was drinking a beer on the porch. I truly couldn't do anything but look him straight in the eye and laugh my ass off. "Phew!" I finally said. Oh, this was at 10am pre-football game btw.

I'm sure there is more comedy gold to be recalled from the weekend. So stay tuned.

Now, as a soft and slow rule, i do not intend to spend much time on this blog speaking about academia/my job, but seeing as i just got my 2nd publication, and my 1st first-author publication of a study i designed and conducted accepted (Titled: "Liar Liar, Hard-Drive on Fire: How Media Context Affects Lying Behavior"), i decided to give you guys a glimpse (just a glimpse mind you) of the brokenness which is the academic system (at least in Psychology).

First. Publications are our crack. Our currency. All jobs, teaching or research based, are gotten primarily on the number and strength of your publication. That means, if you are the world's most inspiring and inspired teacher, you will still not get a tenured position at any major university without multiple publications. For the record, this is why post-docs exist, for people with PhD's to have more time to publish studies so that they can get the job they want.

Second. So all you need is publications. No problemo. I'll publication the crap out of them (you think to yourself). WRONG. The publication that just got accepted was submitted approximately two years ago. Jigga-what. Yah, two years.

Here's the timeline. Submission. 6 months go by--nothing. My adviser writes a letter asking for the status of the paper. They reply one reviewer has looked at it and they are waiting on the 2nd. 3 months later I get the POSITIVE news that they would like me to revise and resubmit my article. Two reviewers have combed the paper and left me with 3 pages of revisions. They would like it revised in a month "to expedite the review process" (can you hear my eyes roll?). That is an optimistic time frame. I ask for 2 months. Granted.

Revision goes in. White noise. My adviser writes again. Waiting on the 2nd reviewer again. Then they forgo the 2nd reviewer and today they accepted it.

Some notes. This is a best case scenario from start to finish. No one gets their paper accepted the first time around. You always have to revise. 80ish% of the time the journal says that the article either isn't well suited for their particular journal or they have concerns about the procedure, statistics, theory, etc. and they are going to pass. Then this whole process starts over with a new journal. It is unacceptable to submit the same paper to multiple journals. It is against the rules.

Also, this is not a complaint about the specific journal that accepted the paper. This is the way it goes for all of them, and i am more pointing out the craziness that is the academic process more than i am blaming any one journal (or journals in general--as they are run by academics in the field).

But, for today, the day I got my paper published, we celebrate. Hurrah.

Just a quick entry to say that I saw Where The Wild Things Are tonight and i really enjoyed it. I'm not going to get into it more in depth because I don't want to give anything away for those who have yet to go. I WILL say that my last post RE: this movie, was incorrect. There are in fact 2 "red haired" Things, and one of them, much to my heart's delight, has webbed feet. Glorious.

It's costume time again. 2 weeks til All Hallow's Eve and I am, par usual, costume-less. This isn't really surprising or nerve-wracking as i have never been much of a planner when it comes to costuming, yet something always comes together. Being that this Halloween is also my Golden Birthday (31 on the 31rst) i really should be getting my act together. Maybe ill stop by a thrift store today. Probably not.

Anyways, this entry is more about my prediction for this years "hot costume." While the "sexy" version of the nurse, cat, witch, candlestick, or really anything skimpy is always available to the finer sex, usually male costumes tend to trend toward some new pop culture phenomenon each year. For example, last year i would say that Heath Ledger's Joker took Halloween '08 by some margin. If "The Office" parodies the popularity of a costume, it's a pretty good bet that that's the hot trend of the year.

This year here is my prediction. I was tempted to go with "Balloon Boy" including the balloon itself, mostly because of the seemingly perfect timing of the event (right around the time responsible people start thinking/looking for a costume) and the tinfoil nature of the balloon itself. At least in the household i grew up in, my mother could make pretty much anything out of tinfoil--and i am more than confident that if i said, "Mom, I want to be the Balloon Boy's balloon!" that she would be able to fashion me to look like the stove popped popcorn maker in no time. But that's not where my money is. This year I think the popularity of two pop culture trends will combine to form one monster (hehe) costume.

Trend #1: Zombies. Everyone these days loves a good undead. Like hipsters love pirates, movie lovers and Gen X'ers have been taught that if it eats brains, the comedy reins. There are always a few zombies in the crowd during Halloween, but with the popularity of the recent "Zombieland," look for more than a few this year.

Trend #2: Michael Jackson. Our man Mike is really a holiday treat. He has so many iconic costumes; the glove, the white shirt black pants "watch me spin" outfit, and for the seriously hard core you could even rock the "Remember the Time" Egyption garb. I mean Magic Johnson is in the video for god's sake. But, while he lends us variety, i predict only one Michael costume to rise to the top of the costume heap.

Verdict: A "Thrilling" Halloween. It's as easy as 1 + 1 = 2. Zombie love + dead Michael love = The Zombie King of Pop. And AMAZINGLY, Michael prepared us for just such an occasion by popularizing his infamous red leather suited zombie thriller michael:

Get ready for a whole lot of herky-jerky dance floor zombie action.

There are no spoilers in this post.  I know this because i haven't seen the "Wild Things" movie yet.  I should also say that I think its confusing that people are referring to this movie as "Wild Things" instead of "Where the Wild Things Are" because I keep half thinking that once Max sets sail in his boat built for one, he will come upon the shores where Neve Campbell, Matt Dillon, and Denise Richards are having a threesome. 

All this said, ive been doing, lets say, an amount of thinking about this movie and here are my thoughts.

1.  I am prepared like a mouse trap to snap at the first review that says, "The adaptation from the book to the movie ruined the experience for me."  In general I find this to be almost always true.  But i just dont see how that can be true in this case.  For those of you who haven't read or reread (see how im incorporating my blog-title!) this children's classic, let me remind people that this book is just over 300 words.  Max's mom does not appear in the book, nor do any of the Wild Things have names or individual dialogue.  This book's greatness lies in its illustration and its ability to tap into the loneliness, rebellion, imagination, comfort, need for safety, anger, and joy that children feel, but don't necessarily have the vocabulary to express.  It's almost unquestionably a work of genius, but its lack of actual storyline makes it perfect for adaptation.  You can't really steal the original, because the original is a feeling (or a collection of feelings) more than it is a story in the traditional sense.  It should be added that Maurice Sendak, the author and illustrator of the original book (which was initially widely panned by critics until kids wouldn't stop checking the book out of libraries [remember libraries!!!]) has been totally on board with the movie's creation: http://www.imdb.com/video/imdb/vi1562247705/

2.  I love when the present unlocks something that's happened in the past.  In this case I am flashing back to my senior year of college when the professor of one of my favorite classes (Karl Sheibe shout out) had our class write a note-card for each member of the 20 person class, with a word or phrase or whatever, that you felt captured the essence of that individual through your eyes.  I should mention that over the course of this class (official class name: A Dramaturgical Approach to Psychology) our class had bonded quite closely while discussing topics ranging from Jealousy, Body Image, Death, Love, Self-Confidence, etc.   These notecards (which i still keep in the drawer next to my chair) were intensely meaningful coming at the culmination of our semester together.  It was a strange experience to read aloud (which we all did) our peers interpretations of us.

Annnnnyways . . . long story short (long?), on the first of my cards (I still don't know who wrote what for the most part) I read aloud, (in all caps) "LET THE WILD RUMPUS START!" 
Laughter.  A lot of it.  I am . . . energetic, so this card leading off was incredibly apropos.  What I didn't realize, until today, 8 years later, is that my classmate was quoting from Wild Things.  And to be honest, I am touched and honored even more than that day.  Perhaps because it is harder and harder to be your wild thing as you grow older, or perhaps because underneath that person's statement of my exuberant nature was another compliment lying locked inside his/her message like an Easter Egg hiding in a DVD you've owned for years but just now discovered.  And i think he/she was saying that i was/am? tapped into my inner child.  At least I hope that's what was meant.  Hell, it doesn't really matter.  That's how I'm taking it.

3.  Lastly.  My one small disappointment going in.  One of my favorite parts of this book, since childhood, has been the red-haired Wild Thing's feet.  (I believe they call it Judith in the movie).  For whatever reason, in what I can only think was a fairly commonplace moment of Sendak genius, he gave this character webbed duck feet.  And i love it.  There is no reason for her to have them, but she does.  And no reason is the best reason of all.  Unfortunately it doesn't look like Judith gets her sweet kicks in the movie.  But rest assured, i will be mentally Photo-Shopping them in when the time comes.

Enjoy the imagination.

I honestly thought that today's post was going to be about swimming.  Let me start there.  I was going to title the entry "Swimfan" and make some witty remarks about how, while no one actually stalks me, I have been spending an increasing amount of time underwater--an loving it.  That post will be for another day, however, as I forgot that generally speaking we have very little control over what actually happens to us--as opposed to what we plan.  With that in mind, I left for the gym and came back with a blog entry.  Enjoy.

I have been swimming regularly.  About 4 or 5 times a week.  And my favorite days to swim are actually on the weekend because not many undergrads go to the pool during this time (PARTY!) and the pool is open for 3 and 7 hour blocks, as opposed to the 2 hour window during weekdays.  This said, I got in my car to go to the pool around 2pm.  First stop = Coffee Shop (when i say coffee shop i always am referring to Amherst Coffee--cause its the shiz).  I find a well timed espresso right before exercising gets my juices flowing and makes the time that much more enjoyable.  The place was packed due to UMass Homecoming and my friend Andrew pulled me an epically beautiful shot that hit my system like a bong rip (except in the opposite physiological direction) and I was ready to go.  The gym/psych building parking lot is generally empty on the weekends.  Because it's the weekend and one hopes that most people aren't spending their weekends locked up in academic buildings (i totally do that).  Today, the lot was packed.  This sometimes happens when there are lacrosse/hockey/football games with overflow parking.  It's annoying but seldom, and usually you can still sneak in somewhere.  Considering this is homecoming, I attributed the crowd to the football game and felt lucky to park my Volvo in a rather optimal spot close to the gym.

I proceed into the men's locker room (picture Revenge of the nerds 80's gross locker room) to change and emotionally prepare for my swim.  There are a few UMass swimmers in the shower which isn't unusual as i'm pretty sure that the swim team has an quota of laps they must swim each week and there are always a few of them in the pool zipping back and forth like dolphins.  I change into my suit, quick rinse, and boom --thru the door into the pool room.  I look up to see bleachers full of people, swimmers, and general mass chaos in and around my usually ghost-town like weekend pool swim.  For about 2 seconds I feel as if I am in the movie where the kid is standing in front of the class completely naked (I am wearing nothing but a confused look and my jammers).  After those 2 seconds, I turn around and start drying/getting re-dressed.  There are, for the record, no signs or indicators that there is a swim meet today (perhaps they were up a different day--but not today), and this is pretty indicative of the shitshow which is the current state of affairs at the UMass gym.  You can tell them I said that.

Oh, now it gets good.  So, I'm feeling a little pissy and defeated and I'm not looking forward to letting this caffeine high go to waste.  That is when I realize I am parked in.  Now generally this would put me over the edge.  But this time, it made me smile and laugh.  Here's why:


and then subsequently(sorry for the sidewayedness) Additionally, it should be said that while I don't know how to rotate video as of yet, I did shoot this video from in front of my car to accentuate the parked-in-ed-ness:


and then, just like that, they were gone:


Ok, so this is the first time I have ever been parked in by a marching band so I decided to just go with the experience. But it was crazy nonetheless.

Arriving home unexercised, there was only one thing that could ail my woes. Bacon. So I made myself a bacon omelet with bacon topping, and all was well with my Saturday once again.