Very professional.

My morning routine consists of hitting snooze between 2 and 4 times (inclusive), walking to the shower with my eyes closed, eating a vitamin, getting dressed, and then plopping down in front of the computer for 20 minutes before I leave the house to see what the Internet has been up to overnight. I don't usually put shoes on until right before I leave, around the same time I put my phone and keys and wallet into my pockets.

This morning it was kinda cold in the apartment, so mid-Internetting I put my slippers on. Then, when it was time to go to work, I just got up, walked out of the house, got into the car, and drove to work. Still in my slippers.

The opera.

I went to see Verdi's Macbeth last night at the Met. I'm going to do a bullet point thing here, but before I dig into it, I want to say unequivocally that although I'm not much of an opera buff, I had an awesome time.

• There was a guy there in a cape. In the audience. And not the kind of cape you'd expect in the Grand Tier of The Metropolitan Opera. A cape like it just came out of a square-shaped costume package from the Halloween store. It still had all the fold marks, and it was clearly made of the kind of material out of which only Halloween Dracula costumes are made. At first, in fact, I thought it was a costume. But then I followed him long enough to see him talk to someone, to see if he was wearing fake fangs (what, intermission is long), and he wasn't. He was just wearing a costume store cape. I wanted to take a picture so bad.
  
• I like the company numbers a lot better than the solos. I think this lands me in the minority of those that end up at the opera house, but it's true. When all those people are singing at once with their big opera voices, it's awesome.
• I've always known this about myself, but last night really cast it into stark relief: technical prowess impresses me a lot less that does...pretty melody. The gasps and whispers and shouts of "BRAVO!" after each run-filled solo were well deserved to be sure, but I was, for the most part, the most pumped after the company pieces and when the orchestra was doing its thing. The one exception, I suppose, was towards the end when Macduff finds out that his family has been murdered. That guy's voice was totally boss and rad.
• There's very little acting in opera.
• The director made some strangely anachronistic decisions. For example, the armies carried rifles, not swords, and in one scene, drove a Jeep to battle. Most of the bad guys wore black leather jackets. But still, many scenes took place in the castle, and all the murders still happened with knives. When Baz Luhrmann reinterpreted the world of Romeo and Juliet to fit it into a modern gang war, he really took great pains so that it would make as much sense as possible. Here, it felt like someone just said something to the effect of "Guns are cooler than swords. Give them guns." Which, I mean, come on, is totally fine with me.
  
• Some of the things they do with the set at The Met are really cool. I remember thinking the same thing the only other time I've ever been.
• I hadn't read Macbeth since 9th grade, which was like 13 years ago. I had totally forgotten that Macduff was not "of woman born" because he was born by Cesarean section. I can't be the only one that wants to call bullshit on that, right?
  

Ants.

So I have ants on my desk at work. Not huge ones, just little tiny ones. And not swarms, just a few crawl by a day. I don't know what to do about them, really. I put a couple traps down, and I've made sure there's no food around for them to find. Still they march ever onward, in search of that which they will not find, destined only to meet their untimely end by my Wrathful Hand.

The killer inside me, long dormant since I moved away from Queens (where things like this used to happen), has reawakened. I kill without remorse; I kill without pause.

I've noticed something strange about the oozing corpses of my foes. They smell like nail polish remover. At first, I had assumed that that the smell was coming from elsewhere. But as the bodies piled up, it became abundantly clear. It was my own lethal hand that smelled of acetone. My own, unpolished hand.

So yeah. Apparently this isn't news to anyone who hangs out with ants a lot, but it was news to me. My first guess, which wasn't too far off, was that I was smelling a very concentrated amount of the chemical ants use to make trails other ants can follow. It turns out ants produce a lot of chemicals other than that one, and what I'm really smelling is a cocktail of all those different acids, that just kinda happens to smell like acetone to me. Thanks, Internet!

Money quote from The Straight Dope: "That smell coming off those crushed ants is not just the smell of fear and death, but also the smell of true cleanliness and health." Read the whole explanation to find out why.

On gas.

I'm really sick of reading about Clinton's and McCain's gas tax ideas. So, I figured I'd write about them, so everyone else that's sick of reading about them can roll their eyes and click on by. I promise not to make such topical distractions a habit on this, my largely self involved corner of the Internet.

It just won't work. Economists say so. Most intelligent people I've spoken to about it say so. Hell, Obama knows it won't work because he tried some similar shit in Illinois and it didn't work. What's more, it seems even Clinton and McCain know it won't work, but can't resist the opportunity to prey on public anxiety for political gain. It's exactly the kind of cynical pandering that makes me so sick to my stomach about our political system, and what bother me most about this particular steaming pile are the Lilliputian dollar amounts that are being touted as relief.

Most people that would benefit at all from this "relief" of $30 or so are about to receive checks for $600 from the federal government just for filing their taxes. That kind of money is relief. I'm looking forward to that $600, and although I certainly would be able to think of a few things to do with $30 other than light it on fire if someone handed it to me, the notion that my vote might be bought for the phantom promise of such a paltry sum really irks me.

Look, if you really want to propose a solution that would never get through our bureaucracy anyway just to grab the votes of at least a few simpletons, aim high.

How about this?

How about you repeal the sales tax on the purchase of all vehicles (new and used) that get over 35 miles per gallon? Now that would save some people a lot of money on gas, not to mention encourage a shift in public thinking to prioritize fuel efficiency over the ability to drive the kids to the soccer game through molten lava. My car gets about 36 miles to a gallon (for real, I keep a spreadsheet) and although I do a lot of driving for work, rising gas prices haven't really hurt me too badly yet. I still fill up for about $35.

Hell, take it one step further: waive the sales tax for new cars only if the car gets better than 35 miles per gallon and is made in the USA. Create some jobs in Detroit!

Sure, not everyone can afford to buy a new car. Or a used one. But there's going to come a time in the not-so-distant future when people are going to have to seriously weigh the cost of maintaining a gas guzzler against the cost of junking it and getting a car with some fuel efficiency. Why not give a few people a head start?

Unreasonable? Sure. You could drive a Hummer through the holes in it. But if someone started stumping with this sort of plan at least it would pique my interest, not just ignite my utter seething contempt.

smelling the light at the end of the tunnel

I was hours into an epic battle with the dust bunnies in my bedroom the other day when I got to the corner of the room occupied by my guitar. I wiped a thickness of dust measurable in centimeters off the case, and opened it up. Still in tune! So, needing a break from Spring cleaning, I played for a while. I played for the first time in months. And I started writing a song about weather and love and Pop-Tarts* and I think it's coming along all right. It has a melody and a structure and a first verse and I have sore fingertips.

My guitar (like my blog) has been woefully neglected lately as I spend the majority of my waking life leading a Shermanic march towards the May SAT. Once that test has come and gone, my next big push won't really start until September. I'm really not sure exactly what I'll do with myself in the meantime. Depending on which day it is, I alternate between visions of two extreme scenarios: 1) a sangria-drenched summer punctuated by productive creative bursts, cross-country trips, friends and Mets games, or 2) a sedentary marathon of FPS-induced brain-softening. It'll probably (I hope) end up being somewhere in between.

I bought a new laptop last week. A Macbook. I had been thinking about doing it for a while, and when I woke up on my one day off last week and there was somebody sleeping on the couch that I had been planning to occupy for the better part of the day, I decided to get out of the apartment. The only place I could think to go was the Apple Store in SoHo, which is a wonderful part of town to be in on a warm spring day. There's always a better than decent chance that, if you look at all like you know what you're doing, you'll be asked for directions by a runway model with an accent. Anyway, I'm writing on it now from a monastery-converted-to-a-conference-center outside the city. Aside from my frustration that the 'control' key seems to have been robbed of its livelihood, and my hardened conviction that Winamp is far superior to iTunes for album listening, I rather like it.

* It might not still have Pop-Tarts in it when it's done.

My Big Mouth and I

Yesterday on the way out of the burrito place near work I was talked into staring into a television camera and telling the viewership of some Long Island news program -- burrito in hand -- how I felt about Eliot Spitzer's transgressions.

It went something like this:

News Lady: Excuse me. Do you have a minute to tell us how you feel about the Governor's sex scandal?
Me: (staring at my plainly watch-less wrist) Uhh...No. No thanks.
NL: Oh, come on. I can tell from that response that you have an opinion.
Lady Driving By in Her Car: Excuse me, is there something wrong?
Camera Woman: No, we're just getting people's opinions about Spitzer.
LDBiHC: Oh! He should RESIGN!
NL: Do you want to say that on camera?
LDBiHC: YES!!! (actually chirps her tires to find a parking spot)
NL (to me now): So?
Me: Fine.

So yeah, nobody twisted my arm. I ended up acquiescing because 1) the News Lady cleverly keyed into the fact that although I generally keep my mouth shut about this kind of thing, I do have an opinion, and 2) I'm a closet egomaniac and even though I should know better, sometimes I can't shake the feeling that I'm the only person in the world that's right about anything. Kidding. Sort of.

So I stood there while they got the angles right, and I spoke into the microphone they shoved in my face about how I feel betrayed by the guy; a guy that's risen to political stardom by standing up to rich white guys who write their own rules and should make sure he keeps his own nose clean, that he doesn't become that which he has labored to defeat. And yes, I did vote for him, and I wouldn't take back that vote but how knowing what I know now I wouldn't vote for him again and how yes, I do think he should resign. On that last point my original answer to the question was a non-committal "...Yeah," but I was asked to restate my response in a complete sentence, which leads me to believe that if any of the whole thing made it to air, it was that part.

Anyway, as I walked to my car afterwards, I just felt dirty. It's another nasty, awful thing to have happened in politics, which is to say, it's mostly business as usual. But I allowed myself to be cajoled into taking a black-or-white stance on one side of an issue that's actually quite gray. I don't expect that anybody I know was watching because I didn't tell anyone (until now), and it's a moot point now that he's gone and resigned this morning, but when it was over I regretted contributing to a media circus that I find generally distasteful. I mean for fuck's sake, she called it a "sex scandal." It makes my skin crawl.

Also, I was having a really bad hair day.

taking stock

In September I turned 26. And although I've never stuck to a New Year's resolution in my life, I figured I'd try to set some goals for myself in this, my 26th solar circumnavigation. Early goal for next year: stop saying shit like "solar circumnavigation."

Anyway, I figured I'd revisit the list see how I'm doing.

• Tell someone very clearly and sincerely to "piss up a rope." - I'm disappointed to report that I haven't done this. Rest assured that it will happen eventually.
  
• Score a 2400 on the SAT. - Achievement unlocked. Ladies, line up on one side for makeouts. Dudes, to the other side for high fives.
  
• Become good (like...total domination good) at some shooter video game. - No dice. I suck at everything. ESPECIALLY Call of Duty 4.
  
• Become a vegetarian 3-4 days a week. - Actually, it's more like 6-7 days at this point. Funny thing is, it was really hard when it was 3-4 days a week because I could never settle on which days would be veg and which wouldn't. But gradually, I just started wanting meat less, and wanting broccoli like all the damn time. I think it was harder to quit drinking coffee, which I also did. I haven't felt this good since the last time I got regular exercise, circa 2003.
  
• Go to the dentist for crissakes. - Um, maybe in June.
  
• Start playing guitar again. - God damn do I wish I could say that I've done any playing since September. This one is going to start taking a much higher priority.

So...2 out of 5. But the year's only half over.

Well, there goes November.

If you call me in November and I don't answer, there's a pretty good chance Gears of War 2 will be the reason.

maths

I've heard British people call math "maths," which I suppose makes just as much sense as "math" if we're just abbreviating mathematics. I love math(s). I love it (them...ok F this) with all my heart. I've always felt comfortable in the company of a geometry proof. Cold rooms seem warmer when there's math to be done.

Once in a while Rob (he of the 7 minute piano outro) and I will have a few drinks and dig into a brain teaser, which is pretty much the perfect night. He likes math too. In fact, he's written some of the most beautiful poetry I've ever read (loosely) inspired by physics and math. I ask him sometimes to put it online and I hope eventually he will so that I can link you to it. If it doesn't move you, your heart is cold, black, and abnormally small.

Thing is, most people don't. I think it's a lot like golf. Golf is the most frustrating game in the world, but any golfer (especially a shitty one) will tell you that he was hooked the first time he hit a long, straight drive, or landed an approach shot 3 feet from the pin; he goes out and curses his way up and down the course time and time again chasing the ghost of that first high. I'll never forget the feeling I had the first time I impressed a teacher by navigating a really hard geometry problem. I don't think anyone that's never experienced a similar thrill should be allowed around children.

A lot of what I teach isn't math. The SAT isn't a math test as much as it is a reasoning test, and the fastest, most foolproof way to get a lot of those questions right is to sidestep the math altogether. There's plenty of fun to be had talking about that kind of stuff too, but I always look forward to the questions that can only be solved with some deep understanding of, say, the definition of absolute value.

It's not rocket science, but I really love geeking out about the way |f(x)| bounces off the X-axis wherever f(x) might cross it, and explaining why. I just think it's neat.


So, tonight was a good night. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go give myself that swirly I've been begging for.

enlightenment

So part of the job I have now is making sure that when kids show up to get their learn on, some things are there, ready to facilitate this hallowed process. Things like, oh, I don't know, teachers. And all the stuff the teachers might need, like chalk. And food and drink.

So I'm in the Rite Aid the other night in Great Neck (East Egg, if you're a Gatsby fan) waiting in line to purchase some beverages for the instructors I have arriving on the 6:19 train. It's right about 6pm. And although there's a line of customers waiting to pay, the one cashier behind the counter is motionless, staring blankly at some items on her counter. Items belonging, it seemed, to an invisible customer.

It became clear shortly thereafter that it was not an invisible customer at all that was keeping us waiting, but another Rite Aid employee whose shift had just ended, and who wanted to take advantage of what must be a generous employee discount to bring home some deodorant and salt. Sure, there was a line, and sure, such a transaction requires that a manager come over to the register and apply the discount, when he gets around to it. But I've worked in retail, and I know how much clerks learn to give a shit about customers in a rush, so although I was annoyed, nothing about the situation really surprised me.

Nothing, that is, until the guy in front of me, without really raising his voice, just said something flatly to the clerk waiting for manager's approval. That's when I had my Where am I? moment.

"You know, this is why your stock price is down."

Funny, I thought it was because of a poorly executed takeover of a few rival chains, compounded by waning consumer confidence and other, more complicated, negative market conditions. But your perspicacity, sir, cannot be denied. It's definitely the deodorant and the salt.