1. Dress simultaneously in clothing that uses one's school colors and evokes The Hustler starring Jackie Gleason.

2. Whenever you find dinner rolls, make sure you reenact Fatty Arbuckle's dancing rolls sequence (stolen by Chaplin).

3. When one of your utensils is a steak knife, make sure you carve all your food accordingly.  Even if your macaroni and cheese is medium rare when you could have sworn you ordered it medium well.

4. Play a mean game of pool using that pool cue holder as often as possible.

5. In casual conversation, catch up with people, by running up to them with your well-run stories.

6. Play every British-y pub game there, no matter how dangerous you are with darts.

7. Be willing to dust off the stand-up, but only on the very unlikely chance that someone manages to find a microphone.

8. If they can't, leave them wanting more.

9.

10.

The other day, my brother found a commencement speech by Bill Watterson, from the commencement at Kenyon College 1990.  Matt's rediscovered Calvin and Hobbes recently, as the well-drawn, even cinematic, and intelligent portrait of a six-year-old's interpretation of the world and his philosophical musings with his friend that's only imaginary depending on the eye of the beholder.  After all, the two main characters were named after John Calvin, (the 16th century philosopher who believed in predestination, and was a huge influence on early Puritan settlers in America), and Thomas Hobbes (the 17th century philosopher and author of Leviathan, who believed that humankind's natural state was one of war), respectively.

If you've read Bill Watterson's thoughts as communicated in his commentary in the Calvin and Hobbes Tenth Anniversary Book, you'll recognize his philosophical and ethical leanings in the commencement speech linked above.  It reads as genuine, not only because the point of view is spot on, but because the speech reads smarter than even his strip or previous musings do, if only because his audience isn't as broad as usual--not that he's ever been known to dumb things down (even within his strip, Calvin, the troubled student, has the hyper-literate vocabulary of a well-read grown-up).

Watterson's thesis can be found in the following paragraphs:

You will find your own ethical dilemmas in all parts of your lives, both personal and professional. We all have different desires and needs, but if we don't discover what we want from ourselves and what we stand for, we will live passively and unfulfilled. Sooner or later, we are all asked to compromise ourselves and the things we care about. We define ourselves by our actions. With each decision, we tell ourselves and the world who we are. Think about what you want out of this life, and recognize that there are many kinds of success. Many of you will be going on to law school, business school, medical school, or other graduate work, and you can expect the kind of starting salary that, with luck, will allow you to pay off your own tuition debts within your own lifetime.

But having an enviable career is one thing, and being a happy person is another.

Creating a life that reflects your values and satisfies your soul is a rare achievement. In a culture that relentlessly promotes avarice and excess as the good life, a person happy doing his own work is usually considered an eccentric, if not a subversive. Ambition is only understood if it's to rise to the top of some imaginary ladder of success. Someone who takes an undemanding job because it affords him the time to pursue other interests and activities is considered a flake. A person who abandons a career in order to stay home and raise children is considered not to be living up to his potential -- as if a job title and salary are the sole measure of human worth. You'll be told in a hundred ways, some subtle and some not, to keep climbing, and never be satisfied with where you are, who you are, and what you're doing. There are a million ways to sell yourself out, and I guarantee you'll hear about them.

To invent your own life's meaning is not easy, but it's still allowed, and I think you'll be happier for the trouble. Reading those turgid philosophers here in these remote stone buildings may not get you a job, but if those books have forced you to ask yourself questions about what makes life truthful, purposeful, meaningful, and redeeming, you have the Swiss Army Knife of mental tools, and it's going to come in handy all the time.

In addition to this speech, someone else pointed me to the below video.  I think it's a good example of well-reasoned argument, and suggests how open-mindedness is a necessary trait of any debate participant.  I've been looking for an excuse to post it, and I think this will do.

Fall Harvest Scarecrow Event

When I moved back to Massachusetts in February, one of the things I was interested in was the Massachusetts health care plan through Commonwealth Connector called Commonwealth Care.  I applied for it because I didn't have a job (and I still don't have a steady one).  I looked it over thoroughly before sending it off in the mail, but I must have forgotten to check the box that said I was a citizen of the US.

Several weeks later I got a phone call saying they needed me to fax over my birth certificate.  I felt so presidential.  So, I faxed it and tried to call to confirm that they got it.  Every number I got was a voice mail, so I left a message in the voice mail box of the person who called in the first place.

Several weeks later I got a letter stating that I didn't list my driver's license information on the form.  Having just moved back when I filled it out, I didn't change my license before I mailed out the application.  So, I called to ask if there was a way to confirm that they picked up the fax when I sent it out this time.  They said the only thing to do was to wait until I received another letter in the mail.

A couple of weeks ago I got that letter.  No mention of my license, but they did find out that I was working for a temp agency.  Well, I wasn't working for them so much as I was receiving temp assignments through them.  They would now like a reply explaining why I didn't mention them on my initial application, before I applied to the temp agency of course!

Naturally the reason they want an explanation is to determine whether or not I could get health insurance through them instead of the state.  I called up the temp agency and they told me that health insurance would only be available on the weeks that I actually work for them, so very intermittently.

If the state of Massachusetts isn't satisfied with that answer, or if they aren't satisfied with the fact that I haven't had health insurance all year, because of their shenanigans, then they'll tax me for it.  Part of me suspects that their communication almost exclusively through snail mail has been a deliberate act, not only to avoid giving me health insurance, but to have an excuse to tax me for it.

All this is prologue to my activities of the past week.

For the past several months I've been following this health care debate, just as everyone else has.  I'm having a hard time understanding this incredibly complex issue, and I have some serious concerns about it.  But at least I'm willing to admit that I don't get it, and that I desperately want a sober analysis of these different bills.  What's made me nervous about the general tenor of debate at all, not just on health care reform, is that it's gotten vicious, violent, and downright frothy.  Opponents act as if President Obama is less a man with an idea that may simply be different from theirs and more Frankenstein's monster, deserving of, in their angry mob minds, pitchforks and torches.

As the insanity escalated throughout the summer I've grown more and more nervous that some politician somewhere will get hurt or killed by people brandishing weapons in a reckless conflagration of the First and Second Amendments.

That said, I obviously have a personal stake in what goes on with health care reform.  I can state that my position is only that I am for whatever would get someone in my situation portable health insurance.  I would even like for it to be portable between states, or hell, countries as well.  If a public option is what's necessary to encourage competition and drive down costs then so be it.  But if another solution is equally viable then I'd like to hear that as well.  A public option is exactly that, an option.  So, the vitriol against such a thing confuses me, but if it's not something that could get passed, then I'd be in favor of a trigger option in which public options would be instituted if the private sector fails to lower costs.

So, when I heard about two events over the past week that would allow the public to get involved, I jumped at the chance to participate.  MB and I met at Somerville High School on Wednesday night for a town hall meeting with Mayor Joseph Curtatone, US House Representative Michael Capuano, and headliner, Senator John Kerry.

As we moved along in the line, a gauntlet of petitioners and partiers and sign carriers and a lone Obama as Hitler poster surrounded us.  The Obama poster was made by LaRouche supporters who claimed that "He's changed."  It still seemed mild compared to worst of what I've seen on television.

It was milder still inside the auditorium.  While there were a few hecklers in the balcony, and a couple of others sprinkled throughout, it was mostly a civil affair.  The mayor opened and hosted, with Capuano as a feature and John Kerry headlining.  And you could really tell that that was the hierarchy between the three.  John Kerry was surprisingly impressive.  Though it was the second time I'd ever seen him in person (I saw him vote in 2004 and then was part of a crowd that followed him to The Bell in Hand Tavern).  If I saw him speak with that much passion in person, my reluctant vote for him then would have been an enthusiastic one.

But I wanted my question answered.  I wrote about my saga and I closed it by asking what could be done about the communication and the taxation system.  In a survey of the audience, Kerry asked everyone about their insurance.  I felt left out because I couldn't raise my hand at any point, since I don't even have insurance.  Through my question I wanted to make sure that a national plan wouldn't have the same issues as the Massachusetts one.  During the town hall meeting, I jotted down a condensed version.  Alas, I didn't get to ask it.  Despite the libertarians directly behind me who bitched about everything, simply for the sake of bitching, we had a fun and informative night.

Today, I went to a rally on the Boston Common for health care reform.  I took the Red Line to Park Street and snuck into my old dorm building to use the bathroom.  When I got back to the gazebo someone saw my Obama shirt underneath my blazer and quickly recruited me to hand out signs.  After a while another staff person asked if I'd rather do "visibility," so I asked what that was.  Soon I was walking up towards the State House with someone's home made sign which read "HEALTH CARE REFORM RALLY @ Boston Common."  The marker smelled of headache.

I was a tourist attraction.

Since the corner of Park Street and Beacon Street are right where the State House, Shaw Memorial, and Freedom Trail converge, it's along the path of tourists on foot and tourists riding any number of tour buses and trolleys and amphibious vehicles.  With my Lennon-esque shades, mop-top, blazer, and rally paraphernalia, I was an odd little sight.  So, instead of screaming for people to go to the rally, I decided to be a little more subtle and simply help people who looked like they needed help on the Freedom Trail.

I had a Mr. Rosso moment when one college kid saw me and said "Right on dude" like I was wearing beads and smelt of pot.  There was one truck with a guy in the passenger seat who was trying to crack on me by saying that he didn't want the government to pull the plug on him at sixty, he wanted to live to be eighty.

As if a synthesis of all that, I saw a particular panhandler I've recognized for the past ten years.  He's distinctive for his voice that loudly elongates each syllable of the inquiry "GOOOT ANYYY SPAAARE CHAAANGGGE?"  Well today he asked for cigarettes as well.  He would ask little children if they smoked and their nervous parents yanked their children away as they admonished him for smoking too.  Trying to divert him away from my mission of providing visibility for the health care rally I suggested that I saw some smokers behind the State House, or at Fanueil Hall.  "I don't go there," he tossed off, barely noticing me as he continued his pacing.  It was about this time that my shift was done.  I shrugged my shoulders and exaggerated stepping backwards for the amusement of the tourists in the parked tourbus and then turned and walked toward the rally, draping the posterboard sign on my back.

When I got there I couldn't hear the public speakers.  The PA system left much to be desired, but a bigger problem was that the crowd was talking amongst itself in normal outdoor conversational volume.  Throughout the rally I wasn't all that crazy about the crowd's actions.  Representative Stephen Lynch was booed off the stage as a Blue Dog Democrat.  I support a public option, but if someone takes the time to come to your rally, then they deserve to be heard respectfully.

Eventually, the rally ended and we all started marching.  I was lucky to be near the front of the crowd as we cut towards the corner of Boylston and Charles Street behind the Boston Common cemetery.  One of the staffers from SEIU handed out chant sheets so that we don't need to write them in our heads spontaneously.  But the crowd didn't need to anyway, as bullhorn-armed SEIU representatives chanted to the beat of The Second Line Social Aid and Pleasure Society Brass Band.  We followed that band along the left side of Boylston to the end of Copley Plaza before circling around to the front of Trinity Church where the event ended after they played a few more songs.  Still wearing my OFA-MA badge, I asked my fellow State House sign-holder if he thought there was anything we had to do, and he said he didn't think so. 

Still, I walked back to the Common to help put away some stuff and turn in my badge.  I kept my sign as a souvenir.  I may regret it as the marker smelled of headache.

I wish I had health insurance.

Last week President Obama said something very stupid at the end of his health care press conference.  He took a question regarding his friend, Professor Gates of Harvard, and the situation with police.  He said that he didn't know anything about the situation, but that the police probably acted stupidly.  Saying you don't know anything about a particular situation automatically negates any input you have on a particular thing.  It was surprisingly Biden-esque.

But this week, he's called the professor, and the police officers involved to the White House to hash it out.  That's pretty cool.  Barack Obama reminds me of a TV dad from the 80s or early 90s, in which he realizes he did something stupid, but thinks of a clever way to resolve the situation, except there's no cheesy music playing in the background...yet.

I think I've just been the furthest inland in North America I've ever been.

It started on Friday night, a trip Andy, Jessie, MB and I had been planning for weeks: MB and Jessie's high school friend, Heather's baby shower.  The plan evolved from a night-long driving relay between Andy and me to Huntingdon, PA (just this side of Pittsburgh) to a more sensible break at a hotel in Pittston (near Scranton).  The earlier iteration of the plan was scrapped when the three others realized how I get weird--even for me--when I get tired.  That kind of high could be dangerous behind the wheel--or if I'm a passenger that thinks the wheel is now some kind of teddy bear or something.

In the week prior to the trip I had tried to conserve energy to little profit by sleeping as much as possible.  On Friday I just drank as much caffeine and vitamins at lunch as possible and showered to wake up when I got home.  We ordered some Pinky's Pizza and ate with Jessie and Andy before leaving to the classic Boston road trip song "Roadrunner" by the Modern Lovers.

As would be the trend for the weekend I would drive through the worst of the weather, but it was quite a luxury to have Andy's GPS, whom he named Jane after the voice he chose.  We would play a game where we'd try to get the ETA to tick down by making up as much time as possible.  I had clocked us at an estimated arrival time at the Knight's Inn of about 12:50AM before we stopped at a McDonald's to stretch and snack.

To keep me awake, MB played me some Beatles CDs so that I could drive and sing.

The motel was decent for the price, except for the smell of BO that permeated the air (I'm usually turned off by the excessive disinfectant smell in most roadside motels, but at least that is presumably sanitary).

The next morning I beat my alarm by waking up around 7:00 and decided to see what the continental breakfast consisted of here.  It was a box of twelve doughnuts for the whole hotel, some regular and decaf coffee, and a fountain with apple and orange juice.  I grabbed some fliers and newspapers on the off chance we'd want to explore Scranton before heading to the shower or on the way back the next day and returned to the room just in time for everyone else to wake up.

We settled on a place about two doors down for real breakfast, it was a Perkins, which is apparently Pennsylvia's answer to Bickford's. 

Omelettes for everyone.

We made a few stops on the way for gas and food and to donate some bodily fluids to the local sewage systems, including a stop at a Pizza Hut/KFC.  It had been years since I've even been inside a sit-down Pizza Hut.  I remember going to the one on Boston Road as a kid with pitchers of neon Mountain Dew and pan pizza.  Here we got some pizza rolls to justify using their bathrooms.  It didn't occur to us until later that they might have meat in them so MB didn't have any and I ate three out of four, including one that had been baking on the dashboard (There are starving kids in China).

The shower was pretty nice.  I had only been to one other baby shower, it was for a doctor co-worker of mine at UCLA.  He had been subject to some games that were at once embarrassing, gross, and touching in their thoughtfulness.  I have now witnessed what it's like to change a diaper when the contents are foul peanut butter. 

This one was different though.  It was in a friend of Heather's house and there was a pool and barbecue food and people of all ages.  The only people around our age though were Heather and her husband Sean.  Andy and I managed to have fun instigating a water war with some little children though.  Inter Arma Enim Silent Leges.

We drove to Heather's house paralyzed with laughter from tasteless jokes, though sadly none were inspired by the West Hempfield Middle School visible from their house.  It was here that I realized my long-dormant fear of dogs.  I didn't grow up with pets and my neighbor's dog backed me into a corner at a young age.  Having staked out our rooms for the night, and with the Siberian Huskies now a calm mass of resting fluff on the floor, the six of us sat on opposite couches exchanging hilarious stories of our wacky adventures, while I tried to help Andy with some Sudokus on his computer.

The next morning we chatted some more over some eggs, bacon, and toast while we plotted the trip back.  MB and I were interested in stopping in a city at some point in the day to walk around and say we were somewhere (of course with four people blogging about the same thing, surely someone will believe us?).  We, however, realized the daunting task ahead of us as we planned a trip that had taken us two days to get there to be done in one.

Andy and I would switch off more frequently than the past two days and we'd play our game of watching the ETA tick downward, even as we made several stops.  The total stopping time was about two hours, we only lost one.

The route we took home was Interstate 76, not the video game from the 90s, through New Jersey, to New York, where we were dangerously low on gas and made a wrong turn to the gas station, and north on Interstates 95 and 91 to the Mass Pike, back onto 95 and Route 2.  We ate at a Chinese/American buffet and I thought that Jane would want us to take 91 up to Springfield, bringing me close to my folks home, but it wasn't to be.  It was probably an expensive set of tolls (Andy's car has EZ Pass, so we'll figure it out later), but it was worth the saved time through Pennsylvania's perpetual construction, despite one last traffic jam on the Mass Pike.

We had traveled five states in about 51 hours.  It was quite an adventure, and quite a feat, but it would have been nice to have another two days so that we could actually walk around some cities along the way.

Perhaps we will the next time someone has a baby.

I'm in the process of applying for a job at a foundation that funds documentary films.  It's a part-time job that pays better than my current full-time temp assignment, which would enable me to open my schedule up to more volunteering at WGBH and at RFB&D.  In looking at the listing on hireculture.org I noticed they wanted solid writing skills.  So I thought I'd show them my published article from Imagine News' August 2004 issue.  I'll also post it below if you'd like to look at it:

Well not really, but I recently signed up to be a docent for WGBH, which involves and eight-week training class.  My first homework assignment was to watch an episode of Fetch! with Ruff Ruffman and either design a challenge for the show or write an autobiography from his point-of-view (in the context of the assignment he won the Yuppy Puppy Canine of the Year Award and had to write an autobiography for the program to the ceremony).  I decided to do the latter as it was genuinely fun to write jokes again.

I actually have a brief history with this show.  Four years ago I started working at the Museum of Science.  One Sunday morning I was groggily working in the lobby after a late night doing comedy when a camera crew and several kids between 10 and 14 ran up to me.  "Do you know where the nearest star is?" they asked.  I pointed them to the Solar System exhibit, the focal point of which is
a model of the Sun, the centerpiece to a scale model of the solar system that stretches all the way to the Riverside stop on the D-Line.  I signed a release from the PA who happened to be a former classmate of mine at Emerson and forgot about it.

Several months later one of my co-workers told me that her kid liked me in the show.  See if you agree by clicking here and watching the part that starts at 6:30.

Anyway, I only re-watched that and a few other clips here and there, and looked at the Wikipedia entry for the show (wherein I was surprised to learn just how many animated supporting characters have appeared on the show in the past three years), before considering that enough research to do scribble a couple of pages on the way to class.

Ruff Ruffman is someone who doesn't just have delusions of grandeur, he's also a hopeless neurotic.  It's that tension that generates most of the humor in the show.  He's able to marry those two halves to form a cohesive whole that makes him a
Chinese food loving, endlessly pretentious, and charming game show host that gleefully messes with the contestants by enforcing strange rules, but is also laid-back enough to know when to break the rules.  I think I could write someone like that (this week's homework is much easier, listen to The World on WGBH Radio).

So then, here's the product of my frantic ride through the Red Line and the 86 bus:

Ruff Quixotic Ruffman

I can't tell you how waggy my tail is for having received the Yuppy Puppy
Canine of the Year Award--and I applaud your literary taste in allowing me to write my own autobiography!

First of all, like most geniuses, I'm slightly neurotic and my work habits are a bit erratic.  So I want to apologize for the tardiness of this biography...my person ate it...as a salad, with croutons, cucumbers, some lite Northern Italian dressing and a fresh mix of Romaine lettuce, tomatoes, shredded carrots, and some peppers for a little extra kick...along with my favorite: chow mein noodles!

But I digress...

I was born in 1995 or 13965 in dog years, either at the beginning of the year or
the end of it.  I don't remember.  I slept through most of it.

Like most of my family, except for my cousin Murray, I was born a walking, talking dog (to the lay-down person); canine anthromorphicus (to the stand-up and be taxodermic persons).  Along with chopstick-using opposable thumbs, I was born with a love for every new thing around me.

So naturally, I gravitated towards music.  I love big band so much my person got me a Benny Goodman squeeze toy.

I LOVE German opera.  At my last checkup I used the word Brechtian so much my vet thought I had post-nasal drip!

And I love love love reality television, especially The Amazing Race (It reminds me of the time I let Spot Spotnik beat me in a contest to be the first one to catch a car.  He sold his prize squeeze toy to pay for the resulting dentist's bills).

And it's that love of television, coupled with my curiosity, and my consummate leadership skills, sprinkled with my endless charisma that brings me here tonight.

That stir-fry of awesome has given me the insight to con--er, convince WGBH and PBS to buy my show.

On Fetch! with Ruff Ruffman I make all the rules!  And I know when to break them!

Thank you for this award.  I'll bury it in The Victory Garden.

Last week was a little slow, temporary-job-wise, so I decided to use some of
the programs I actually bought specifically for this computer (I bought
Adobe Photoshop and Adobe Premiere Elements because I figured that I
should put my Film major to use, even as a hobby).

Here now are two of my favorite quirky folks of the moment.  I wanted to get an
older photo of David Byrne, because circa "Stop Making Sense" he looks
scarily like Buster Keaton, but this photo actually works really well
for what the photo is supposed to be.  I considered making Byrne a
warden, leaning outside the cell, but having him leaning inside was
more of a challenge and I figured the two of them would probabaly be,
either in the same pickle, or become fast friends in jail.

David Byrne now actually looks more like David Lynch now (as they both have
psychotically upswept shocks of white hair).  Maybe I'll add Lynch
later.  One could be an angel on Keaton's shoulder, the other the
devil.  I'd let you decide whom.