If you won't leave me, I'll find somebody who will...

     Yes, those are song lyrics.  The next bit explains why.

     I guess the biggest thing on my mind right now is that I just found out that Warren
Zevon has terminal lung cancer.
     For those of you not in the know, Mr. Zevon is one of my favorite musicians, and
one of the most underappreciated singer/songwriters out there.  His only current pop
culture fame seems to be for "Werewolves of London, " although he's turned out about a
dozen great albums in the past thirty years or so.  His songs are, admittedly, usually a bit
on the grimly humorous side- "song noir," as Jackson Browne put it- but he's done such a
wide range of songs and styles over the years that it's an injustice (and really impossible)
to typecast him.
     I was inadvertently introduced to Mr. Zevon's work early on as a working student.  I
spent eight or nine hours a day in the barns, with the radio tuned to the local classic rock
station.  I got to know a lot of good bands that way, and gained an appreciation for some
heavy metal and hard rock bands I might not have bothered to listen to otherwise.  I also
began to hear a cool little song called "Lawyers, Guns, and Money" every couple of days,
along with "Excitable Boy" and the aforementioned "Werewolves of London."
     I was intrigued enough that when I returned home for Christmas I bought a
compilation album called "Warren Zevon- A Quiet Normal Life" and was immediately
hooked.  I played it over and over on the tougher days, and "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead"
became my own personal anthem.  "Mohammed's Radio" and "Desperados Under the
Eaves" smoothed over the rough spots.  I spent close to thirty dollars (a little more than a
week's pay at the time) for a German import copy of "Transverse City" in the Plattsburgh
Mall's music.  I haunted music stores until "Life'll Kill You" hit the shelves and snapped up
a copy.   I got my Mom into his music.  I got Grey into his music.  I got Suzanne and
Megin into his music.
     This is not supposed to be a eulogy.  Eulogies are for dead people, and he's not.  This
is supposed to be an explanation of how and why I love this man's work so much.  It's
something I've been wanting to get off my chest for a while, and reading that article this
afternoon jolted it into focus.
     I'm not big on celebrity in general, but I always wanted to hang out with Warren Zevon
for an afternoon or two- I've always thought since the first album I picked up that he'd be
really cool to have as a friend.  In a selfish way I'm angry because it's looking like I won't have that chance.
    Anyway, I'm working on emailing him- he's got an open email address with his record company.
Further bulletins as events warrant.

       By the power of Greyskull, I have ...a Dell!!!

     We watched an episode of the new He-Man show Saturday night, and...well...How can
I put this?
    I was obsessed with the show as a child.  Watching He-Man was an afternoon ritual
that *had* to be observed (just ask my Mom...)  Between myself and the boy next door,
we had every He-Man toy there was, including Castle Greyskull (his) and Snake Mountain
(mine, complete with cool voice-altering microphone) When people asked me what I
wanted to be when I grew up, I told them I wanted to be Battle Cat.  Gods help me, I
even thought Evil Seed was kind of creepy.  I even vaguely got into She-Ra, but mostly
because she had a flying horse.  This took priority over any other aspect of the show, and
damned if I can remember anything else.
    Early last summer, while wandering the local Wallyworld (Wal-Mart, for those of you
not acquainted with Pappap) with my mother, we happened upon a limited reissue of the
original 80's action figures.  After much begging and wheedling I convinced Mom to buy
me the He-Man and Battle Cat set, as I had foolishly sold my original ones along with a
host of other kickass stuff in the early 90's during an unusual (and thankfully, unrepeated)
bout with maturity.  I promptly took my new toys out to the car and took them OUT OF
THE BOX (yes, toy collectors, CRINGE IN TERROR at those words!) and then, when I got
home, I not only PLAYED WITH THE TOYS, I THREW THE BOX AWAY!  LOOK
UPON MY WORKS, YE MIGHTY, AND DESPAIR! HA HA HA-er...Ahem. #grins#
They're on my toy shelf at the moment, along with Panthor and a host of other cool toys.
    Anyway, I think I've established my credentials towards being able to critique the new
He-Man show, and I think if you take the time to watch it you'll all agree with me: it's
absolutely terrible.  In fact, it's so terrible there isn't a word for it; right now there is a team
of experts working around the clock to create a special word that will fully encompass the
terrible, soul-stealing horror of watching the new He-Man.
     Okay, maybe it isn't that bad, but lord it isn't good.
     I know, I know, the original series was no masterpiece of art or literature, but jeez, at
least there was some attempt to bring a moral across to impressionable young children-
you know, every one but us.  The new version is more of a bastard child of Samurai Jack
and Dragonball Z, (wow, what an image...) without the first's excellent art direction or the
second's comprehensible plot lines (yes, I did just say that...you'd understand if you'd
watched the new He-Man.  Just be glad that you didn't.) with the requisite cheesy
dialogue.  At least they got that part right.
     We saw the second episode, beginning with a nice little synopsis of the first episode,
showcasing the new Prince Adam as a whiny, skinny kid with an attitude problem.  He
reminded us more than anything of that irritating blond guy from "Dude, Where's My
Car?"  He dislikes learning to handle weapons, or do anything even remotely useful,
trusting that Man-At-Arms and everyone else will save his whiny ass if a problem comes
up.  Well, wouldn't you know, a problem does show up, in the form of a slightly more
creepy looking Skeletor and a buttload of evil minions, who proceed to toss the Guardians
around and blow stuff up.  A lot of stuff.  For a very long time.  Say, twenty minutes or
so.  While nothing else happens.  People fly around, yell, and make other people fly
around.  Then rocks fall.  For twenty minutes.  I went and got a sandwich.
      Meanwhile, Prince Adam runs off to Castle Greyskull to accept the power the
Sorceress had offered him in the previous episode, the power to become Ator.  Wait, I
mean He-Man...I think.
     After chasing the Sorceress through a mockup of the Roman Coliseum, twice, (where
is the space to put all this crap in the castle, anyway?) she allows him to catch up long
enough do a little magic and ride a piece of the floor down through an endless ethereal
space filled with giant crystals.  To paraphrase Mike Nelson, "This is how much crack you
would need to enjoy this show."
     Then the Sorceress, after ascertaining that Prince Adam is dumbstruck by all that's
happening around him (I wish she'd have checked the audience instead...), calls up the
Sword of Greyskull (in its own handy carrying case!)  Prince Adam grasps the hilt, intones
the magic words- say it with me, now- and becomes...becomes...aw, hell, I don't know.  I
suppose he's supposed to be He-Man, but he looked more like Miles O'Keefe.
     Meanwhile, everyone in Eternia is beating the crap out of each other.  I can't believe
thay had enough time to introduce everyone in the first episode, because we've got King
Randor, Teela, Man-At-Arms, Ram-Man, Stratos, Skeletor, Evil-Lyn, Beast-Man,
Man-E-Faces, Mech-A-Neck, Trapjaw, and Mer-Man all running around going
Super-Sayiin on each other.  Oh yeah, and Orko and Cringer were following Prince Adam
and the Sorceress all sneaky-like.  I expected Skunk-Man to show up, for crying out loud.
(Heh, Skunk-Man...talk about a goofy marketing idea.  "Hey, I got it!  We'll add another
character to the He-Man line, right?  We'll call him...Skunk-Man!  His power will be his
incredible odor!  And we can make the action figure smell terrible, too!"  Great decision,
guys.  We always left stinky old Skunk-Man in the box.  Even my "Owl-Man" entry for
the 1985 [or thereabouts] Design A New He-Man Character Contest was better thought
out.  Although, admittedly, they might have had some trouble making the lightning bolts
shoot out of his eyes.)  We knew all their names from memory...How is someone who has
never seen the series before supposed to keep them all straight?
    Incidently, according to Greyskull.org, there was a He-Man character called "Fisto."  I
don't remember him too well, and from looking at the action figure I can guess that that's a
good thing.  I don't want to know what his special attack is, but I can only guess he's very
good friends with Ram-Man.  What were the designers thinking?  Don't even get me
started on Tung-Lashor...
    Somehow Ator/He-Man manages to cover all the distance back to the battle in a matter
of moments, then shows up where Skeletor and the King are battling in classic B-Movie
"let's whip our swords around for fifteen minutes to show how skilled we are" style.  We
see He-Man in the shadows, he steps out, the combatants look up, and...the credits begin
to roll.  Not a moment too soon.
     Next time: the new Transformers.

Note:  After I completed this section I got into a couple of arguments to actually prove
there was a Skunk-Man toy that smelled terrible, as no one but me could remember it.
Well, after doing some research I've found (thanks to Lore Fitzgerald Sjoberg, no less)
that not only did Skunk-Man exist, but his actual name was "Stinkor."  Wow.  Someone
actually came up with a name with less inherent dignity than Skunk-Man.

     School Stuff

     As most of you know, I'm in the midst of finishing up my second year at Edinboro
University.  It's a nice enough place as colleges go, and I'd rather be going here than
anywhere, as it's located not only close to the eventing barn I'm currently taking lessons at,
but it's within an hour and a half's drive of my parents and grandparents.  I also used to
come here for a week in the summer (between the ages of nine and sixteen, anyway) for
the Gifted camp.  Because of this I was able to skip Freshman Orientation as I already
knew the place like the back of my hand.  This endears it to me immensely.
     I spend a lot of time on campus, mostly because it's a fifteen minute walk to get there
and if I have less than an hour between classes I don't bother to go home for it.  This has
led me to explore the place more than I did even in camp days, and I've found some pretty
neat places to hang out.
     My favorite building on campus is Loveland Hall, and ironically enough it's a building
I've never had a class in.  I like it for a lot of reasons, one of which is because it's old (well,
reasonably; it was built in 1931) and feels it.  Attempts to modernize it haven't really done
anything to change that.  The hallway ceilings, roughly fifteen feet originally, were
dropped to a more administrationally pleasing level years ago, but you still get echoes of
what it must have looked like when you use the stairwells.  Also, they forgot (or didn't
bother) to do the bathrooms, so upon entering you're treated to the original cavernous
space and massive windows that the building originally had.
    The classrooms are mostly untouched, although the ceilings there were also dropped
(replaced with those crappy corkboard off-white ceiling tiles building administrators favor
to hide innumerable tentacular electrical cables) but the massive windows remain, and the
floorboards, for the most part, haven't been revarnished for at least forty years, so that
there are comforting worn marks where desks, chairs, and various other sundries have
been pushed and pulled and sat on through the years.
     Loveland is the main center for art classes, and each week a new exhibition shows up
in the Bates Gallery, a little room on the ground floor, put on by whatever student(s) have
managed to sign up for that week.  It ranges wildly in content; one week you may be
greeted with graduate level photography, the next  you may find eight foot tall replicas of
Easter Island heads, and the week after that someone may have covered the floor in plastic
sheets and provided markers for you to add your own brand of graffiti.  Sometimes the
exhibit is something phenomenal, like the frequent small sculpture shows, or someone's
final project in oils, and sometimes the effort involved is so intensely personal you end up
staring perplexedly at a four foot clay duck with an arrow through it titled "The
Persistence of Soul" and leave muttering "What the hell was that about?"  Loveland Hall
itself is always an adventure, and the Bates Gallery more so.
    The other building I love to be in is one I have also never taken a class in, and, seeing
the restrictions on my major, probably never will.  It's the music building, Heather Hall,
and it's my favorite place to wander through in the winter, both to warm up and to listen
to people practicing.
     I am a great fan of classical music (although that's a pretty general statement...sort of
like saying I ride horses...) and, not surprisingly, the music building is a good place to get
an impromptu concert or two.  There are a million little practice rooms in the rabbit
warren that is the second floor (apparently it was a women's' dormitory for about thirty
years before it became the music building in the mid-seventies) and I like to kill time
between classes there, wandering back and forth and listening at the not-very-soundproof
doors.  Some days it's just piano scales, over and over, or just a mass of chaotic sound, but
other days you luck out and hear someone good playing around and showing off on their
particular instrument.  There's no end to the awesome stuff I've caught coming from sitting
outside a door and listening to someone fairly competent just messing around.  Also, some
days I really luck out and one of the professors decides to while away twenty minutes or
so by playing.
     There are some other neat buildings that I rarely see; Cooper being one of them, as
opposed to Compton, where I always seem to be.  The actual difference between Cooper
Hall and Compton Hall seems to get freshmen confused on the average of once a day or
so, despite the fact that one is a fascinating place complete with planetarium, observatory,
small flora and fauna museum, dioramas with stuffed animals (the cigarette-smoking
chipmunk is a perennial favorite) and close to a million pop machines, and the other is a
nondescript ex-high school building where I take ninety percent of my classes.
     I find it vaguely amusing to consider that the Psychology department, ostensibly being
a department dedicated to studying the workings of the mind, would quarter themselves in
a building so incredibly generic and dull that it leaves no impression.  Describing Compton
is like describing a well-kept public restroom; it's bright, large, and is perfectly designed
for its appointed purpose.  However, few people will admit to being struck by the beauty
of a restroom, no matter how it suits their needs.
     Cooper, however, is a hell of a lot of fun.
     I took an astronomy class once in gifted class, when I was fourteen or so, and at one
point our instructor took us up to the observatory in Cooper Hall to see the current
unversity study in action- I believe they were studying and measuring solar flares.
     At the time the observatory was run by a crusty old soul who was, at best, not openly
hostile towards us when our instructor led all fifteen or so of us into the cramped office
space the astronomy department called home.  He warned us not to touch anything,
ordered our instructor around as though he were a student (which he was, I believe- a
graduate student, but a student nonetheless) and gave us a brief overview of the study they
were conducting.
     When he saw that we were listening attentively, he warmed a bit, and took us into the
observatory, where, one by one, we got to look through the massive telescope and see
(through a red lens) the solar flare they were tracking.  It was a fascinating sight; flickering
and waving like a candle flame, if a candle could support a flame twenty-odd miles long.
     The observatory was silent as we took our turns looking into the telescope.  We were,
for the most part, in awe.  Then, suddenly, the distant sound of one of the bagpipers
practicing drifted up to us.
     The instructor grinned, gesturing toward the open slit in the observatory roof where
the sound filtered in.
     "If I had a rifle I'd shoot that son of a bitch, " he said.

     Random Thoughts

     Just four weeks Psychology classes so far, and I'm already realizing that I should have
been a philosophy student.  In actual fact, I've thought this every semester since the first
one (during the first one, I thought I'd be better off as an art student) but the only thing
more useless than a degree in art is a degree in philosophy, no matter how the content
appeals to me.
     I've figured out the whole deal, actually; they won't give you a diploma until you've let
them inject you with something that makes you a pompous git.  I've got to find some way
to avoid this.
 

     I should probably be studying.  Instead, I'm watching the A-Team.  Come on, wouldn't
you?  I mean, my brother and I  watched them faithfully when they first came out, along
with Airwolf and Knight Rider.  I am happy to report that, in the intervening decade and a
half, the A-Team has retained its rather implausible goofy charm.  Currently they're
teaming up with a group of river pirates  to destroy a nuclear reactor being built by some
neo-Nazis in the middle of the Amazon basin.  There's no real explanation for why they
would want a nuclear reactor, or why it needed to be in the middle of the Amazon rain
forest, but it's enough that they're evil, and the A-Team hasn't blown anything up in fifteen
minutes or so.  There's also an ancient hidden city mixed up in it, but it dropped out of the
plot once the neo-Nazis bad guys showed up.
     Mind you, I've noticed quite a few details that I missed as a child; first, for being such a
crack commando team, none of them can shoot worth a damn.  Mostly, they seem throw a
lot of lead in the general direction of the target until said target gets terrified enough to
roll their jeep/tank/truck/helicopter over a nearby embankment and crawl out of the
wreckage unharmed, just in time to be marched off to the local authorities.  I appreciate
the whole "no-kill" policy, but for crying out loud, I don't think anyone would be unhappy
if they blew away a few neo-Nazis.
 

     I ended up playing the Sims while reading Lolita, which is an interesting combination to
say the least.  The book is a good read, but  I found myself getting suspicious of one of my Sims
while he was innocently playing dolls with his daughter.  Hopefully this will wear off soon,
if not- well, I only play it every couple of months, anyway.
 
 

     I saw the world's most unbelievable commercial yesterday.

     #lights dim# Cue Commercial:
     Attractive woman:  "I'm a lawyer who helps find homes for homeless kids.  My life is
stressful, and the first place I feel it is in my skin."
     #product (Dove Soap) is hawked#
    Attractive woman: "When my skin feels good, I feel like I can take on the world!"

    I assume that while you're watching this commercial, you're supposed to be going,
"You know, I get stressed at work, too, and my skin does suffer for it.  "  The only thing
that was going through my mind was "You have *got* to be kidding me."  They're not even
trying to claim it gets rid of stress acne, which I do get and would understand, but instead
they're trying to tell us that when you're stressed your skin will get dry and you need to
take care of it *immediately*.  Or sooner.  Wow.  We live in a world where the first thing
some people apparently think of during stressful times is not "What can I do to get
through this situation," but "Is my skin getting drier?"
     I could go off about what a slave our culture is to pursuit of unnatainable beauty, but I
dont have the time or the energy.  Mostly, I'll just say that this commercial is the funniest
damned thing I've seen in weeks, and I watch about an hour of Whose Line reruns daily.
 
 

    Oh yeah, NewsRadio frickin' rocks.
 

-End-