At approximately 12:32 a.m. on the evening of November 24th, 2005, iPedro passed away. This comes after an extended battle with Lowbatteria and a brief but extremely painful bout of NotConnectusComputerus. Funeral services were held this morning. He is survived by his headphones, his dock, and his battery charger.
May 2004 - November 2005
It's hard to celebrate a national holiday when you're not in the right nation. That said, I guess I did as well as could be expected. I spent some time today in the American Store browsing their wares, pretending I knew exactly what I needed for the Thanksgiving extravaganza on Sunday. I surreptitiously checked my grocery list when I thought no one was looking. After returning from the store with pumpkin, yams, and other assorted American-ness, I showered and got ready for work. To give myself the illusion of being on holiday I did as little work as possible, opting to show an old Thanksgiving episode of Friends rather than actually communicate language to the students. The episode unfortunately featured a lot of football vocabulary, and I cringed inside when students asked what a "down" was. I hesitated for a moment before telling them it was a section of the game. Yeah, I have no idea what that means either. After class, I passed up dinner with a co-worker or two in favor of a nice meal with Cathy at our favorite near-the-house restaurant, which felt more thanksgivingy than anything else. My family called during the meal and I got to listen to Baby babbling for a while. Not for the first time, I wished I was somewhere else, somewhere better; but you know, sometimes it's okay when the wish isn't granted.
Preparations are under way for this year's thanks giving bash. Well, less a bash and more like a bish. Think wine-sipping, party favors and games.
Isn't it amazing when the realization of all of your geekiness hits you with such force that you can barely stand it?
And they're phasing out Diet Vanilla Coke because people don't like the flavor?
Please visit Jones Soda, look deep into yourself and ask if you would really be willing to try Brussel Sprout with Prosciutto Flavored Soda. Because I think the answer might be no.
Monday and Tuesday I attended some lectures on the contemporary novel, film theory, and other assorted stuff that I dig. I got to meet my two favorite theorists and idols, and like any star-gazing fan got as tongue-tied as possible and quite probably sounded more ridiculous than I remember. Since it was the middle of the day, I was one of five people there; as such, there was a lot of face time with my theorists. I was happy when they confirmed that NYU was a credible if not very prestigious choice to make for the doctorate. I kept smiling whenever they turned to me or directed a word my way, which might have freaked them out a little - or maybe it was all the personal information I knew about them that was more likely to freak them out? Whatever the case, I put on my pretty face, batted lashes, pouted, whatever it would take to get them to remember this face.
At one point, taking the train back into town with the theorists and the coordinator of the conference, I revealed that I had been taking Catalan. I didn't mention that it was because of Brad Eppes, the man who happened to be sitting next to me, that I had ever even considered studying Catalan. The coordinator of the conference laughed, looked at Brad and said, "We've got a little Brad here!" I blushed and took some serious mental notes for my resumé. Mini Brad Eppes, 2005-Present. After that, the guys started joking with me: "Remember us when you're famous!" "Don't forget the little people!" There is the smallest possible change that I died right there and the rest of my life will be lived in the shadow of that proud moment.
All in all, it was a fascinating experience. It's truly mind-blowing to meet people who you have these preconceived notions of, especially semi-famous ones. You know, it's one thing to read these intense, intellectual books about the current state of gender in Spain and identity politics, it's another thing for your favorite theorist to sheepishly admit that his favorite movie is Mary Poppins. What do you do with that information?
Blog the hell out of it.
I wish the world had a volume knob.
Did he just say "Satan is my motor"?
Where did everyone I know go?
Stop blowing marijuana smoke on me. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.
The lead singer's a jerk.
Are those guys making out over there?
Oh, I know this song!
I'm totally making a list of things I'm thinking. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.
Am I going to get a contact high from all this marijuana smoke?
What does a contact high feel like?
Man, this song goes on forever.
Am I high?
Those guys are still making out!
Why did he just say "You guys must eat a lot of protein"?
I shouldn't have had that tortilla for dinner.
Man, I wish I was high. Then this concert wouldn't blow so much.
Freaking out. You keep twitching because you're so nervous and can't think of anything intelligent to say. He looks away, just as nervous, because you have already frightened him with how much you know about his life. He thinks you're a stalker and now you're scaring him.
Ugh.
