Slumdog Thousandaire

Late update - thank the spotty wireless service in my apartment.

As seen in the Oregon Daily Emerald!


Those of you who are living in the dorms have no doubt begun to look forward to a time when you can get the hell out of the dorms, just as my friends and I did last year. Your relationship with your roommate is slowly deteriorating, the stoners in your hall are steadfastly continuing to hotbox the shower, and come the first big heatwave of spring term you’ll learn that the dorms start to smell twice as bad when the temperature rises. These are some of the reasons why almost all students opt to find off-campus housing rather than returning to the dorms for a second year. Unfortunately, things do not improve once you get off campus.

There’s always the option of living across the river in Dux Village, Chase Village, or Stadium Park, but while the units over there are luxurious and generally affordable, they are also a half hour’s walk away from campus. If you don’t have a car, this puts you entirely at the mercy of LTD, which offers essentially no service to and from campus on the weekends or between 7 PM and 10 PM on weekdays. I was reluctant to put myself in this position, so I searched for and found an apartment close to campus. The results have been disappointing, to say the least.

Real estate close to campus is an interesting game – a few lending companies own nearly all of the property in the area, and as there is a steady supply of students flowing into Eugene with a constant need for cheap housing, they don’t have to work too hard to attract business. As a result, housing conditions are generally sub par and management is less than competent or courteous. When I first arrived in my apartment this year, which cost extra as it had been remodeled over the summer, I found floors covered in drywall, electrical sockets installed upside-down, and the doorjamb splintered where somebody had attempted to kick the door in. Our furnished dinner table is so unsteady that eating with one’s elbows on the table is a recipe for disaster, we had to haggle with management for weeks to get a fourth chair so our fourth roommate could eat at the wobbly table with us, and when the furnished TV we’d been promised finally arrived (ten weeks late) we were not surprised to find that the picture would go fuzzy if somebody so much as coughed anywhere near it. To cap it all off, my roommate’s bedroom is not level – there’s a three-inch incline from the north end of the room to the south end. This is especially frustrating to my roommate because he’s an architecture major, who now goes home after a hard day of designing structurally sound buildings to a room where walking eight feet results in a drop in altitude.

These incidents are not unique to my lending company, Capri Apartments. Residents in units owned by Von Klein Property Management and Bell Real Estate have had similar experiences. Many tenants complain that it’s nearly impossible to recover a security deposit from either company, and in one case a former resident related that Von Klein charged him for six hours worth of cleaning in his recently vacated apartment, despite the fact that he’d left it spotless. Repairs for broken utilities are said to come slowly or not at all. For students leaving the dorms who want to live close to campus, there really is no “good” option – as the majority of the properties close to campus are owned by these three companies, oftentimes the best one can do is find the lesser of three evils.

Area landlords argue that they are reluctant to provide exquisite housing or return deposits because students are less reliable tenants than ordinary renters, due to our propensity toward frequent wild parties and drunken antics, which can spell disaster for carpets, walls, or any other surface that can be vomited upon. In an online comment on the Daily Emerald website, a Eugene landlord who had spent 30 years renting to students pointed out that landlords have their own fair share of horror stories about young tenants who trashed their units and were completely uncooperative with management. By his report, out of hundreds of students he had rented to, only two had ever left their apartments as clean as they’d found them. The consensus among landlords seems to be that student government ought to interface with lending companies in order to “address issues of mutual concern.”

Economics teaches us that companies respond to incentives, so perhaps whoever wins the upcoming ASUO election ought to work with Capri, Bell, and Von Klein to draft a code of conduct for student tenants. If we show our willingness to take responsibility for our actions and keep our units in better condition, perhaps our landlords will start leasing us units that don’t slope three inches south.

A Letter To My Friends In The Financial Industry


Thanks, old friends.


To: Bank of America, Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, Citigroup, Bear Stearns, AIG, General Motors, Chrysler, Ford Motor Company

CC: Business majors, Bernard Madoff

Subject: My (your) money

Dearest friends,

Only 20 minutes ago I mailed in my state and federal income tax documents. Unfortunately, I didn’t make enough money this past year to get taxed by the feds, but the State of Oregon is charging me $128, and that check (forgive my handwriting) is in the mail as we speak. I would imagine that, as all I’m paying are state taxes, my money will probably go to state education budgets, road repair, police salaries, etc. Of course, I was once under the impression that all tax money went to programs that benefited the taxpayers, so I guess I’m not really an expert. Plus, you guys seem to be pros at getting money that isn’t yours, so I’m sure you’ll find a way to finagle my $128 out of the state’s hands. Also, please do enjoy the substantial payment from my parents.

How about that government red tape, though, huh? Filling out all the returns and vouchers, checking boxes, adding stuff up, making out the check to the Oregon Department of Revenue instead of the Wall Street Collection Plate… It’s just a shame what you guys have to go through to get our money. That is, more of our money. The money that you didn’t set on fire while freebasing cocaine off of Lindsey Lohan’s tits.*

*I don’t know that for a fact, but Lindsey Lohan has been out of the public eye for awhile, so maybe you guys had her hired as a Cocaine Tits Consultant or something.

Now, please, don’t feel bad. This, of course, is a pointless statement, seeing as you have demonstrated that you have no sense of shame, but I’m only telling you not to feel bad so that I can explain why, if you did have the capacity to feel, you wouldn’t have to feel bad. While you did lie to just about everybody under the sun about how much money you were making and went to the racetrack with what little money was actually there, you weren’t committing a crime – you were living the American Dream. While simultaneously committing multiple crimes.

Everywhere in America – from Wall Street to whatever the most heavily trafficked commercial thoroughfare is in most small towns – people have been trying for decades to get something for nothing, quick results for no work, at great risk if necessary (anything to avoid that work). The diet pill industry is booming, and if you’ve looked at the Internet recently you’ll notice that there’s a few thousand ways to loose weight fast without working out or changing your diet. If you’ve been keeping up on my blog, you’ll remember that students today expect top grades for mediocre work. And then, of course, American television viewers are fully unwilling to watch any show that doesn’t yield quick and constant laughs, contributing to the demise of Arrested Development, Home Movies, and most recently King of the Hill.

But nobody in this country has been able to achieve their dreams as well as you. You guys lived without remorse, boldly making shady deals and inflating your own worth in order to maximize your gains, all while steadfastly avoiding any consideration of the long-term ramifications of your actions. God bless you fine gentlemen – and I’m sure a fair number of you are upstanding men of religion who have found a suitable workaround for Commandments 7, 8, and 10, as well as Deadly Sins 1, 4, and 5.

This is just one big lesson in being careful what you wish for. A significant number of Americans wanted quick laughs with minimal intelligence, and as a result we’ve all been subjected to the continued success of Dane Cook and Family Guy. Likewise, a whole lot of Americans wanted to give their money to somebody and have that somebody give them a lot more money right away, and thus nobody questioned your financial success because it was all so good. On a side note, poor taste and greed aligned late last year, when Dane Cook’s half brother and manager was arrested for embezzling $1 million from Cook over the course of 18 months.

So keep in mind, it’s not your fault – it’s our fault. We, America, dreamed big and created a climate where you guys could succeed: that’ll teach us to dream big. Of course, some people allege that as you guys have a significant amount of education and experience in the financial industry, perhaps you ought to have been setting a slightly better example for the rest of the country. But that’s a crock – it would be unfair to ask anything more of you guys after you spend all day cooking books for us.

I have to be honest – we all know my math skills aren’t up to par, and I can’t guarantee you that I didn’t fuck up somewhere on my tax forms. It’s fully possible that I owe you guys some more money (but of course, we all do) and, through my own financial mismanagement, neglected to give it to you. If this is the case, please accept my dearest apologies for depriving you of my money. Rest assured that if I’ve committed some sort of financial impropriety, the government will come down on me pretty hard and I’ll get my just rewards – until then, you guys keep on enjoying all the other peoples’ money you’re getting.

Truman Capps says, “Thou shalt not Ponzi.”

Spring Break Extension

As seen in the Oregon Daily Emerald!

Hi there, readers! It’s great to be back! Spring break is over, and I can’t wait to put my nose to the grindstone again! I feel adequately rested and prepared for the coming ten weeks of school!

April Fool’s.

Why is it that we college students love spring break so much? In the family of school holidays, it is by far the shortest, at only one week long — winter vacation is three weeks long, whereas our summer vacation comes close to three and a half months. However, MTV does not devote as many hours of programming to drunken summer revelry or crazy Chanukah parties. No, spring break seems to make up for its short length with an abundance of craziness, like the little brother who tries to prove his worth with beachside kegstands and Girls Gone Wild videos. However, now that my break is over I can’t help but feel unfulfilled, and not just because I did not personally witness any girls going wild.

I am not the sort of person who bitches and moans at the end of every break from school. After three weeks of winter vacation this year I was dying to get back to the college life in Eugene, and after a summer spent working two jobs in the food service industry I had gained a whole new appreciation for my college education. Spring break, on the other hand, has always been to me like a cup of Key Lime Pie flavored Yoplait – delicious and refreshing, but over much too soon. For a lot of students, winter term is often the roughest term, when they stack up the most demanding courseload to coincide with nasty weather, which leaves few options but to stay in the library. It’s so unfortunate, then, that our shortest break comes after the term when a lot of us exert ourselves the most. God knows I maintained an unwavering devotion to my studies throughout winter term, which was reflected in the truly excellent grades I received over the break.

April Fool’s.

This year, the Oregon University System shortened winter break by a week and added the extra time onto summer break. The reason for the shortened winter break was to keep with the OUS policy of beginning each new term on a Monday – working around holidays like Labor Day and Christmas makes it tough to start the term exactly on a Monday, so a week had to be shifted around. I don’t object to winter break being shortened from a month to three weeks – Christmas dinner with my extended family is just what it takes to make me want to come back to school again – but I have to say, tagging the extra week onto summer vacation, which is already some 13 weeks long, feels like a little too much of a good thing. However, I’d be more than willing to go to school for one more week in June if it meant I got one more week of break in late March.

My advocacy for a lengthened spring break isn’t just based in my perceived difficulty of winter term, either; wouldn’t it make a little more sense if winter and spring break were closer to the same length, just for consistency’s sake? If spring break were longer, it would be easier for those who wanted to work to earn money for the coming term. While many employers are reluctant to hire a part time employee for only a week, a two-week position is somewhat easier to negotiate, and it also affords more time to actually make money. Also, a second week of break would allow enough time for people who had spent a week in Cancun to get home, acclimate to our climate, and buy enough emergency contraception to compensate for their week of hedonism. Also, let’s not forget that the weather tends to clear up and become beautiful during the first week of spring term – a longer spring break would allow us to enjoy some of this natural splendor before getting crushed under a mountain of academic splendor.

As the Oregon University System determines the break schedules for all state schools, a change like this would be unilateral and would affect tens of thousands of students and also incur significant logistical costs in terms of rescheduling events displaced by the lengthened spring break. While it may seem like a pointless expenditure to put all this effort into a change that relates mostly to students’ desire for more time off of school rather than an actual holiday, we must remember that the OUS already went through this process when they delayed the beginning of the school year by an additional week for scheduling purposes. All the better that this sort of change should occur to lengthen a break that many already agree needs to be longer.

I suppose if there’s any benefit to our current, weeklong spring break, it’s that it allows us to continue into spring term with whatever momentum we have left from the winter. I, for one, will not take this for granted. This term, knowing that 14 weeks of summer are ahead of me, I’m going to throw myself into my studies headfirst. I’ll start doing research, beating my deadlines, and striving to become the best student I can be. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I’m going to start taking my education seriously.

April Fool’s.

Scenic Wonder


Multnomah Falls - this is one of the only times that the picture is actually useful to get an idea of what the blog is about.

Oregon is a place of remarkable natural scenic wonders and a near record number of strip clubs. However, as multiple family members read this blog, I’ll be devoting the bulk of this update to the natural scenic wonders and only employing strip-club anecdotes when I think things are getting boring.*

*In Salem, where I grew up, there were plenty of strip bars, but only one actual strip club, which would admit anyone over the age of 18 as opposed to anyone over the age of 21. This club was called Cheetahs, and it was located along Lancaster Boulevard on the outskirts of town, which has all the charm of East Los Angeles with shittier weather. It was a ritual of sorts among the sweatier boys at my high school to make a pilgrimage out to Cheetahs every time somebody turned 18. Throughout my senior year, as many of my friends turned 18, I heard a lot of stories which implied that Cheetahs did not necessarily attract the highest quality of stripper, and most of the people showing up at school the day after a Cheetahs outing had the emotionally hollow stare of Vietnam veterans and rescued POWs. Point is, Oregon may have a lot of strip clubs, but they are by no means good. The more you know.

In spite of all this scenic natural wonder, the biggest tourist attraction in the state is the Woodburn Outlet Mall, a sprawling complex surrounded by muddy fields roughly halfway between Portland and Salem. The main attraction is at the Woodburn Outlet Mall is that while the stores there will still take your money and give you overpriced name brand clothing, they won’t take quite as much of your money because there are reasonable discounts on everything. The second largest tourist attraction is Spirit Mountain Casino, where they will take as much of your money as you want in return for some buffet potato salad and the feeling that you’re atoning for the sins of your ancestors who swindled and murdered these poor Native Americans off of their land. The third most popular attraction is Crater Lake, where the National Park Service will take your money and in return you get to look at a really big lake. But, in the lake’s defense, it’s way big. Also, blue.

In the interests of appreciating our state’s beauty while capitalizing on the last few days of spring break and also saving some money, The Girlfriend and I went with two friends to Multnomah Falls, a place in the Columbia Gorge where a river jumps off of a 620 foot high cliff, with highly photogenic results. Our intent was to hike the trails around the falls in pursuit of a merit badge or experience points or something useful like that.

As you all know, the most exercise I get during spring break is walking downstairs to the refrigerator for hummus, and I’ve even gone so far as to draw up blueprints for a flying refrigerator so I won’t even have to do that much. However, when we reached the falls and I tilted my head all the way back to see the entirety of the massive waterfall, I spotted a tiny viewing platform right at the top of the falls, and all at once I became dead set on going up there. I went into this outing expecting that what few exercise oriented skills I’d developed during my three months of kindergarten soccer had been lying dormant for the past 15 years and as soon as my feet hit the trail I’d be making the great outdoors my bitch.

But would my blog be funny at all if anything I wanted to happen ever did? Hiking Multnomah Falls seemed like a great idea right up until the second of 83 very steep switchbacks on an uncomfortably narrow trail leading all the way up the mountain. It didn’t help that The Girlfriend and one of her friends had done track in high school, while the other friend was a former tennis player. I spent the entire way up the mountain lagging behind everyone else, gasping for breath, and praying that there was a casino or strip club at the end of the trail. At every turn, the views were definitely breathtaking, but I’d wager that was mostly because I didn’t have a whole lot of breath for most of the trip.

The excursion up the mountain was made no easier by the fact that there were throngs of other tourists there. This surprised me, as I had expected these people to be the sort who would be wandering the outlet mall or playing the slots. But no, intrepid and somewhat overweight throngs of people were working their way up and down the mountain with us – however, many of them were toting along young children and large, excitable dogs on the narrow paths with no guardrails, so I can only assume they either had thought they were going to a pet-and-child-friendly casino and were instead duped into visiting a waterfall. Or, they were idiots. Both are valid options. Regardless of why they were there, the extra people on the mountain made things significantly more exciting. More than once my companions and I had to hop out of the way as a pudgy, middle aged man came barreling down the dead center of the path in the opposite direction, leading a big golden lab that looked like it just really wanted to jump up and put its paws on anyone’s chest, even if it meant that person falling to certain death on jagged rocks below.

Upon reaching the top of the mountain, the trail wound down a little on the other side before finally reaching the lookout point; nature’s own way of going “psych!” The lookout was a small platform that hung sickeningly far out over the edge of the waterfall and mountain, offering some spectacular views of both the Columbia Gorge and the poor bastards down at the bottom of the trail who were only starting their trip. Sweaty, legs burning, gasping for breath, I looked out over a few miles worth of what some people consider to be creation and realized that maybe, just maybe, the 45 minute trek up the mountainside had been worth it.

Of course, at the outlet mall, there’s an elevator.

Truman Capps wonders if Multnomah Falls is wheelchair accessable.

65 Days


"For my next trick, I'll be turning Dow Jones Industrial Average into delicious pudding!"


I’m thinking that this is going to be one of those updates where I get political. I usually avoid doing this, not because I don’t want to offend people but because I really hate putting any more thought or effort into my blog than is absolutely necessary, and good political writing usually takes a little more thought or research than simply yelling the name of the guy you like louder than anyone else (all AM radio personalities, please take note). But if there’s one thing that’ll galvanize me into doing work, it’s spite, and I’ve been feeling pretty spiteful about goings on in the political arena recently. In the past, I’ve tried to keep these things out of my blog, once again not out of fear of offending, but out of fear of not being funny – as this is primarily a comedy blog, I try hard to adhere to truth in advertising; nothing is worse than sitting down in front of the TV, all ready to laugh your ass off, only to find that it’s a “very special” episode of Home Improvement. However, I feel as though I ought to say a few things in order to clarify why everybody needs to calm the fuck down, regardless of whether these things are funny or not. Fasten your seatbelts, stow your carry on luggage, and prepare to be teabagged by the sweaty testicles of political blogging.

There was nothing I hated more* over the last eight years than people who would defend George W. “Skippy McDumbass” Bush with the reasoning, “It’s a really hard job.” I would understand that if President Bush were in some sort of Jack Bauer situation where he was forced to become president lest his daughter be killed by terrorists or something, but I remind you that wasn’t the case – to become president, you really fucking have to want to be president. If somebody is willing to blow hundreds of millions of dollars on an extensive ad campaign, I’m willing to assume that they know exactly what they’re getting into and ought to be qualified to do the job well if they wind up getting it. This is a job which can essentially determine the very fate of the world – the guy doing that job is the last fucking person to whom we should cut slack. That guy needs to be under more intense scrutiny than anyone in the world. If I fuck up at my job, you get a small milkshake instead of a medium one. If he fucks up, nuclear war.

*Except Sarah Palin. Fuck Sarah Palin.

So it would be unfair of me to ask everyone to just chill the Christ out for a couple minutes and cut President Obama some slack because it’s a hard job – I won’t do that. Let me point out, though, that his job is significantly harder at the outset than Bush’s, thanks to an economic crisis and war that Bush started. But hey, you know what? Barack Obama is vastly more intelligent and capable than W., so I feel like he’s up to the increased challenge.

I see a lot of people – Senate Republicans, Senate Democrats, conservatives on Facebook – talking about what a terrible job Obama has been doing over the past 65 days, due largely to the fact that the financial crisis is still going on and everyone in America has yet to receive free donuts. Republicans on the hill have called his proposed multibillion dollar investments in education, healthcare, and public infrastructure the most irresponsible legislation they’ve ever seen. Some people even accuse Obama of scaremongering because of all the speeches he’s made in which he talks about how bad things are now, and how they’re going to get worse before they get better.

Here’s the thing about the financial crisis – about 12 years’ worth of economic development pretty much just disappeared. It’s like on Arrested Development, when Gob turns $100 into 100 pennies, only here he starts with a lot more than $100 and in the end there’s nothing but broken dreams and snakeskin boots. Also, it’s not funny. This thing that happened took a long time to get into place – shout out, by the way, to all the business majors who thought real estate speculation was a great idea – and you can’t just hit the back button. There’s a lot of work to be done, and nobody is quite sure what will work; it’s a trial and error sort of thing. It took years for this to happen, and it’s going to take even longer to rebuild. Deal with it. Nobody - nobody - could fix this in 65 days, not even MacGyver.

And forgive me, but who the fuck do you think you are, Republicans? How the hell can you sit there talking about irresponsible spending after you all rallied behind a war to find weapons of mass destruction that weren’t there – a war which, might I add, sent our military into an absolute shitstorm without sufficient supplies, and which has seen mentally and psychologically wounded vets coming back to a VA system that can’t adequately care for them amidst a few million “Support Our Troops” magnets? We’ve all heard about how much our deficit could or will increase with Obama’s programs, but frankly, if our deficit is going to increase, wouldn’t you rather see your tax dollars getting flushed away on schools, healthcare, and roads in this fucking country? Let me tell you, I’d be thrilled to face a hefty tax increase if I knew that money was helping people instead of funding Dick Cheney’s jingoistic oilhunt, and that is indisputably what the War in Iraq was.

And what’s this shit about scaremongering? Obama isn’t scaremongering when he says that the economy is a disaster, he’s telling the fucking truth, arguably for the first time in recent White House history. I don’t know if you’ve looked around at all, but the world really blows at the moment, and a lot of it is our fault. Would you rather he keep on lying and tell you that everything’s fine, like the last guy did? Would you rather he continue to disrespect you? Because if that’s what you want, I’m more than happy to disrespect you. For starters, you’re an idiot. Go sit in the corner.

But here’s the thing: I am not a blind Obama worshipper. Admittedly, I greatly admire Barack Obama – I feel that he’s a very intelligent man of high moral fiber, and, unlike our last president or Sarah fucking Palin, he knows how to speak English. But like I’ve said before, our worst enemy is fundamentalism. By no means should we blindly accept everything any of our leaders tell us.

I disagreed with just about everything George W. Bush said or did – this is because I feel that he was a somewhat intelligent man of exceptionally low moral fiber who took advantage of our political system for his and his friends’ personal gain. By the time I became actively involved and interested in politics, he’d already made several high profile fuckups, and at the time was talking big about starting a war in Iraq. See, by the time I started hating our last president, he’d already proven his incompetence.

So I’m going to ask you this: Just give Obama time to screw up. Don’t like him, don’t idolize him, and certainly don’t stop scrutinizing him, but quit all this fatalistic, end-is-nigh shit until he’s actually done something. We could’ve just elected Han Solo and I guarantee you the economy would still not have improved – that’s not reflective of Han Solo, that’s reflective of the nature of the economy.

Jesus Christ, people, it’s been 65 days.

Truman Capps has suspended his disbelief in the economy for this update.

Real Genius


"Aw, Kramer, what have you done this time?"


The word “genius” gets tossed around a lot these days, to the extent that I feel like the meaning is beginning to change. I consider a genius to be someone who has contributed something groundbreaking and amazing to the world – Albert Einstein, Jonas Salk, any given member of Styx. However, these days the title is getting handed to just about anybody, regardless of how many vaccines they’ve invented or power ballads they’ve composed.

I’d say there’s a lot of geniuses at work at Apple. Steve Jobs, in spite of his Darth Vaderesque personality and (current) appearance, is probably a genius. The guy who thought of the iPod? Genius. The guy who looked at the iPod and decided that it needed not only a phone but also an Internet connection, making it possible to discreetly watch porn on the bus? Genius, possible pervert. Those guys are deserving of some sort of professional accolade, besides, y’know, their impressive salaries and stock options and all. But the only people working at Apple who actually get the genius title are not, by their nature, geniuses.

When your washing machine breaks, you call a repairman. When your car breaks, you take it to a mechanic. When your MacBook breaks, you take it to the Apple Genius Bar. Now, to me, Genius Bar sounds more like a sort of singles club where MENSA members hang out once they’ve finished driving buses and pumping gas for the day. In fact, this is a room full of Apple enthusiasts who are very eager to help you fix your computer and possibly discuss the next season of Battlestar Galactica.* Their job title is “Genius.” That’s what they put on their taxes – Professional Genius.

*Coming from me, that’s a good thing.

Even for Apple, with its rich and vibrant history of egotism and unfiltered douchyness, this is a fairly presumptuous move. Apple is, after all, the company that creates aesthetically pleasing computers that run very well with artistic programs like Photoshop and come with rudimentary music mixing software. Die-hard Apple patrons generally turn their noses up at spreadsheets and listen to Celtic music overdubbed with whale calls. They don’t vote out of protest for the Electoral College and fully 80% of them live in Seattle, the bastards. Apple has now given them something to aspire to, a Jedi order if you will – become enough of an expert with Apple products, and you too can become a Genius™.

I feel as though a true genius is somebody who does something original that the world never saw coming, like Styx’s groundbreaking 1977 single “Come Sail Away.” An Apple Genius does not create anything new; he or she really just fixes something groundbreaking that somebody else created. Today, a Genius replaced the plastic casing on my girlfriend’s MacBook. To his credit, the new casing looks great, and it isn’t damaged like the old casing, but as far as the work of a genius goes I really don’t feel like this compares to The Origin of Species or anything. On the other hand, this guy had a braided beard, and I don’t think Darwin could really pull that look off.

That being said, something being groundbreaking doesn’t necessarily make its creator a genius, although I’m sure the managers of DinnerInTheSky.com would beg to differ. Dinner In The Sky is a company with a remarkably specific product – for a vast sum, they will use a giant crane to hoist a modified dinner table 50 meters above a given location so that up to 22 people can have a dinner that is in the sky. This will supposedly enrich everyone’s lives greatly and ensure business success for the creative and engaging executive who opts to have his next high-powered business lunch 50 meters above downtown Saginaw.

I feel like this company came to be because its creators needed a business plan for their Future Business Leaders of America tournament and decided to try and replicate something they’d thought of while smoking pot and watching infomercials. I can’t think of any reason why it would be desirable to pay an astronomical amount of money to eat what is probably sub par food in an open environment that is completely at the mercy of the elements and whatever ballsy seagulls happen to be in the area. Also, it’s at least 50 meters away from the nearest bathroom, which is a bad idea no matter how you slice it when you’re suspending people in midair and pouring them wine. I imagine that Dinner in the Sky would only be a great venue for a Lehman Brothers stockholders conference, as participants wouldn’t have to look too hard for a good way to commit suicide once they find out about their life savings.

Yes, the idea is innovative, and nobody has ever done anything like it before, but in some cases things have never been done before because they’re really just not a good idea. Nobody’s ever tried to fill the Grand Canyon with whip cream, but that doesn’t mean it’s something we ought to try. Of course, that would make it possible for me to go swimming in whip cream, which has always sort of been a personal goal of mine… Still, no, not a good idea – if we’re going to start filling things with whip cream, we should start smaller and work our way up. If we just start filling things with whip cream willy-nilly, that could quickly get out of hand.

Right, anyway.

We need to reign in the terminology that we use. Apple employees are not geniuses, they are people who are good at fixing computers. The creators of Dinner in the Sky are not geniuses, they’re just two guys with a crane and a table. Dr. Phil is not actually a doctor, he’s just a prick. Save these terms for when they’re really necessary; otherwise, the real geniuses won’t get as much credit as they deserve.

And God help you if you deprive Styx of credit.

Dinner in the Sky may actually be a great idea, but Truman Capps has hella vertigo.

Loathing at the Comic Book Shop


"Most offensive. Update. Ever."


Listen:

You all may sit in your ivory tower of not having played Dungeons and Dragons or not knowing the difference between a corps style and a pageantry style marching band and label all us nerds alike, but that is simply not true. There are layers of nerddom, dear readers, just as there are layers in a 7 Layer Burrito at Taco Bell. My level of nerddom is, while seemingly high to all of you, not that bad – probably only at about the cheese level in this particular analogy. However, my attempts to pursue my interests are frequently hampered by nerds at the deepest layer of nerddom, to the tune of the rice or beans, even.

I’m not a huge reader of comic books (sorry, graphic novels) but I have a passing, albeit shameful, interest in them in the same way that Republican Senator Larry Craig has a passing interest in anonymous airport dudes.* One graphic novel in particular that interests me is called The Walking Dead, which, according to Wikipedia, is an epic account of several people trying to survive a zombie apocalypse, which happens to be one of my primary interests. Hoping to find this book, I went to a local comic book shop near my apartment.

*Yes, it’s still funny, and it always will be.

As much as I try to be open minded, I’ll make no bones about the fact that I absolutely hate anime with every fiber of my being. No, I’m not just saying this because of anime’s propensity for schoolgirl tentacle rape porn – I understand that this trend is not wholly representative of the medium as it only affects some 95% of all anime. Also, I’m not saying this because of some sort of bias against animation in general - King of the Hill is one of my favorite shows in spite of their propensity for the words “narrow urethra.” Simply put, I hate every single element of anime equally. I hate the overblown emotions, I hate the huge eyes, I hate the rapid speech, I hate the gigantic drops of sweat, I hate the cute shrieks of glee or displeasure that the characters make – I hate every single aspect of the medium, and yes, I have sat down and watched a few episodes of anime shows that my friends tell me are “the best.” Basically, my hatred for anime is roughly equal to my hatred of Southern California, El Paso, Sarah Palin, Sex and the City, and the “University” of Washington.

So anyway, my day took a real turn for the worse when I walked into the comic book shop to see massive anime posters adorning the walls and a video of some anime show poisoning a perfectly good television perched on top of one of the bookcases. Out of the entire inventory in this shop, I’d say about 50% of it was anime. This was a jarring start to my search, but, unwilling to have walked two blocks in vain, I pressed on.

I entered the shop as one would enter a public restroom near Larry Craig’s office – carefully. I tried to keep my eyes off of the anime, but there was no clear divide in the store between the anime shelves and the shelves that stocked things that don’t make me grind my teeth. No matter where I looked there was at least one cheery-faced, sword-wielding vixen whose eyes were only dwarfed by her breasts. This was problematic for me because I feared that at any point someone could snap a picture of me looking in the general direction of anime and then label it “Truman looking at anime,” which would be a PR disaster of Larry Craig proportions.

Eventually, I figured out that the honest-to-goodness graphic novels were stored on a shelf that, much to my chagrin, was pretty much directly under the TV displaying the anime show. I would have loved to have walked over and examined the entire shelf, but I couldn’t as an overweight male individual had pulled up a chair right to the edge of the shelf and was sitting there reading one of the graphic novels, page by page, his considerable girth completely blocking access to the shelf for all other customers. No, it wasn’t enough that this guy refused to dip into his Pocky fund to actually buy the book he seemed so interested in, he made a point of freeloading in such a way that nobody else could freeload either. I feel like that level of disregard for one’s surroundings ought to be punished by sterilization or something, but then again, from the look of the guy I got the idea that we wouldn’t have to worry about his continued presence in the gene pool anyway.

The two other customers in the store weren’t doing much better – one of them, standing in front of a rack of comic books, was softly singing the theme song to some TV show and was quick to mutter “Hello” to me every time I walked past him. The other, another overweight fellow in an overcoat and bowler hat, was engaging the guy behind the counter in a long and, forgive my pun, ‘animated’ discussion about manga comics that rendered him unable to answer my question about the location of the graphic novel that I’d shown up for in the first place.

At this point, I may have alienated a good deal of my readership (many of whom have a distinctive history of marching band and science fiction enthusiasm) and would like to pull back and remind everyone that I’ve spent many a Sunday afternoon in my best friend’s living room in the company of character sheets and dice, and that I own a T-shirt identifying me as a member of a fictitious rebel science fiction army. I’m not trying to judge the other people in the store based on the fact that they weigh more than I do or even because they have a somewhat more enthusiastic opinion toward anime.

What I am trying to say is that if we nerds ever want to shed our stereotype as socially awkward and unhygienic, well, maybe it would do if some of us started getting a little less socially awkward and unhygienic. I doubt that Christians feel embarrassed when they go to Christian bookstores, nor do NRA members feel embarrassed when they visit gun shops. So why is it that when I go to a comic book shop, which sells some products I have a passing interest in, that I feel like I have to look over my shoulder all the time in case somebody cool sees me hanging out with TV Theme Singer or Captain Mooching Obstruction? I mean, I feel more self-conscious than Larry Craig when he goes to adult shops to buy gay porn.

In the end, afraid that prolonged exposure to the comic book shop would drive me to grab a chair of my own or start singing TV themes, I left and went to the bookstore next door, in search of a more socially acceptable form of literature to spend money on.

It was there that I spent a very pleasant afternoon among the countless thousands of paperback science fiction novels they had on sale.

While Truman Capps’ stance against anime is similar to Larry Craig’s stance against gay people, Truman would like to assure you that he doesn’t solicit anime in public restrooms.

Info Hell: An Epilogue


"Hurry! We've got to find another Academic Source!"


The completion of Info Hell has become something of a rite of passage among journalism students, and the professors have recently gotten involved as well. For years now, the official paper turn in date has consisted of the professor reading the name of every student in the class, who, when their names are read, stand up, go to the front of the classroom, and deposit their project into the turn-in box belonging to the graduate student who had been in charge of their discussion section. Having turned in the project, each student then shakes hands with the professor and is presented with a small button, which reads “I SURVIVED INFO HELL!” It is generally accepted that that button and talent will make you a very talented journalist.

In many ways, the ceremony is a lot like high school graduation – the highly boring conclusion of a horrific experience I’d much rather forget – although I doubt there are quite as many girls sobbing and hugging throughout the whole affair.

As someone who is not necessarily a fan of boring ceremonies, you could say I was lucky that I opted to turn in my paper early so I could go to the Pac-10 basketball championship in Los Angeles. I met my professor during her office hours at 9:30, handed her my paper, shook her hand, collected my button, exchanged pleasantries, and went on my way. That was the end – I leave it entirely in their hands.

I’ve talked to a lot of people about Info Hell over the past term, and it’s my opinion that just about everybody who comes to the University of Oregon starts out as a journalism major.* This is because every time I mentioned Info Hell, somebody nearby would, without fail, say “Oh, yeah, that class is why I quit being a journalism major.” In fact, I believe I wrote a column about roughly this subject some time ago. Point is, it makes me feel like sort of a badass for being able to put up with more crap than the literally hundreds of other ex-journalism majors at this school. I’m not saying it makes me better than they are or anything (I’m better than literally hundreds of people for plenty of other reasons) but it does make me feel like somebody who climbed a mountain or something. Maybe not the world’s tallest mountain, but a mountain nonetheless. Not everyone has tasted the air at the top of Mount Journalism, but I have – and it tastes just as fetid and disgusting as the air down at the bottom, with the added depression of knowing I have to climb down the other side now. Really, the only good thing about the top of Mount Journalism is that I can piss on the people on top of Mount Business (it is considerably smaller) and tell them it’s raining.

*Whenever I make a broad generalization such as this one, in which I hypothesize that all 20,000 people at my school are majoring in the same thing, I always get a deluge of comments from people calling shenanigans and self-righteously pointing out that they never started out as journalism majors or rubbed their roommate’s camera on their crotches or whatever I was talking about in that week’s generalization. Newsflash: I know. That’s the thing about comedy; it’s not always 100% factual. Telling me my impossible generalizations are incorrect is like telling a clown that it would probably be easier for him and his 30 friends to get around if they bought a bigger car.

As it turns out, though, the hardest part of the entire process wasn’t the research or the writing or the fact that at any given time I had so many Word windows and PDF files open that my processor basically ground to a halt – it was the logistics of printing my entire 104 page assignment. This is sort of embarrassing for me, because the process of printing is basically clicking and waiting as opposed to generating 104 pages of original content, suggesting some sort of motor skill deficiency on my part.

I was fortunate not to encounter any of the serious disasters that my friends did, such as Cameron “The Hammer” Shultz, whose USB flashdrive successfully deleted 13 of his annotations about a day before the project was due, throwing him into a tailspin of work, profanity, and non-bathing until he refinished his project about an hour before the due date.* My project was finished and ready to print a full 48 hours before the appointed turn-in hour, but the printing process could well have been a class in and of itself. There are about a thousand tiny elements to keep track of as you pull together 10 weeks’ worth of data to print and bind, and in a few cases, if you don’t have some of those elements you get an automatic zero on your paper.

*To continue an idea Cameron began in his blog post about the whole affair, I’ve got to say that USB flashdrives are the college equivalent of that giant alien sand pit in Return of the Jedi that Jabba wants to throw Luke into – if you never want to see your information again, by all means put it on a flashdrive. Just chuck it off of your floating hoverbarge and wave goodbye as it gets slowly devoured over the course of several thousand years, just like Boba Fett.

With the help of my intrepid roommate Josh I organized all 104 pages into a single PDF file (and by “with the help of,” I mean “Josh did everything while I gave him vague, highly critical directions”), which was a lot harder than it sounds because this process required a flashdrive to transfer files en masse from my computer to his, which is about as safe as delivering Christmas presents through a black hole, and because the Adobe program he was using refused to put the pages in the proper order unless it had been asked three times and offered a sexual favor. Fortunately, I have no shame when it comes to offering sexual favors, so the job did get done eventually, although we all felt a little less innocent once it was finished.

So I went to the J-school that night, finagled my way in through the good graces of a janitor, and printed my project on one of the free black and white printers in a photo lab. In the interests of protecting my stack of papers, I put my project into my laptop’s protective carrying case and carried my $1200 laptop under my arm. As I walked home in the light drizzle at 1:30 AM, I knew that at that point if anybody tried to mug me they were more than welcome to my laptop.

If they went for the project, though, motherfuckers were gonna die.

Truman Capps is going to major in pottery if he didn’t pass this fucking class.

Preaching Tolerance

As seen in the Oregon Daily Emerald - 3 days since our last strike!

It was a Saturday morning and I was fast asleep, as usual. Having gone to bed at roughly 3 AM, I wasn’t planning on waking up much before the mid afternoon – that is, until there was a quick, businesslike, “shave and a haircut – two bits” style knock on my door. Jerked out of the darkest depths of my REM cycle, I stumbled out of bed wearing only my boxer shorts and groggily flung the door open, evidently expecting whoever had dared wake me up so early on a Saturday to be comfortable with what they were about to see.

Standing on my doorstep were two of the cutest, most innocent looking young women I had ever seen, wearing matching black wool coats. Their smiles abated slightly when they realized they were looking at a man who was about 80% naked. I promptly came to my senses, swore loudly, shut the door, threw on some clothes, and opened it again. In spite of their better judgment, the girls were still there, and one of them began to speak when she saw that I had covered as much of my shame as was possible.

“Hi there!” She said through a quaint Minnesota accent. “We’re from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints…”

Once she’d come to the end of her introduction, I politely told them both that I wasn’t going to be buying what they were selling and bade them adieu. They seemed eager enough to leave. I have to say, I felt sorry for them – being plucked out of Minnesota to do a mission trip in Oregon in the winter is bad enough, but I had perhaps made their experience even worse.

I am an atheist. This means that I don’t believe in any god, instead placing my faith in science to explain the world’s mysteries (interestingly enough, I barely scraped through high school chemistry with a B-, so maybe I’ve been having a crisis of non-faith). My parents and grandparents are also atheists, so altogether we have a combined total of nearly 250 years of being told we’re going to hell. To world religion’s credit, there have also been many attempts to save us – from Jehovah’s Witnesses to Mormons to Christians to Catholics and even some Orthodox Jews once in New York. Throughout my life, my parents have instilled in me the importance of always being polite to the people who attempt to convert me.

At first, I couldn’t understand why. I found it supremely offensive – and, to some extent, still do – that complete strangers would have the audacity to think that their way of life is so much better than mine that they’d be doing me a favor to try and impress it upon me. Now, however, I am an opinion columnist, and my job is more or less to impress my opinions on everyone unlucky enough to read my column, so that’s given me a fair amount of perspective. But more importantly, I see the futility of this misdirected anger.

Many other people in my apartment complex were not as polite to the Mormons as I was – sure, I wasn’t aware of anyone else inadvertently giving them a free show at the door, but I did see many other tenants slamming doors in their faces or angrily debating them about the existence of God or the veracity of their beliefs. This sort of thing is just damn impolite, if I do say so myself.

I’m lucky, as a career atheist, to live in Oregon and to be going to a school like the University of Oregon, where a significant portion of the student body is very open minded about my lack of faith. However, in many cases I’ve also seen a lot of close-mindedness exercised toward people who do have faith, based on the sometimes (or often) detrimental effects of religion both in the past and the present. I’ve seen students debating with theists of most every sort on campus, but what I find perhaps most offensive is when I see people arguing with Jesus Guy, who stands by the EMU with his “Trust Jesus Now” sign.

Jesus Guy has never done anything to hurt anyone – he just stands there, rain or shine, holding a sign that preaches a message of love. Even though I don’t think Jesus was the son of God, I agree with a lot of what he said, and I really respect the Jesus Guy both for focusing on the more peaceful aspects of Christianity, and also for his dedication to his message. Yet I see people debating him on the notion of belief from time to time, calling up facts and figures about all the strife in the world caused by religion as a means to bring him down, as well as what he believes in.

It certainly would appear that religion is to blame for the majority of the world’s ills – terrorism, Gaza, imperialism, the Left Behind movies – but in fact, it is not. The real culprit is fundamentalism. If every member of every religion in the world were able to swallow their pride and accept that other people live differently, religion would be no problem at all – it would all be love, harmony, and charity, tenets that I believe most major religions were founded on.

This is why I, as an atheist, do my best not to take umbrage when theists show up at my door trying to preach their own way of life. Religious tolerance is a two way street; if you want it, you’ve got to show it (in fact, I think there’s something in the Bible about that). We can’t blame individual members of a religion for any past or current prejudices and violence on the part of that religion either here or abroad ¬– that sort of thinking is where prejudice begins.

If there’sone opinion I can impress, though, it’s that you should always put on your clothes before you answer the door.

Watching Watchmen


"Okay, see, basically none of the people in this picture are in the movie, but they're all really important to the alternate history of the storyline because... Hey, where are you going?"


How big of a geek am I? Well, the newspaper I work for (so, geeky thing #1 right there) went on strike this week, garnering national news coverage and missing publication for the first time in over a century, and in my blog I’m opting to talk about a movie I saw which features the world’s most awkward sex scene and a lifetime supply of glowing blue dick (and trust me, that’s a lot of glowing blue dick).

If you aren’t familiar with the Watchmen graphic novel, probably the only thing more perplexing to you than the trailers (which featured a guy with an inkblot test for a face, a flying glass machine on Mars, and people making out in front of a nuclear explosion) was the reactions of the people in the audience who were familiar with the graphic novel (sweating, grabbing inhalers, more sweating). I can’t blame you; people have tried to ask me what Watchmen is about, and despite an all-encompassing love of basically every element of the story, I really can’t explain it. I feel like the first major stumbling block is when I say “alternate history,” because a lot of people don’t get what that is, and those who do get it tend to roll their eyes when they hear it (take it from me, the one writing an alternate-history novel). Because of this, I had always felt that even if a Watchmen movie were to be made in a manner that did not suck, it would be a huge financial flop because most people in the country haven’t read the graphic novel, and would thus assume that it was some sort of softcore porn movie about Blue Man Group or something.

However, if there was anyone who could take one of the most densely layered and complex stories in the past 25 years and turn it into a feature length film, it would be Watchmen’s director, Zack Snyder. Zack Snyder has only made three movies counting this one, but thanks to his directorial prowess every one of his films has been literally overflowing with raw, unrefined kickass. Furthermore, each film is defined by a crowning moment of pure insanity. In Dawn of the Dead it’s a zombie woman giving birth to a zombie baby, in 300 it’s King Leonidus and his men building a wall of dead Persians and then tipping that wall of Persians over so that it crushes a bunch of other Persians, and in Watchmen it’s Lee Iacocca getting shot in the fucking face. For those of you not up to date on your famous entrepreneurs of the 1980s, Lee Iacocca was the CEO of Chrysler from 1978 to 1992, and is credited with saving what had once been a fledgling auto company from bankruptcy. Furthermore, Lee Iacocca is nowhere to be found in the original graphic novel. What this means is that Zack Snyder looked at the script for Watchmen and said, “Yeah, that’s good – but I think we should blow Iacocca’s brains out.” And by golly, he did. Iacocca, apparently, is not amused.

It’s these little departures from the source content – and I’m referring here to spontaneously murdering a captain of industry – that really made Watchmen shine for me. I was surprised at how closely the film stuck to the graphic novel, right on down to dialogue and order of events. However, as great as it is to see all the stuff I’d read more times than probably is healthy on the big screen, it was even better to see the places where Snyder had decided that his vision was cooler than that of the original author’s. In the graphic novel, there is not a scene wherein two spandex clad heroes beat the crap out of about 30 rioting prisoners with their bare hands; however, in the movie it is both perfect and totally awesome.* Also, fifth-term President Nixon and his cabinet gather to discuss mutually assured destruction in a war room that looks exactly like the one from Dr. Strangelove, which actually made me yelp with pseudo-orgasmic, cult film and cult graphic novel synthesis glee.

*This could also be because I’ve wasted entire days of my life this term doing research on the best rehabilitative methods for prisoners as part of my Info Hell project, and it was nice to just see some of those bastards get the beat down for wasting so much of my time.

The adherence to the source content is also one of Watchmen’s biggest flaws, for two reasons. The first is that some scenes do not need to be replicated in the same, shot-for-frame detail as in the graphic novel. To be honest, Zack Snyder really only made about half of a movie – for the rest of it he just referred to the graphic novel for all of his framing and dialogue, moved his actors around accordingly, and turned on the camera. While it’s admirable to try and please the fanboys, Zack Snyder was sticking so close to the source that I feel like he thought they were going to burn down his house if he left too many of his own fingerprints on the material.

The second reason is that Snyder clearly shot several hours of footage, perhaps intending to release all of it on the DVD, but the movie is only (yes, only) two hours and 45 minutes long. A whole lot of footage had to be cut, and in a few places the choppiness is evident. Where, for example, did Silk Spectre II get the gun she uses at the end of the movie? Who are the reporters who receive the journal? I feel certain that the answers to these questions are on film somewhere, but most audiences won’t see them until they buy the extended edition DVD in a few months. Had Snyder taken one or two liberties with the original story, he could’ve made a more cohesive movie that was capable of standing on its own two feet, rather than creating a pseudo-fantasy world in which women can produce guns out of thin air and overweight men spill ketchup on their shirts.*

*This probably doesn’t make any sense at all if you haven’t seen the movie, but then again, I don’t suppose this post does either.

Overall, though, I was pleased with Watchmen. It did the story justice and serves as an awesome experience for readers of the graphic novel – everyone else, however, would do well to read a copy before buying a ticket. There isn’t much in the movie that I’d change, save for an overly long and remarkably graphic superhero sex scene, the awkwardness of which doubles if you see it with your girlfriend. And doubles again if she hasn’t read the graphic novel.

And doubles again if she’s been listening to you rave about how great the naked blue guy superhero porn movie is for the past six weeks.

Truman Capps also applauds the use of 99 Luftballoons in a big budget superhero blockbuster – if there was anything that could’ve saved Spider Man 3, it would’ve been that.

Open Source Publishing

As seen in the Oregon Daily Emerald, which is currently on strike until further notice.

Knight Library is a truly invaluable information resource, thanks largely to the various online scholarly databases to which it subscribes. Databases like EBSCO and LexisNexis provide access to hundreds of thousands of documents that simply cannot be found elsewhere on the Internet. Sure, Google is a great information database when you’re looking for UFO conspiracy theories and pornography, but unless you’re lucky enough to be writing your doctoral thesis on either of those topics you’re probably going to need to search for information somewhere more reputable.

Unfortunately, Knight Library is planning to cut several scholarly journals and nearly 30 databases, limiting the research options available. Officials have given various reasons for the cutbacks in service – subscription prices are growing while the library budget does not, for-profit publishers who maintain some of these services make a lot of money while the authors themselves make none, and a desire to proceed toward new forms of research that is mutually beneficial to both authors and the school – but the fact remains that once these journals and databases are gone, there will be fewer avenues of research open to students completing their scholarly projects. Some of the smaller databases on the chopping block, like Nucleic Acids Abstracts, may not be vital to a large percentage of the student body (although I will sorely miss this opportunity to know about the thousands of kinds of nucleic acids in the world, or even to find out what a nucleic acid is), but others, such as the LexisNexis Government Periodicals Index, could have a greater affect on student research.

The proposed alternative to these databases and journals is open source publishing; a form of Internet distribution wherein scholars publish their studies online and everyone has free and unrestricted access. Sites like www.archive.org are host to hundreds of thousands of articles, videos, images, books, and archived web pages, all available for free download. Eager to see if this Wikipedia-style approach to research was all it was cracked up to be, I swung by archive.org and took a look around.

The website describes itself as a digital equivalent to the ancient Library of Alexandria, which was said to include a copy of every book in the world at that time before it burned down (one would think that with all that accumulated knowledge in one place they would have at least figured out how to install a sprinkler system). When I visited, Archive.org’s front page indicated their intent to archive just about anything by displaying their most recent acquisitions, which included a recording of a Grateful Dead concert, a novel published in 1892, and a documentary about the Los Angeles Fire Department from the early 1950s (exactly the sort of thing the Library of Alexandria needed). All in all, archive.org is a fascinating place, and I’d definitely recommend that you go there on the off chance that anything that’s happened in the past 100 years interests you, because they’ve probably archived something about it.

However, when I entered my Info Hell topic, “Prison Reform,” into the search bar, I was presented with 71 results. Several of them were historical documents, a few digitized books, a B-movie from 1943 called Prison Mutiny, and two audio clips from a right wing talk radio show whose topics frequently include 9/11 conspiracy theories and the illegal immigrant “invasion” of our country. I didn’t find any contemporary academic sources; however, to archive.org’s credit, there were a few Congressional documents dating back to the late 1800s. Of course, I could have been looking on the wrong site; there could be another open source publishing website that I’ve missed entirely which features a wealth of information about prisons and nucleic acids. The problem is that I spent an hour searching for open source sites on the Internet, and archive.org was the best result I found – if we’re switching to a new source for research, I’d want it to be more assessable than that.

I’m not trying to say that open source publishing is bad, because I feel like the concept of freely available information is very sound – this is one of the reasons I can spend hours fiddling around on Wikipedia. Also, I’m definitely in favor of the University making the shift to open source publishing of this sort. What I am trying to say is that to make that shift now by canceling our subscriptions to more traditional services is not a good idea.

Open source publishing is only as good as the people participating, and at the moment the trend is only gathering steam. The open source database I looked at was home to exercise videos and a 45-page stageplay about ants, but no scholarly articles on corrections, which is a commonly picked topic by students in Information Gathering. To cancel our subscriptions to traditional databases and journals before open source websites develop a broader range of useful scholarly information will leave a lot of students in the lurch as far as research is concerned.

But of course, money is tight. Even with the $20 million the library gained through Campaign Oregon, the rising cost of these subscription services will eventually exceed our budget. That said, giving students a few more years with ready access to reliable information allows sites like archive.org some time to develop their range of scholarly articles. While sitting and waiting for open source publishing to really take off may not seem like a wise idea at first, the University could hasten the process along by setting aside some funds for the development of the open source model. By offering incentives to professors who post their studies online rather than submitting them to journals or helping to spread the word in the academic community about these digital alternatives, we could work to increase the number of scholarly documents available online in order to make the transition smoother when the time comes to change our methods of research.

Sure, the idea of spending money on what is supposed to be a more cost effective strategy seems counterintuitive, but if we really want to embrace a publication model that is free for everyone, we’ve got to make an investment in our future.

Hate Mail, Part Deux


Now here's somebody who knows what he's talking about.


As you may recall from a previous, not terribly funny update, I wrote about my frustrations with working at the Oregon Daily Emerald. Getting into the job, I apparently hadn’t understood that I’d have to be coming up with an opinion on a weekly basis, and after a term and a half of throwing out mostly half baked, soft pitch opinions, I was wondering how much longer I’d be able to keep up the façade of myself as a “serious” “journalist.” The time had come, I suppose, to decide between going big and going home, and for what is perhaps the first time in my life, I opted to go big. Some of you have mentioned that in the past few weeks, my Daily Emerald articles have started getting better. The combination of bourbon, rage, and not giving a shit has evidently paid off.

I may have mentioned before that I was afraid to toss out an actual, controversial opinion. Don’t take this to mean that I’m not an opinionated person; that I most certainly am. It’s just that up until this point I was under the impression that in addition to being an opinionated person, I was also an idiot whose ideas had best be kept out of print lest he incite an accidental race war or something.

I think this first became an issue for me when I was on the speech and debate team at my high school. Now, for those of you popular enough to not know the ins and outs of competitive public speaking, that gloriously dorky world is divided into two camps: Speeches, which tend to be individual orations judged on their quality, and Debate, in which two people (or two pairs of four) argue the pros and cons of an issue while wearing suits and generally refraining from hand gestures, crotch grabbing, or the phrase “jump up my butt.”

My various speech coaches always thought that I’d be great at debating with the same misguided fervor that people assume I would make a good leader or a great Jehovah’s Witness. On a few occasions, they paired me up in practice debates against other people from my team, and in almost every situation I’d end up getting verbally massacred by my opponents, who had the remarkable ability to disprove every word I said, including prepositions and most forms of punctuation. These repeated defeats quickly taught me that stating an opinion in the presence of dissenters was a great way to get mentally gang raped by people better informed than I. Thus, I opted not to do debate and instead settled on a Speech event called After Dinner Speaking, which centers on making stupid jokes for a few minutes before saying something mildly insightful. I was so good at this that I kept doing it after high school, twice a week, on the Internet – like a drunk man pissing non sequiturs and metaphors into a storm drain full of porn and lolcats.

Once again, this brings us to the question of why I became an opinion columnist in the first place, seeing as I already had a well-established fear of inciting the rage of a better-informed contemporary with a different opinion than my own. It’s especially bad given the fact that the name of the job was the thing I was so reluctant to do – Opinion Columnist. I mean, I wouldn’t feel any sympathy for somebody with a fear of alligators who became a professional alligator wrestler, or a guy with a fear of genitalia who became a gynecologist. I guess I was just sort of hoping that the Emerald’s readers would be so tired of opinions halfway through the week that they’d really appreciate a collection of non sequiturs and metaphors that ambled toward a point. Think of it as a kinder, gentler Opinion page, a vacation for the brain, if you will.

It was a few weeks ago when I finally realized that my opinions, which almost all fall into the “Don’t be an idiot, quit whining, meatloaf is delicious” vein, weren’t really all that scandalous to begin with – as far as I was concerned (in my opinion, you could say), they were common sense. My main fear, then, was broadcasting these opinions to the thousands of people who read (or do the Sudoku in) the paper, at which point I applied the “quit whining” portion of my personal philosophy and started writing down the stuff that made sense to me.

So far, it’s been going pretty well. I’ve received a couple of congratulatory emails from faculty who enjoyed my work, ensuring that I will forever be a teacher’s pet, but I’ve also received some pieces of hate mail. Fortunately, though, so far a fucking idiot has written every message. Take, for example, this response to my piece on helicopter parents:

Megan

It's kind of hilarious to hear someone whose mommy and daddy pay for everything try to preach about "independence" and the "real world." Practicing all those important life skills is easy enough when you have that big golden buffer between you and reality. Let's talk when you're juggling two part-time jobs, a full-time school load and are $15,000 in debt. If (heaven forbid!) my parents offered to drive up here and buy my books then I would have to accept that help because honestly I can't afford not to.

I'm sure you're a nice enough guy, Truman, but I think it would be in your best interest to find something to write about that doesn't make you sound like a first rate douchebag. Maybe a story about some third world country whose Poor Starving Children you helped or your struggle to choose the perfect double major combination or that backpacking trip through Europe when you lost cell phone reception for 20 minutes.


Hey, Megan – I couldn’t say this in an email, but I’ll say it here: You can jump up my butt.

I’ve changed my opinion on opinions, or at least the ones I’m writing for the paper. Whereas before I tried to examine things from every possible angle and see all the sides, I’ve realized now that that sort of behavior doesn’t meet deadlines. In order to put out good articles, like the ones you’ve been reading, I need to stand behind what I think and not look back. Therefore, I’ve been following this mantra every time I sit down to crank out another column:

Opinions are like assholes – everyone’s got one, and mine is the best.

Truman Capps actually is a nice enough guy.

Grade Inflation

As seen in the Oregon Daily Emerald!

I feel like daytime TV is basically the epitome of sloth. A medium generally reserved for people who, for whatever reason, are sitting around watching TV in the middle of the day rather than working, daytime television caters to their perceived laziness with a parade of advertisements shilling labor saving products. Herbal supplements and miracle diets promise fast weight loss without having to exercise or watch what you eat, online dating sites make it possible to fall in love without leaving your computer, and for everything else in life, there’s ShamWow (as the man says, it’s made in Germany, and you know they always make the best stuff).

We’ve started to shift our responsibilities off of ourselves and onto other people and things in our environment. No longer is it our own fault that we’re fat, it’s because of a hormone deficiency that this pill can fix. The reason we can’t find suitable partners isn’t because we spend all of our time inside playing World of Warcraft, it’s because we haven’t been matched to a member of the opposite sex based on 29 dimensions that apparently determine happiness. The economy isn’t a mess because of our rampant speculation in the housing market, it’s because people haven’t been buying enough ShamWow towels.

This shift in responsibility is especially evident in higher education. An increasing number of college professors say that students will visit them during their office hours attempting to haggle a higher grade on one of their papers, arguing that they tried very, very hard and that the professor was unfair in giving them a C or a B- for what the student thought was a really strong effort. In fact, a recent study from the University of California, Irvine reported that a third of students surveyed expected a B simply for showing up to class on a regular basis. Just in case you’d forgotten, a B is traditionally defined as “above average.” So what this means is that a significant percentage of America’s future leaders and entrepreneurs think that they’re above average simply by virtue of the fact that they know how to show up to a specified location on time with some semblance of regularity. How about that for an ego problem – I’ve been called pompous before, but I’ve never assumed that my professor is going to give me a good grade because I made his or her class that much more awesome by coming in every day and just being me. To be fair, though, we students aren’t the only ones with this problem – President Bush showed up to work just about every day (when he wasn’t on vacation) and still seemed to fancy himself as an above average leader.

I’m mystified by the commonly held notion that professors “give” us our grades. They give us our grades in the sense that they pull out a marker and write a letter on the papers we hand in or calculate a percentage at the end of the term, but they make these decisions based on material that we create and give to them. Professors don’t “give” us grades – they look at our work and evaluate it against their standard of quality, and the grade reflects how close we came to what they were looking for. Sure, it’s tough to know exactly what a professor expects of you – thank God they print that sort of information on the syllabus. Effort does factor into the equation; it always takes effort to make something good. However, it’s also fully possible to expend a decent amount of effort and make something bad. The real trick, I suppose, is to make the effort in your classes to actually learn something, and then incorporate that effort into your essay writing and test taking efforts. Just because you spend a few hours on something doesn’t mean it’s going to be any good – take this column, for instance.

I feel like this problem is rooted in our upbringing, where we were taught that everyone was a winner and that, if we tried hard enough, we could do literally anything. As useful as these ideas may have been to our youthful psyches, they were perpetuated throughout our schooling and they evidently persist today in our world of grade inflation and deferred responsibility. The simple fact is that we can’t all be winners (as evidenced by the University of Washington’s football team) and that trying alone is not the one shot formula for achieving your dreams – if it were, half of the adults in this country would be astronauts, and the other half would be princesses.

If you want to succeed you do have to try, but you also have to learn and compromise. That means actively participating in your classes, not just showing up, and also learning to sacrifice some more of your leisure time to really go the extra mile on your term paper. It means eating right and exercising, not just taking a pill and hoping for the best. It means going out and meeting people, not entering facts about yourself into a web browser. As far as ShamWow is concerned, though, you can just keep on doing what you’re doing.

This One Time Alexander...


And believe it or not, we both have girlfriends now.


My best friend, Private Alexander Jasper, is leaving for Afghanistan today. Over the course of the next year, he’s going to jump out of planes, shoot guns, punch terrorism in the face, and capture the enemy flag. I haven’t seen him since last summer (he was in Salem around Christmas, but there was a blizzard so I couldn’t make it down – thanks, benevolent and loving God!) and over the course of the next year he won’t have phone contact with the outside, non-shitty world in which I live.

Alexander has always had absolutely horrible taste, which would explain why he was such a huge fan of this blog. Thus, as a sort of “Good Luck Stormin’ The Castle” gift, I hereby dedicate this update to the crazy shit Alexander has done in the eight years I’ve known him.

This one time, Alexander…

…came to school dressed as Chewbacca. It was our sophomore year, so I guess the third Star Wars prequel movie had yet to come out, but that wasn’t for months. Also, it wasn’t so much a Chewbacca costume as his father’s gorilla costume (Mr. Jasper is the sort of man who both needs and frequently uses a gorilla costume) repurposed with a Wookie-style bandolier. When I asked him why he was dressed as Chewbacca, Alexander looked at me like I was crazy and said, “Uh… It’s Thursday?” And he was right – it was Thursday.

…almost killed me with a slingshot. About three months after I’d first met him I was over at his house, which was on several acres of mud and weeds outside of town, and wandering around in the backyard. Alexander, about 50 feet away, put a marble in his slingshot and fired it at me, intending to have it hit my ass. Instead, a marble whizzed right past my ear at probably a thousand miles an hour. The damn thing could’ve killed me. Alexander just laughed, because he doesn’t really believe in death.

…didn’t show up for a movie on time. No, actually, this is inaccurate – Alexander has never once in his life ever made it to a movie theater on time. Shitty one-horse town that it is, Salem only has two movie theaters, one of which is nestled among the meth addicts and garbage of downtown, the other nestled among the meth addicts and crack addicts of Lancaster Boulevard, on the outskirts of town. Whenever we’d agree to meet at one of these theaters, Alexander would always, always wind up going to the other one. It was like he had their names mixed up, and maybe their physical appearance, too – I could say “Let’s see Hot Fuzz at the DOWNTOWN theater, the one covered in graffiti, across from the abandoned parking garage!” and then, 20 minutes later, I’d be waiting around at the downtown theater when I’d get the call: “Where are you? …Wait, what theater were we going to?” Once, in middle school, we went to see Monsters, Inc. He left to go to the bathroom during the previews, and just didn’t come back. After the movie we found him waiting in the lobby – turns out he’d gotten lost on the way back from the bathroom and gone into another theater playing Monsters Inc. that had started 20 minutes ago. He just sat with some strangers for the entire movie.

…gave me fiber advice in front of our entire Wellness II class in high school. The class was a joke, taught by a man who I feel certain was literally retarded (it makes sense – he was the wrestling coach, after all) and on that day we were, as usual, all sitting and quietly reading from our books. Suddenly, in the silence of the classroom, Alexander looks up and says, “Hey… Hey, Truman!”
I looked up, as did everyone else in the room. Alexander, sitting at a desk on the other end of the class, was pointing to his book.
“It says here, ‘To ensure soft and bulky bowel movements, ingest at least 5 grams of fiber per day.’ So, uh…” He shrugged. “I guess, if you’ve been having trouble with your bowel movements, maybe you should do that.”
Everyone just stared at either him or me. It was one of the most embarrassing and awkward moments in high school. You magnificent bastard.

…was trying to fart silently during his math class during a test. He did all of the necessary acrobatics with his sphincter that come with this sort of thing, and then attempted to let the gas out silently. Evidently he’d gone wrong somewhere in the process, because what ensued was a magnificently loud burst of flatulence, made even louder by the extreme silence of the classroom. Pandemonium ensued, during which the girl sitting at the desk in front of Alexander turned and looked at him, “like I’d just killed her dog or something.”

…jumped into his car in the parking lot of a bowling alley at 1:30 AM and fired up the stereo, which started playing “Safety Dance.” This was on Prom Night, senior year – and my senior prom was without a doubt one of the largest unmitigated disasters in the history of unmitigated disasters – when all I wanted to do was go home, set fire to everyone in my class, and maybe have a little cry, too. But it was there in the bowling alley parking lot, before we all parted ways, that Alexander started playing what was then our favorite song, and so he and I and Brent, the third member of our party, danced like asshats in an empty parking lot, being gawked at by meth addicts, hobos, and meth addict hobos. It was a great end to one of the worst nights ever.

…yelled, in a highly effeminate voice, “HEEYYYYY JOOOOOSSSHHHH!” to a classmate of ours in the middle of a crowded mall during Christmas shopping season. Josh gave him a dirty look and left. When Brent and I chastised him for yelling in such a way at our recently outed gay classmate, he looked shocked and said, “Josh is gay!? I was just… Y’know, doin’ that for the hell of it!”

…held an entire conversation in pantomime out of pure spite. During a party at my house, Alexander was having an animated discussion with another of my friends when Andrew, as self important and pretentious a jerkoff as ever has lived, asked them to quiet down so he could continue his conversation. Alexander’s response to this was to hold an elaborate pantomime conversation with his friend (this included miming fellatio and pretend-pissing on Andrew) which ultimately commanded the attention of the entire room and garnered a round of applause, completely obliterating whatever stupid shit Andrew was trying to say.

…went head to head with one of his peacocks. Alexander’s family owned a flock of four peacocks, which Alexander dubbed “The Skexies.” They spent most of their time walking around in a tight cluster and hooting at anything that struck their fancy. Every time I’d see Alexander he’d have a new story about The Skexies, namely, the exploits of Crackers, who Alexander fondly referred to as “The Stupidest Peacock in the World.” Crackers routinely got stuck on the roof or lost in the woods, forcing Alexander to go out in the rain and cold to get him back. Every time we nerds convened at Alexander’s house, he’d point out Crackers to us and say, “That’s Crackers – the Stupidest Peacock in the World!”
After about a year of this, we arrived at Alexander’s house to find that all of the Skexies except Crackers had had their wings clipped. When we asked him why this was, Alexander said, “Oh, yeah, I had to chase down all of the Skexies and clip their wings so they wouldn’t try to flap over the fence onto the neighbor’s property.” When we asked why Crackers wasn’t clipped, Alexander looked at his shoes and muttered, “He… He outsmarted me.”

…threw ranch dressing at a complete stranger. After a train trip with his family, Alexander was in the stall in the train station bathroom when his younger brother, William, came in and started doing everything possible to ruin the experience for him, namely throwing all available toilet paper rolls and handfuls of lather soap over the stall door in an attempt to hit him. His work done, William ran out, cackling, and when Alexander had cleaned as much soap as possible off of himself, he returned to find his family eating fish and chips in the train station food court. Seizing the opportunity for revenge, Alexander grabbed his Mom’s little container of tartar sauce and threw it at William, who Matrixed out of the way at the last second. The tartar sauce instead hit a complete stranger sitting at the next table. In the resulting chaos, Alexander’s mother tried to apologize to the bystander with the words, “Sir, forgive my son. He’s an idiot.”

…made me laugh harder than I ever have in my entire goddamned life. The facts are these: We were gathered around the cafeteria table one lunchtime when my friend Michael related that his father, a fireman/paramedic, had been summoned to a retirement home the previous day where there was an outbreak of the norovirus. Michael was worried that his father had brought the virus home to him, as he had heard that the norovirus causes violent and uncontrollable diarrhea and vomiting.
Hearing this, Alexander’s eyes widened with awe and glee. “Oh my God!” He exclaimed. “If you had both at once you’d basically be on the floor spinning in circles!” To illustrate his point, he spun his finger around on the table, yelling “Auuuuuuuughhh!” to mimic the situation Michael was potentially facing.

And it was the funniest thing in the world. The funniest thing. I laughed for 20 minutes, until my stomach hurt and my eyes ran out of tears and my lungs burned and I started to hyperventilate. I have never before in my life laughed that hard at anything, and I doubt I ever will again. Being as peripherally involved with comedy as I am, I’ve made mockery out of quite a few things, but I have never laughed more hysterically or fully than I did that day, at the thought of one of my friends lying on the floor being spun in circles by the sheer force and violence of vomit and shit. At that time and place and mindset, that was hands down The Funniest Moment In Human History. And of course it sounds lame and juvenile now, laid out in black and white text on a page – you had to be there. That’s the beauty of Alexander: he truly is the king of You Had To Be There.

I get that this update probably wasn’t terribly interesting to the bulk of my readership. Understandable – you had to be there, and you weren’t. But with all due respect, this update wasn’t really for you. It’s for Alexander, the single funniest motherfucker I’ve ever met.

Give ‘em hell, old chum.

Truman Capps has improved his fiber intake now, thank you.

Smokehouse

As seen in the Oregon Daily Emerald!

A lot of the college changes that most people experience were especially shocking for me because I went to a stiflingly conservative Salem high school wherein nearly everyone was either Mormon, Republican, both, or a member of a Christian youth group that encouraged young lovers to save their first kiss for the altar. I was always sort of the odd man out at my high school (although for a while there it was looking like some of those youth group kids were going to beat me on the first kiss thing) and thus coming to the University of Oregon was a bit of a sensory overload. Atheists everywhere! Swearing professors! Premarital sex – willickers!

By far the most unexpected element was the high number of (tobacco) smokers here. I had expected in high school that I would encounter more smokers in college, but really, even two people smoking would be a lot more than I had seen in four years of secondary education. However, what I found exceeded my wildest expectations. All around me people were sucking on butts (cigarette butts – I don’t know about that other one, nor do I want to), from the guys on fixed gear bikes by the LLC right on up to my own professors and GTFs.

The biggest culture shock was when I’d see my friends from the dorms, cool, ordinary people whose company I really enjoyed, huddle around the smoking station, bundled against the cold, lighting up Camels and enveloping themselves in their own cloud. Twelve years of highly righteous and moralistically influenced public education had taught me that smoking was an activity exclusively reserved for Bad People, and that studies had proven that smokers were 30% more likely to tie women to train tracks and laugh maniacally. Needless to say, I checked the local railroad crossing often, just in case.

I’ve adjusted pretty quickly to campus smoking culture over the past year and a half – it looks to me like smokers are fairly ordinary people who happen to like smoking. There are the familiar sights – people squeezing the filters of their Camel Crushes to activate the menthol, feet smothering the dying embers of a discarded smoke, crowds of students outside lecture halls trying to finish their cigarettes before class, creating a sort of tar-scented mist for their classmates to walk through. In a way, the ever present smell of cigarette smoke activates nostalgic memories of New York and Paris, smoker-friendly metropolises where tobacco is far from the worst smell they have to offer.

Now that I’ve filled enough space with mildly amusing background information, allow me to start dispensing opinions.

First and foremost, I think that smoking is a filthy and disgusting habit. All nostalgia aside, after about five seconds of inhaling cigarette smoke I’m well and truly sick of it, and after more than a minute I start to get a sore throat and a headache. I’ve seen the yellowed teeth and the yellowed fingernails, I’ve heard the raspy, phlegmy coughs, and I’ve also watched my fair share of commercials where dying people with tracheotomies explain the blatantly obvious health risks of inhaling a scientifically proven carcinogen on a daily basis.

I imagine the Clean Air Project, a student group that has been fighting for two years to make the campus a “smoke free zone”, shares my views. If their demands are met, it would be a punishable offense to smoke a cigarette on any piece of University of Oregon property. They cite health concerns for the entire student body, arguing that it’s reasonable to ask smokers to smoke someplace else in the face of cancer risks.

I agree that secondhand smoke is dangerous. However, the anti-smoking forces have already won some decisive victories by banning smoking in or around University buildings. I agree with those actions, because I feel like secondhand smoke is considerably more dangerous when it’s circulating and recalculating in an enclosed air supply. But now that we’ve exiled smokers to the rainy and desolate spaces 10 feet away from our buildings, I feel like we’ve done about as much as we can to safeguard our health – forcing students and staff to leave campus to smoke a cigarette feels like adding insult to injury. The smokers will still be there once we leave campus, and if they aren’t there, then I guarantee you there’ll be exhaust from cars and buses to give us cancer. And if we get rid of the cars, we can always turn to the pesticides in the foods that we eat for our daily allotment of carcinogen. And if ban food then the only thing left to give us cancer is the Sun.

Don’t get me wrong here; I’m not advocating cancer. I think we can all agree that cutting down on legitimate cancer risks is a great idea. I just feel like the risk factor from outdoor secondhand smoke isn’t great enough that we ought to infringe on the civil liberties and individual freedoms of an estimated 20% of students and staff, especially when there’s always going to be another, more formidable carcinogen to take their place.

What strikes me about this proposal is how similar it is to the “smokers set fire to bunnies” stance taken by the schools in my hometown. Don’t dehumanize smokers just because they’ve made a decision that the American medical establishment has derided as totally bonkers. The choices they’ve made are theirs alone, and while their actions have some detrimental aspects toward bystanders, I doubt anyone ever started smoking just so he could get back at all of us nasty, nasty bystanders.

But members of the Clean Air Project expect little resistance, so maybe the ban will go ahead as planned. Let’s just hope that Barack Obama never tries to visit us again – our President, an occasional smoker, would probably have to take a page from Frog’s book and speak to us from a street corner off campus.

Iron Journalist


And better yet, they're ALL about CRIMINAL JUSTICE POLICY!


The thing about taking Info Hell is that more than any other class you have to be able to put up with tedium. Info Hell is not a difficult class per se; never will you be forced to completely alter the way in which you see the world or MacGyver a cure for cancer out of two aspirin and a Kleenex. Everything you need is out there, and there’s a whole lot of people on the University payroll who are willing to help you get it – hence the course’s official title, “Information Gathering.” But of course, as Morpheus says, “I can only show you the source document – you are the one who must annotate it.”

Information Gathering ought to be easy for me, being as I spend most of my time using the Internet to gather pieces of information (some of them nakeder than others). For a long time now my idea of a good time has been to log onto Wikipedia and just go exploring in that mighty, factually dubious theme park of knowledge. A couple weeks ago I spent a very enjoyable Saturday afternoon aimlessly surfing Wikipedia while listening to Dark Side of the Moon. The effect is not quite the same as watching The Wizard of Oz while listening to Dark Side of the Moon or smoking pot while listening to Dark Side of the Moon, but for me it was heaven.*

*The cool thing about listening to Dark Side of the Moon while on Wikipedia is that you can look up each song as you listen to it and read about all the hidden meanings so you don’t have to waste your time contemplating them. Take that, Roger Waters!

Info Hell isn’t that easy, though, because they won’t let us use Wikipedia. “Veracity of your facts is important!” They said, to which I replied, “But what if I just get a job at Fox News?” Regardless, the information we have to gather is hiding on a few more reputable but infinitely less awesome databases, such as EBSCO,* ulrichsweb,** and LexisNexis.***

*Electronics Boutique Searching Complete Orgasm!!, most likely from Japan.
**“Here’s what we do – take the sound a guy makes when you sucker punch him, then stick ‘web’ on the end. It’ll be the best database of publication information ever!
***A seductive half cyborg alien secret agent assassin from the year 2121 (and probably Japan again).

Hello folks - this paragraph is going on vacation until March 11th at the latest.

But I think what I find scariest about the whole ordeal is that eventually, all of this is going to have to make sense. As much as I hate annotating, if all this class was about was finding sources and doing a two-page writeup about each one, I feel like I could do pretty well with it. Wikipedia or not, at the end of the day it’s still just poking around on the Internet for a few hours and then typing something about it, which is usually how this blog gets written. However, everything I pull together and annotate will eventually have to fit into a tightly structured essay that I write in the last week or so of class. If I use one more than the 32 sources necessary, I get zero points for the project. If I use one less, same result. I’ve been grabbing sources for weeks without knowing what my essay is exactly going to look like – I tend not to plan my writing (when I started writing this update, for example, I’d thought I was going to write about time management skills instead of Info Hell) and thus for me the thought of gathering together 32 sources and then having to use elements from all of them in an essay I haven’t even planned yet is a lot like that Iron Chef show.

You know what I’m talking about, right? They take the two chefs and give them a time limit and a bunch of ingredients (and one secret ingredient, revealed halfway through), and then they have to make some sort of dinner out of it. What worries me is that the timer is going to start and I’m going to realize that my ingredients are coconuts, Fritos, and mayonnaise, and then the secret ingredient that I have to use will turn out to be sautéed donkey shit.

To incorporate all 32 sources with slightly varying viewpoints, I feel like my essay is going to have to make some pretty huge jumps in continuity. I suppose my greatest fear is that my essay is going to read like Criminal Justice MadLibs.

This one, also. Thanks for your cooperation!

Truman Capps is going to try and annotate an entire season of Oz.

Chopper Attack

As seen in the Oregon Daily Emerald!

Let’s just get to the facts: I’m not paying for my education. Several years ago my grandparents started a trust fund to cover my college education and living expenses so that I would never have to worry about not being able to pay for school. At the start of every term I call my parents and tell them how much money I think I’ll need to pay for rent, tuition, and my uncontrollable hummus addiction, and within a few days that much money magically appears in my bank account. Sure, it may sound very nice, but my life is not without hardship – for example, there wasn’t enough room in my apartment for the tanning bed I got on Amazon, so I just have to walk to the salon like everyone else.

So yes, let’s face it – I am, in one sense or another, spoiled. I’m going to come out of college with no debt to speak of and I’ve never had to live off of Ramen for weeks at a time until my next paycheck came in (although to be honest, I really couldn’t buy very much Ramen with the paychecks I get here at the Emerald). I don’t take any of this for granted, of course, and I am living proof that an abundance of money doesn’t make a person wise, cultured, or even tolerable. If you still think I’m coasting through life on the good graces of my family, though, consider this:

If I were in danger of failing a class or in some trouble with the administration, I understand that calling my parents would be an option. However, if I were to call my parents and ask them to badger a professor on my behalf, I can guarantee you that they’d both take a few days off of work and drive down to Eugene just so that they could personally laugh in my face and tell me “No.” This is because while my parents are willing to fund my escapades in higher education, they’ve always made it clear to me that the escapades in question are mine and mine alone, and I’ve got to deal with the choices I make.

A mother of a college freshman in California, on the other hand, recently traveled to Cal Poly on her own to register him for classes, buy all his books, and meet with his academic adviser. In Texas, one girl’s mother lobbied university housing officials to change her daughter’s roommate, picked her classes, and maintained a constant email dialogue with her professors. And all across the country, colleges have begun to create entire administrative departments devoted simply to dealing with mothers and fathers who are unable to let go of their offspring. They call them “helicopter parents” for their tendency to hover around their children, and if current trends continue, college campuses everywhere will soon turn into a veritable “Apocalypse Now” of concerned guardians.

It’s really embarrassing being a member of the “Millennial” generation (people born between 1982 and 1995) because we seem to have gained a reputation for being whiny, immature, and self-serving – perhaps rightfully so. Parents who, 20 years ago, were hanging yellow “Baby On Board” signs in their Volvos to announce to the world that they had successfully reproduced are now taking a greater interest in college than their children are. While some parents claim that they’re merely protecting the money they invested in their children’s education, the National Survey of Student Engagement found last year that the higher the level of parental involvement, the lower the student’s grades turned out to be.

What these parents don’t understand is that their investment is only worthwhile if their child knows that he or she has to fend for his or herself. This is because the most important thing college offers is independence – for the first time, many students have the opportunity to decide for themselves between studying and beer, and while beer often wins, sooner or later the student in question will pick beer one too many times and learn a valuable lesson, all on his own. If parents are constantly involved – meddling, visiting, parenting – then the whole independence aspect of college is lost, and then it’s just a bunch of classes leading up to a cap and gown and a cheaply printed piece of paper.

This is the reason that your counselors always told you that it didn’t really matter what you majored in so long as you just went to college. What college primarily teaches you is how to manage time and take care of yourself; the educational aspect of it comes second. For example, our own Phil Knight majored in journalism – funny, I know, that a journalism major could find some measure of success or happiness in life – and went on to start a business rather than work for a newspaper. I’ll bet you anything that when he was in college, his mother wasn’t calling him every 15 minutes to see how his experiments with making shoes in a waffle iron were going – she was keeping her distance and letting him figure life out for himself.

So take it from me, the one with the trust fund: It’s fine to have your parents in your life. But what’s most important is that you’re living that life, and not them. Because at some point you’ll enter the real world, and it’s a lot easier to live on your own there if you’ve had a little practice in college.

Of course, recently Hewlett-Packard reported that an increasing number of parents have started calling the company to negotiate their childrens’ pay, so maybe you can just ride the gravy train until they die.

25 Things


See #4.


1) When at first people started doing these things, I laughed it off as one of the many social trends I don’t subscribe to, like emoticons or bathing. But I’ve been sincerely surprised at how many of these lists have sprung up on Facebook – it’s like the formulaic, list based bubonic plague. Hell, even Mike goddamn Whitman did one, and if ever there was someone who didn’t subscribe to social trends (especially bathing), it’d be that guy. But I’m not doing this out of peer pressure, no – I’m doing this because it’s incredibly easy. Writing a thousand words on any one topic is tough when your brain bounces around as much as mine, so when bulleted lists suddenly become popular in the blogosphere it’s like Christmas meets Hanukah meets the day that they do free Grand Slam Breakfasts at Denny’s.

So, uh… That’s number one.

2) I’ve never shaved with a straight razor. When I was reaching shaving age, my Mom bought my Dad an electric razor that had been in a James Bond movie, and Dad didn’t like it very much, so he gave it to me, and ever since I’ve been using it to shave all six facial hairs I am capable of growing. This is by far the classiest element of my life.

3) The male celebrities I would like to hang out with the most are Neil Patrick Harris, Bruce Campbell, Matt Damon, George Clooney, and Seth Rogen. In that order.

4) The male celebrities that would like to hang out with me the most are probably Carrot Top and that guy from the ShamWow commercials (but only if I promised to buy a ShamWow afterwards).

5) You know Sex and the City? I fucking hate that show. I feel like the most interesting stories are about misfits and losers who have some sort of strife to overcome, and yet year after year millions of lonely housewives and 15 year old girls would flock to a show about rich, skinny white women that reinforces the notion that the only way to be successful is to buy and screw everything. Arrested Development, which is also about rich white people, gets a pass because it isn’t an hour long Gucci ad.

6) Otters are arguably the greatest animal ever, because they just do not care. They’re like beavers, only instead of building dams they just sort of swim around and eat. If animals could smoke pot, otters would be hotboxing the bejeezus out of various marshes and wetlands.

7) I’d probably put throwing up on my list of least favorite things in the world, right next to “listening to Sarah Palin.” One usually leads to the other, interestingly enough.

8) People always give me crap because I say “for God’s sake” or “God damn it” despite the fact that I don’t believe in God. Yet I’ve heard those same people say “I want a new phone this Christmas – maybe Santa will get me one?”

9) I’m a big fan of chipotle. It’s like ketchup’s badass Mexican uncle who buys you illegal fireworks for your birthday and tells you dirty jokes when nobody’s looking. I’d put it on ice cream.

10) What I meant about the whole Santa thing back in #8 was that people still make passing reference to Santa despite not acknowledging his existence because he’s a major cultural figure, and I do the same with God. Was that unclear? I felt like I could have used a better metaphor.

11) I can’t watch 24 anymore. For one thing, I feel like it was getting really formulaic, but also it’s just way too intense. Remember that time Jack’s partner had the virus bomb strapped to his arm and Jack had to chop the guy’s arm off to get the bomb away from them? I mean, damn, girl.

12) I’m not impressed that you know all the words to all the songs from every Disney movie. You are not impressed that I list about a hundred favorite movies on Facebook. Let’s just acknowledge this and move on.

13) I have a scar on my inner thigh from a catastrophic wagon accident when I was in elementary school. So, uh… If you’ve been waiting for an excuse to get a look at my inner thigh, there it is.

14) I think it’d be a great idea if they made a fourth Indiana Jones movie. Mike and I already have this badass idea – Indiana Jones and the Iron Curtain. I don’t want to give too much away, but remember Short Round? Oh yeah, he’s back. And he’s a CIA spy working undercover in Chinese Intelligence. Freakin’ danksauce.

15) Blagojavich? Fuck that guy.

16) The problem with writing a novel is that when I mention it in an attempt to impress people, they’ll always ask what it’s about, and then I have to drop my eyes and mutter, “It’s, uh… A science fiction novel.” And then they go, “Oh,” and think less of me in the long run.

17) Futura is the single greatest typeface in the world. It’s elegant yet bold, beautiful yet tough. It has pride, but it does not boast. Futura drives a lovingly restored black Oldsmobile from the 1940s and supports independent film in the community. If Blogspot allowed it, this page would be swimming in Futura.

18) Coincidentally, I’ve got 18 sources annotated at the moment. More than half, but I still have to interview people.

19) I’m well aware of the typo in last week’s update, but I’ve decided to keep it in order to show that all men have faults, and even gods can bleed.

20) Facebook will routinely show me sidebar ads with pictures of sweaty, shirtless guys that say, “Meet Gay Christian Singles!” It worries me that maybe the ad placement script is so intuitive that it’s looked into my soul and has found out that at heart I’m a staunch Methodist who’s really into dudes, even if I don’t know it yet.

21) Sometimes, when I’m walking through the parking lot of the School of Music, I hear a three or four piece instrumental combo rehearsing nearby – a drum and bass and guitar, and maybe a keyboard. They tend to play laid back, low key R&B or rock riifs, and I like to pretend that it’s the soundtrack for a really boring movie about a guy walking through a parking lot.

22) Yeah, I know, “Sweet Child O’ Mine” is Guns ‘N Roses’ most mainstream song. But did you ever consider that it’s got all that mainstream appeal because it’s just really awesome?

23) I can admit that Oregon State University is a worthwhile and decent school in its own way. However, I hate everything about Seattle Community College (the “University of Washington” to some) with every fiber of my being.

24) If I could have any superpower, it would be to make my life move in slow motion at will and have the second half of “Layla” play in the background.

25) I get that last week’s update was a bulleted list too, but I feel like this update is considerably stronger in terms of humor. It helps that I’m not nearly as tired now as I was then.

26) OH SHI-

Truman Capps loves conformity when it suits him.

Information Vacuum

As seen in the Oregon Daily Emerald!

Every night, like clockwork, I’m roused from my J202-induced stupor by an eruption of honking and angry shouting from the street outside my apartment. I used to run and look every time in case someone had been hit by a car (I don’t have a television so my entertainment options are limited, you see), but by now I’ve come to understand the source of the commotion: Someone, most likely a student, has walked into the street without bothering to see if any traffic is coming and very nearly reenacted a scene from Grand Theft Auto 4.

We college students are sort of lost in our own world a lot of the time. I conducted a little research (something that I had promised myself I’d never do when I first took this job) and found that of the 20 bicyclists I asked, some 40% had hit or nearly hit an oblivious pedestrian who had stepped out in front of them. Sure, the sample size is small, but I’m lazy and we’ve all seen at least one near-disaster caused by a walking student’s lack of spatial awareness. This is no rare or isolated issue.

What’s going on? Where do our minds go when we’re on the way to and from class? The same students who can hold an intelligent dialogue about Plato’s call for a philosopher king can leave class and five minutes later nearly blunder their way into the front end of a bike. The immediate culprit, of course, is technology.

I’m always amazed by the people who I see walking, texting, and listening to their iPods at the same time while I can barely take a sip of Diet Coke unless I’m standing dead still. We’re a high tech generation, and we so often surround ourselves with Dave Matthews in our ears and phones in our hands and potential emoticons in our minds that we lose track of what’s going on in the world around us, as the absent minded pedestrians in the street outside my apartment prove night after night.

This problem is bigger than any one college campus. This past July, the American College of Emergency Physicians issued an alert warning that texting while walking can – and has – lead to serious injury and, in two cases, death. A dozen or so states have drafted legislation to outlaw texting while driving, in part because in 2006 nearly 30 children were injured when a school bus in Pennsylvania crashed on the Interstate because the driver was fiddling with his phone. This, you understand, is how the robotic uprising will begin: First they’ll distract us pretty music and LED displays until we all get run over, and then they break out the robo-velociraptors to finish off whoever’s left. You may think I’m crazy, but consider this – for years, the principal distractions for our generation had been iPods and cell phones, up until they revealed the logical combination of the two, the iPhone. The machines are evolving. They’re getting stronger and more adept at finding ways to remove us from the physical world. However, I feel like our isolation from the outside world is broader than just spatial awareness issues.

When I’m at my house in Portland, I feel like I do a pretty good job of keeping abreast of current events. Given the fact that my parents are both Democrats, one of whom is a card-carrying member of the ACLU, National Public Radio is a mighty presence around my house. More often than not we have at least three radios tuned in to our local member station at any given time, making it impossible to escape the news. However, when I come down to school, it’s as though I’ve unwittingly entered an information vacuum. Down here, it took me a couple of days to find out about the Blagojavich scandal (by way of a forwarded Daily Show YouTube video, no less), whereas at home news of the incident would have come on swift wings, courtesy of the mellow tones of NPR’s Washington correspondent.

The information vacuum is widespread. Despite an abundance of radios, televisions, computers, and multiple free newspapers advocating multiple points of view, much of the world’s day to day goings on seem to be slipping by the majority of today’s college students. Why else would professors give quizzes over current events? Sure, the drama of the election permeated our lives, but it helped a lot that one of the candidates was a media celebrity who made extensive use of the Internet and had his own Facebook page.

We college students are isolated because our lifestyle keeps our noses constantly buried in our cell phones and our ears awash in The Decemberists (or whatever it is you kids listen to these days). After all, these are the tools we use to block out the campus activists, from Greenpeace to Planned Parenthood to Christianity, trying to get us involved in the issues of the outside world. It seems counterintuitive that in the 21st century, when communications technology is cheap enough that we can stay connected to the outside world at all times, we may well be more in the dark than ever because we use that technology to avoid the world rather than take part in it.

Our obsession with technology is unlikely to ever end, but the least we can do is use it to our advantage rather than our detriment. Maybe use your cell phone to check CNN in addition to ESPN once in a while, or download a news podcast along with whatever new song about sex Kayne West has on iTunes. Don’t quit using your iPhone entirely; just be sure to spend a few minutes with it each day keeping up on current events.

But for God’s sake, look both ways before you cross the street.