Welcome to my first blog. Rant / Rave / Reassure comes from the early days of the form, back when knowing about Andrew Sullivan was kind of cool and unusual, and the whole internet / blog / geek permaculture hadn't infiltrated every bit of working writers' lives.
A simpler time, you might say. George W. Bush was still president, things seemed to be going okay in our wars overseas and housing prices were heading straight up.
I had just started working in Florida, an rather improbable turn of events for a Kansas boy, but one made possible by the Dow Jones Newspaper Fund. I interned at The St. Petersburg Times in the summer of '02, and that internship was extended through the end of the year. That's roughly when this blog began.
At the beginning of '03 I hopped across Tampa Bay to the Tampa Tribune, where I would work for the next two years. This blog wouldn't last that long -- it was too loose, too diverse and personal.
Y'see, I'd figured out something important about blogs. The more general they are, the more likely they are to be neglected and float off into a sea of bland haze. Meanwhile, I started another blog, focused on copy editing and journalism -- one that gained a small following. A link to it can be found off to the right.
Rant / Rave / Reassure occupies a special place, though. I experimented with the form, connected with other writers and friends, and assembled my first blogroll. Good times.
As reconstituted here, the blog is more or less what you would have found back in 2002-2004. A few bits have been edited out, a few bits have been edited in, and I wrote titles for early entries that were missing them. The site also features a far spiffier layout than available at the time, which pleases my sense of aesthetics, if nothing else.
So read, enjoy and wallow in the randomness.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Saturday, January 31, 2004
Props, props and more props
To Brian, who is probably the only person who reads this anymore. And goodness knows, he has enough to do keeping his blog updated. It's far funnier than this, far more regularly updated, and let's face it -- better in every way.
He's also sane enough to restrict himself to the one blog, rather than the three I foolishly signed up for. See, I pale in respect to Brian in nearly every comprehensible way. I still pride myself on my hygiene.
His site will of course continue for ages and ages to come, so if anyone else comes by here, go his way. You won't regret it. If you do regret it, what can I say? Different strokes and all that.
He's also sane enough to restrict himself to the one blog, rather than the three I foolishly signed up for. See, I pale in respect to Brian in nearly every comprehensible way. I still pride myself on my hygiene.
His site will of course continue for ages and ages to come, so if anyone else comes by here, go his way. You won't regret it. If you do regret it, what can I say? Different strokes and all that.
Thursday, January 29, 2004
Wrapping it up
I plan to draw this blog to a close at the end of February. That will be my sister's birthday, although the combination only struck me as I was typing out this post.
I don't have the time to devote to the blogs that I used to. Verse A Day, although updated somewhat less than daily, will chug along until the end of April, when it will be one year old. This blog already passed its first birthday, but I think I'll close up shop at the 15-month mark.
I plan to keep the site up, and hopefully replenish the archives with all the old posts that disappeared into the mists of time in October. I might even post. But truthfully I have the energy for one blog ... and it's Copy Massage. I'll probably post more about my life there after Feb. 29.
So why the advanced warning? Well, I want to keep things interesting. I want to post here. I want another chance to write about silly things before this outlet closes. So I'm drawing a line in the sand.
Get ready. This could get interesting.
I don't have the time to devote to the blogs that I used to. Verse A Day, although updated somewhat less than daily, will chug along until the end of April, when it will be one year old. This blog already passed its first birthday, but I think I'll close up shop at the 15-month mark.
I plan to keep the site up, and hopefully replenish the archives with all the old posts that disappeared into the mists of time in October. I might even post. But truthfully I have the energy for one blog ... and it's Copy Massage. I'll probably post more about my life there after Feb. 29.
So why the advanced warning? Well, I want to keep things interesting. I want to post here. I want another chance to write about silly things before this outlet closes. So I'm drawing a line in the sand.
Get ready. This could get interesting.
Perhaps / Per hat / Pear hot
EverQuest has been engaging. (Pregnant pause.) Perhaps too engaging.
Have also recently had cable installed. And picked up The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind (Game of the Year edition incorporating Tribunal and Bloodmoon). And, um ... we washed the dog.
Can things possibly get any more exciting?
Have also recently had cable installed. And picked up The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind (Game of the Year edition incorporating Tribunal and Bloodmoon). And, um ... we washed the dog.
Can things possibly get any more exciting?
Sunday, January 25, 2004
Heaven help me...
I've been purchasing EverQuest accessory volumes. Apparently I have the need to become geekier than I already am.
Saturday, January 24, 2004
Where with all / wherewithal
Much has happened. Much involving EverQuest. Some involving work. All involving me running around. More soon. Maybe. If I feel like it.
Sunday, January 11, 2004
Keep searching
I wonder if I helped any of these people.
"home theater" +"christmas lights"
a free graphic novel about jesus and buddha
pete jameson
characters thematic/analysis comedy
"quickplot software"
Songs for Dust Mites Album Full MP3
"a friend like you" "Brian wilson"
"steve burns" height
"rave moves"
Marlin Brando Michael Jackson music video
brian wilson new cd 2004
salon chomsky colorless
"saturn" "service engine soon"
"home theater" +"christmas lights"
a free graphic novel about jesus and buddha
pete jameson
characters thematic/analysis comedy
"quickplot software"
Songs for Dust Mites Album Full MP3
"a friend like you" "Brian wilson"
"steve burns" height
"rave moves"
Marlin Brando Michael Jackson music video
brian wilson new cd 2004
salon chomsky colorless
"saturn" "service engine soon"
Where novel junkies get their fix
Let's allow the novel to lead us on. These are the first few sections of the first chapter from "University of Doom!" I'm finally posting it because -- well -- why not? I haven't done much work on it since November ended, so let's see if this spurs me along.
Chapter One
I sat in Professor Jon p Brummer’s poetry class, studying my fingernails and waiting for Brummer to show. It was 8:35 a.m., five minutes after the official start of class. People were restless.
The comments:
“You think we should walk out?”
“Nah, give him another 10 minutes.”
“Man, I hate this class.”
A fat man in a police uniform scurried in. His badge said “Johnson.” His expression said “campus cop.” He pounded the lectern in front of the class.
“Your professor is dead,” he said.
-----
Impaled, to be exact. Professor Jon p Brummer was found by a member of the grounds crew, hanging from the horn of the Missouri State College mascot. “Wino the Rhino,” as students like to call him, defends the administration building.
His two-foot brass horn was plunged in Professor Jon p Brummer’s back. The professor’s body was covered in sheets of paper. The paper turned out, on closer examination, to be pages from the series of poetry books the Brummer wrote in the 70s.
The professor didn’t start out as an academic. He was a wannabe Bob Dylan at one point. Didn’t have the voice. So he started writing poetry, which most people at the time thought was horrible. Except for high school girls.
He told the class that he had sold 50 million copies of his books.
“The Romance of Desire” from 1970.
“I Love You Like Paris” from 1971.
“Flames of Passion” from 1973.
His books rolled off the presses as quickly as he could write them. He tired of the professional publishing world after 10 excruciating volumes. Either that or the books stopped selling. In either case, academia called. His money bought him an Ivy League degree and he set up shop here.
He loved his old, awful books. He would read from them every day. He would tell us we should write exactly the same way. Most of us would have preferred an awful death. His death, actually.
He was covered in the love of his life. His own flowery words. The expression on his face was inscrutable.
The expression on Wino’s face? Spirited.
-----
I had run from class to the administration building as soon as I could. Not out of prurient curiosity, you understand, although I had plenty of that. I’m a reporter for the Missouri State College Daily Record.
Correction: I’m a senior reporter.
Senior reporter Ted Lewisholm.
It’s my sixth year here. I’m not interested in becoming an editor or columnist or any of the jobs they fashion for upperclassmen. Most people burn out: reporting for a daily college paper doesn’t leave time for much else.
Pansies.
Not to leave the professor hanging, as it were, but people don’t give a damn about the news at universities. Their kids post grades above D’s, especially at a state school, they don’t give a damn. But the people who run these places get away with a lot.
That’s what I try to cover. No one else here does it as well as I do. Other people win the snazzy journalism prizes, with first-hand accounts of their navel-gazing. I’m out there actually scaring up stories. I don’t just know the administrator’s names.
I know the names of the people the administrators have affairs with.
I finished all the journalism classes they offered two years ago. I’m working on an English degree now so they’ll keep me around. That’s how I got in Brummer’s class.
-----
The scene around the body was crazed, of course. A TV crew. Dozens of students, mostly gawking. Campus cops trying to keep people away from the body.
The cops had erected a perimeter, with what seemed to be sticks torn from trees and duct tape. It was not working well. The tape sagged in parts. One girl tore off a piece to repair a corner of her Algebra textbook.
Professor Jon p Brummer kept hanging. He had always been a big guy — taller than six feet, with a well-fed gut. Now he just sagged. His blood had congealed into sticky red puddles. The pedestal was slick around Wino’s hooves.
The campus cops had no idea what to do. Surprise. Several just started at the body, mouths open, eyes darting from one side to the other. Others investigated by reading the poetry stuck to the professor’s body.
A siren.
Actual cop cars drove up. Actual cops hopped out of them.
“Who’s in charge here?” a tall policeman with a moustache asked.
A gigantic man stepped from behind Wino. Oh Christ. My stomach started to hurt, a reflex action against stupidity. That gigantic man would be “Sergeant” Bud Cohen, chief of campus security and the biggest bastard I’d ever met. On this campus, I’d met a few. Chief Bud had his own category.
“That would be me, Sonny,” he drawled. “Do you have something you want to say to me?”
The tall cop tapped his foot and looked disconcerted.
“Well, um. There seems to be a dead man here. We deal with this kind of thing.”
“Sonny, that’s right nice of you. Why, where would be without you telling us this critical information?”
“Er. We need to do our police things. Thanks for controlling the situation. ”
“You want to take this away, sonny? You want to take this case from me?”
Chapter One
I sat in Professor Jon p Brummer’s poetry class, studying my fingernails and waiting for Brummer to show. It was 8:35 a.m., five minutes after the official start of class. People were restless.
The comments:
“You think we should walk out?”
“Nah, give him another 10 minutes.”
“Man, I hate this class.”
A fat man in a police uniform scurried in. His badge said “Johnson.” His expression said “campus cop.” He pounded the lectern in front of the class.
“Your professor is dead,” he said.
-----
Impaled, to be exact. Professor Jon p Brummer was found by a member of the grounds crew, hanging from the horn of the Missouri State College mascot. “Wino the Rhino,” as students like to call him, defends the administration building.
His two-foot brass horn was plunged in Professor Jon p Brummer’s back. The professor’s body was covered in sheets of paper. The paper turned out, on closer examination, to be pages from the series of poetry books the Brummer wrote in the 70s.
The professor didn’t start out as an academic. He was a wannabe Bob Dylan at one point. Didn’t have the voice. So he started writing poetry, which most people at the time thought was horrible. Except for high school girls.
He told the class that he had sold 50 million copies of his books.
“The Romance of Desire” from 1970.
“I Love You Like Paris” from 1971.
“Flames of Passion” from 1973.
His books rolled off the presses as quickly as he could write them. He tired of the professional publishing world after 10 excruciating volumes. Either that or the books stopped selling. In either case, academia called. His money bought him an Ivy League degree and he set up shop here.
He loved his old, awful books. He would read from them every day. He would tell us we should write exactly the same way. Most of us would have preferred an awful death. His death, actually.
He was covered in the love of his life. His own flowery words. The expression on his face was inscrutable.
The expression on Wino’s face? Spirited.
-----
I had run from class to the administration building as soon as I could. Not out of prurient curiosity, you understand, although I had plenty of that. I’m a reporter for the Missouri State College Daily Record.
Correction: I’m a senior reporter.
Senior reporter Ted Lewisholm.
It’s my sixth year here. I’m not interested in becoming an editor or columnist or any of the jobs they fashion for upperclassmen. Most people burn out: reporting for a daily college paper doesn’t leave time for much else.
Pansies.
Not to leave the professor hanging, as it were, but people don’t give a damn about the news at universities. Their kids post grades above D’s, especially at a state school, they don’t give a damn. But the people who run these places get away with a lot.
That’s what I try to cover. No one else here does it as well as I do. Other people win the snazzy journalism prizes, with first-hand accounts of their navel-gazing. I’m out there actually scaring up stories. I don’t just know the administrator’s names.
I know the names of the people the administrators have affairs with.
I finished all the journalism classes they offered two years ago. I’m working on an English degree now so they’ll keep me around. That’s how I got in Brummer’s class.
-----
The scene around the body was crazed, of course. A TV crew. Dozens of students, mostly gawking. Campus cops trying to keep people away from the body.
The cops had erected a perimeter, with what seemed to be sticks torn from trees and duct tape. It was not working well. The tape sagged in parts. One girl tore off a piece to repair a corner of her Algebra textbook.
Professor Jon p Brummer kept hanging. He had always been a big guy — taller than six feet, with a well-fed gut. Now he just sagged. His blood had congealed into sticky red puddles. The pedestal was slick around Wino’s hooves.
The campus cops had no idea what to do. Surprise. Several just started at the body, mouths open, eyes darting from one side to the other. Others investigated by reading the poetry stuck to the professor’s body.
A siren.
Actual cop cars drove up. Actual cops hopped out of them.
“Who’s in charge here?” a tall policeman with a moustache asked.
A gigantic man stepped from behind Wino. Oh Christ. My stomach started to hurt, a reflex action against stupidity. That gigantic man would be “Sergeant” Bud Cohen, chief of campus security and the biggest bastard I’d ever met. On this campus, I’d met a few. Chief Bud had his own category.
“That would be me, Sonny,” he drawled. “Do you have something you want to say to me?”
The tall cop tapped his foot and looked disconcerted.
“Well, um. There seems to be a dead man here. We deal with this kind of thing.”
“Sonny, that’s right nice of you. Why, where would be without you telling us this critical information?”
“Er. We need to do our police things. Thanks for controlling the situation. ”
“You want to take this away, sonny? You want to take this case from me?”
Saturday, January 10, 2004
One assumes ...
... There were some thoughts / thunk / thudded round here, right?
Yeah, that's the ticket. We can tell cause of the poems, and the writings, and the way he ...
Well, the way he circles round and round, see? Sure, that's the way we can tell. Sometimes things can be hidden just like so. Six years or eight years or 10 years ... or no years at all.
Much changes, yet nothing changes. And the blog is the same, my stars yes. Well, mostly the same. A towering edifice of data / words / days. And archived.
Make sure of that.
Yeah, that's the ticket. We can tell cause of the poems, and the writings, and the way he ...
Well, the way he circles round and round, see? Sure, that's the way we can tell. Sometimes things can be hidden just like so. Six years or eight years or 10 years ... or no years at all.
Much changes, yet nothing changes. And the blog is the same, my stars yes. Well, mostly the same. A towering edifice of data / words / days. And archived.
Make sure of that.
Tuesday, January 6, 2004
Saturday, January 3, 2004
Search engine mania
They're visiting Rant/Rave/Reassure! But how? Let's see.
"rave moves"
eggnog drink
organize rave
nigeria barristers
claymcc
discovery rave clothes store
departure scan purpose
Solo Rave 2003
elliot smith oh well, okay song meaning
elliot smith oh well, okay means i got pictures, i just don't see it anymore
steve burns height
Apartment Rant Florida
"rave moves"
eggnog drink
organize rave
nigeria barristers
claymcc
discovery rave clothes store
departure scan purpose
Solo Rave 2003
elliot smith oh well, okay song meaning
elliot smith oh well, okay means i got pictures, i just don't see it anymore
steve burns height
Apartment Rant Florida
Friday, January 2, 2004
Hello 2004!
You seem a lot like the year that just left. At least right now. But I'll give you a chance. Perhaps you'll grow on me.
Wednesday, December 31, 2003
Bye-bye, old year
Thus, we bid farewell to 2003.
It was a good year. We moved a couple of times, picked up a dog along the way, and now have more Christmas presents than we know what to do with.
It was a good year. We moved a couple of times, picked up a dog along the way, and now have more Christmas presents than we know what to do with.
Christmas loot pt. 2
Two additions today:
Unearthed -- Five-disc boxed set by Johnny Cash. It covers his tenure at American Recordings in the '90s and '00s. The set mainly consists of unreleased performances.
Yellow Submarine DVD -- The restored Beatles classic, full of songs and oh-so-60s animations.
These two items likely round out the Christmas gift list. I still need to buy my family some presents, though. D'oh!
Unearthed -- Five-disc boxed set by Johnny Cash. It covers his tenure at American Recordings in the '90s and '00s. The set mainly consists of unreleased performances.
Yellow Submarine DVD -- The restored Beatles classic, full of songs and oh-so-60s animations.
These two items likely round out the Christmas gift list. I still need to buy my family some presents, though. D'oh!
Tuesday, December 30, 2003
Does anyone else think it's strange ...
That the spell-check program Blogger uses doesn't recognize the word "blog"? It suggests I replace that unfamiliar word with "bloc."
Silly, silly computer program.
Silly, silly computer program.
The visual aspect
As we boot 2003 out the door, I think it appropriate to add a picture to old Rant/Rave/Reassure. I seldom do this.
Why? Let's list the reasons.
1.) It's work
2.) It involves HTML coding.
3.) I have to link to someone else's site.
But I'll overcome those aversions for now. Take a break from this mind-numbing text. Gaze and enjoy.
Why? Let's list the reasons.
1.) It's work
2.) It involves HTML coding.
3.) I have to link to someone else's site.
But I'll overcome those aversions for now. Take a break from this mind-numbing text. Gaze and enjoy.
Monday, September 15, 2003
Great Pleasures ...
... Include shaving with a
sharp, hot razor.
And sniffing correction fluid. But I digress.
And sniffing correction fluid. But I digress.
Free Advice
Returning from his sojourn to parts
abroad, the College Answer Guy returns to answer a couple of questions.
Isn't that nice of him?
Dear College Answer Guy: Could you write my essay about The Merchant of Venice? I haven’t had time to read the actual play.
~ Overwhelmed by class work
Dear Over: The College Answer Guy is delighted to take up your queries. He hasn’t read The Merchant of Venice either, but that’s not a problem. The College Answer Guy has produced “A-quality” essays about literary works he didn’t even know the titles of.
What follows is a hasty attempt to write your essay. Note that you could flesh out The College Answer Guy’s skeletal outline to considerable effect in many places. Here goes:
“The Merchant of Venice is a delightful comedy by William Faulkner. It is the tale of an old man and a young boy at sea. While they ride their speedboat named Ishmael, they encounter a giant whale named Marlin Brando. Marlin wants people to capture him and put him into captivity because his mother married his uncle after his father was abducted by aliens that communicated to people through mashed potatoes.
“In the end, everything turns out okay because Michael Jackson adopts them all and writes a beautiful song about their adventures. He called it: ‘I Love Obese, Rancid Fish.’
“Faulkner’s work is full of marvelous lines that people have quoted for centuries. Therefore, I don’t have to remind you of any of them except the best known one: ‘Alas poor Duncan, he was a damn spot!’ The line is redolent of many important themes of the play, such as poor people, Dunkin Donuts, and hydroelectric power dams.
“Dunkin Donuts are tasty, nutritious, and full of the Colonel’s 11 herbs and spices. I urge you to try some original or extra crispy literature today by William Faulkner, or his son Edgar Allen Shakespeare. It’s good readin’.”
On second thought, The College Answer Guy doesn’t think you should use this essay. He’s going to keep it for himself. He might be able to get a teaching position at a prestigious university with it!
Dear College Answer Guy: There are so many dictionaries available today. I went to the bookstore and felt hugely overwhelmed by the choices there. After looking at dozens of volumes, I had no idea which dictionary to buy. Any advice?~ Max in Alabama
Dear Max: First off, get a friggin’ grip.
No one is going to invade your house to examine your dictionaries. Visitors and friends will not make harsh personal judgments about you because you have a Webster’s New World rather than an American Heritage. Okay, a few visitors and friends might make harsh judgments about you because of that, but they’re dorks.
The College Answer Guy thinks you should buy one dictionary—preferably one with many words, definitions you can understand and pictures of scantily clad lexicographers on the cover. If you don’t know what a lexicographer is, you really do need the dictionary. Get it quick!
Dear College Answer Guy: Could you write my essay about The Merchant of Venice? I haven’t had time to read the actual play.
~ Overwhelmed by class work
Dear Over: The College Answer Guy is delighted to take up your queries. He hasn’t read The Merchant of Venice either, but that’s not a problem. The College Answer Guy has produced “A-quality” essays about literary works he didn’t even know the titles of.
What follows is a hasty attempt to write your essay. Note that you could flesh out The College Answer Guy’s skeletal outline to considerable effect in many places. Here goes:
“The Merchant of Venice is a delightful comedy by William Faulkner. It is the tale of an old man and a young boy at sea. While they ride their speedboat named Ishmael, they encounter a giant whale named Marlin Brando. Marlin wants people to capture him and put him into captivity because his mother married his uncle after his father was abducted by aliens that communicated to people through mashed potatoes.
“In the end, everything turns out okay because Michael Jackson adopts them all and writes a beautiful song about their adventures. He called it: ‘I Love Obese, Rancid Fish.’
“Faulkner’s work is full of marvelous lines that people have quoted for centuries. Therefore, I don’t have to remind you of any of them except the best known one: ‘Alas poor Duncan, he was a damn spot!’ The line is redolent of many important themes of the play, such as poor people, Dunkin Donuts, and hydroelectric power dams.
“Dunkin Donuts are tasty, nutritious, and full of the Colonel’s 11 herbs and spices. I urge you to try some original or extra crispy literature today by William Faulkner, or his son Edgar Allen Shakespeare. It’s good readin’.”
On second thought, The College Answer Guy doesn’t think you should use this essay. He’s going to keep it for himself. He might be able to get a teaching position at a prestigious university with it!
Dear College Answer Guy: There are so many dictionaries available today. I went to the bookstore and felt hugely overwhelmed by the choices there. After looking at dozens of volumes, I had no idea which dictionary to buy. Any advice?~ Max in Alabama
Dear Max: First off, get a friggin’ grip.
No one is going to invade your house to examine your dictionaries. Visitors and friends will not make harsh personal judgments about you because you have a Webster’s New World rather than an American Heritage. Okay, a few visitors and friends might make harsh judgments about you because of that, but they’re dorks.
The College Answer Guy thinks you should buy one dictionary—preferably one with many words, definitions you can understand and pictures of scantily clad lexicographers on the cover. If you don’t know what a lexicographer is, you really do need the dictionary. Get it quick!
What's Happening?
I'm off from work for four
days -- yet the life seems busier than ever. After working on the whole
blogging concept since November, it seems as though people are finally
reading.
Of course, the reading is going on at my auxiliary blogs, which you can sample through the links to the right. This long-running account of my trials and turmoils doesn't interest folks.
Darn them! Darn them all to heck!
This doesn't count anyone who's actually reading right now, of course. You are the best, finest, and most hygienic folk the world has ever known.
Of course, the reading is going on at my auxiliary blogs, which you can sample through the links to the right. This long-running account of my trials and turmoils doesn't interest folks.
Darn them! Darn them all to heck!
This doesn't count anyone who's actually reading right now, of course. You are the best, finest, and most hygienic folk the world has ever known.
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