The Life Sitcomic

8.5.10
Gather round, dear readers, for I've a story of calamity and woe befit for a dreary Saturday.  While my posts normally have their roots in the tangled, wild recesses of my imagination, this story is anything but fiction, though it may sound engineered for a bad TV show starring Charlie Sheen. 

As with any good story, I must begin at the beginning.  Every year, The Ohio State University hosts its Denman Undergraduate Research Forum, which features a title so self-evident I don't think it requires much further explanation.  Basically, picture three large gymnasiums packed with hundreds of precocious young academics standing in front of 3' x 4' posters describing their inevitably-incomprehensible research.  As I have had the misfortune of conducting my own research during my college career, I had the misfortune of presenting at the Denman last year.  Given my greater misfortune of completing(?) a senior thesis this year, I will be replicating that unhappy event yet again on Wednesday.

Having already completed my poster, I decided to be utterly sneaky and use the library's plotter printer on the weekend, before the teeming masses of procrastinating presenters form an enormous queue come Monday.  However, when I awoke to an overcast, windy day, I was immediately put on guard.

You see, last year, I printed my poster on a very similar such day.  As I'm too cheap to shell out $60+ for a poster I'm going to use once, I forswore the laminated, glossy poster for the $7.35 regular paper style.  After printing off this behemoth sheet of paper, it promptly began to rain.  Forty minutes and approximately thirteen copies of The Lantern later, I had bundled my fragile beauty in swaddling newspapers.  Crisis averted.

Up to the time I left today for the library at 2:30pm, however, the threatening clouds hadn't spilled a drop.  I checked weather.com.  No rain forecasted.  All right, let's do this.  So I successfully print off my brand-spanking new poster and station myself by the front door.  All clear.  No drops in the sky.  No drops on the ground.  Estimated time to reach my car: four minutes.  I head out at a brisk pace.

You've already guessed where this is going, of course.  As I reach the far side of the Oval, the drops start to fall.  Rat farts.  I run to the nearest building, which happens to be the Faculty Club.  Naturally, the Faculty Club is closed and locked on the weekend.  So I huddle under its one-foot overhang as the sprinkling turns into a downpour.  I had already spotted some drops on the poster, so I just shoved it in the corner of the door and shielded it bodily as I got drenched.  To top it all off, my parking meter had less than ten minutes left.

Finally, it let up enough that I decided to risk running over to the next building to see if it was unlocked.  As I ran, trying to hide the poster under my coat as much as possible, I spotted a trash can under the enormous stone overhang of the building's stoop.  I opened the thing up and took out the half-full bag of refuse, hoping there would be an unused bag stashed underneath.  Luckily, there was.  

I pulled it out and opened it.  As I was doing that maneuver where you try to bag an invisible object to get the bag to open, I glanced up to see a janitor staring at me from inside.  I have no idea how long he'd been observing me, but if his look of extreme confusion is any indication, I think the safe answer is the whole damn time.  Undeterred, I shoved my poster inside the bag and replaced the half-full one to its proper place.  Refastening the lid on the garbage can, I gave the janitor a half salute.  Presumably unamused, he simply returned to his duties and started pushing his cart of cleaning supplies down the hallway.

Surveying the damage from the safety of my home, the poster is not, as I had feared, completely ruined.  The left side is a little the worse for wear, with some wrinkles and other evidence of re-dried paper.  I'm just going to leave it, however, and present it proudly at the Denman as a testament to bad luck and even worse planning.

Oh, and my meter had expired and I arrived just as the officer finished writing the ticket.  Okay, that part didn't really happen, but it would have been a great coda, right?

From the virtual desk of Ivan Zissou

dictated but not read
cth

Bob Feldman and his stupid rules

7.5.10


From the virtual desk of Ivan Zissou

dictated but not read
cth

The rooibos unbounded

5.5.10
Ahoy Lifers.  I recently watched a film called The Royal Tenenbaums, directed by Wes Anderson.  I've always been a huge fan of Mr. Anderson's (see title of blog), but I was particularly impressed by his directorial work in this film in spite of the fact that I'd rate it below most of his other work.  Why?  Because I don't particular care for Gene Hackman and I don't particularly care for Ben Stiller--actors who play two of the lead roles in the film (including the eponymous Royal Tenenbaum)--yet I loved them in this movie.  I know many aren't fans of Anderson's admittedly-offbeat style, including blond-haired sisters to remain nameless, but even non-fans have to admit the guy knows how to get a great performance out of his actors.

I also love the man for revitalizing Bill Murray's career, as the last thing the world needs is less Bill Murray.  We all knew he was funny, but the guy can flat out act.  For evidence, I direct you to the  climactic jaguar shark scene in The Life Aquatic.  Normally I'd post the link, but I feel like to truly appreciate the scene you've got to see it in context.  And yes, I realize how pretentious that sounded.  But seriously, if you haven't seen it, put on your list.  NOTE: Sleeping through it doesn't count as seeing it, aforementioned person to remain nameless.

I wish I could be that little German boy in lederhosen.  Okay, that was weird.

Yes, the characters are totally unrealistic.  Yes, no one actually talks the way people talk in his films.  But come on, it's the movies!  And I think it's damn entertaining.  Nobody uses music in films better than Wes Anderson, whose knowledge of obscure classic British rock causes me great envy.  Also, nobody does better slo-mo work, and if you've been unfortunate enough to have seen any of my own celluloid creations, you know how I feel about slo-mo.

So in conclusion, I say critics be damned, Wes Anderson; we here at the Life Despotic salute you!


P.S. Two bonus points to the first commenter to figure out the title of this post.

From the virtual desk of Ivan Zissou

dictated but not read
cth

Reality TV Monday: Tool Academy Week 4 Analysis

3.5.10
Ahoy, Lifers.  This is your Captain speaking.  I realize the Life Despotic has been somewhat empty of late, but the Yuri Andropov's communication equipment has been on the fritz.  Fortunately, after four days, three ACE bandages, two jars of Silly Putty® and a partridge in a pear tree, Ensign Jarlsberg assures me all problems have been rectified.  And just in time for another installment of Tool Academy!  I've run out of clever things to say before the break, so let's just go ahead and make the jump.  DISCLAIMER: I know there's lots of links this week, but click them, they're all short and you won't be sorry.  Well, except for the Amy Grant.  Intrigued?

Outstanding work, Ensign.