Archives:
January 21-January 27, 2007
January 21, 2007
Mike drills another shot in, shooting from the couch to our little basketball hoop on the inside of the door. I toss the ball back to him, and, automatically, he fires another one in.
“I'm just saying that it's not like the team's having a bad year,” I say. “I mean, you're 17-2—that's still an awesome record.”
“Every team loses sometimes. That doesn't bother me,” Mike says lining up and firing in another shot. “What bugs me is that those guys' intensity was for shit. I mean, we're in a position to turn some heads—make it to the championship tournament. But if those guys are just gonna drag their asses up and down the floor because we're down a few points, then we're never going to accomplish anything.”
I watch him fire another shot. “What are you at?”
“45 for 46.” He banks in the next shot. “Make that 46 for 47.”
“Anyway, I'm just saying it's a long season. And take The Window, for example. Not every issue's our best one—there are definitely off weeks where the writers just don't get all the interview they should, or where typos slip through the cracks during editing. But it's not like that's the end of the world—we just do better on the next issue.”
“But a newspaper is different—especially here at Taylor . It's not like you're competing against other papers, or that you've got standings to worry about. If you guys have an off-week, it looks bad in print, but everyone will forget about it with the next issue. We have an off-week, and those notches in the loss column aren't going to go anywhere.” Mike lines up his last shot, and shoots this one with a softer touch and higher arc. The ball dances around the rim, bouncing upward, then dropping straight through the net. “49 for 50. Your turn, Preston .”January 22, 2007
“So I'm thinking this whole Groundhog's Day thing is basically just one big photo op,” I say looking over the website for Taylor 's festival. I picked up the press release for this event last week, and today there was a campus-wide e-mail plugging this site.
“What do you mean?” Sam asks, reading over today's New York Times at his desk.
“It's just, who really cares about Groundhog's Day? It's a silly little holiday, based around a silly tradition that no one believes in.”
“The idea of a groundhog foretelling the change of seasons is actually rooted in Pagan tradition,” Sam says, leaning back in his chair. “It's something about groundhogs having special powers in the time between the spring and winter.”
“And Pagan beliefs are so important to everyone at Taylor now.”
Sam shrugs. “December 25 was a Pagan holiday before folks decided they should celebrate Jesus's birth then. A lot of people celebrate that day.”
“So you're likening Groundhog's Day to Christmas?”
“I'm just saying it's kind of arbitrary to dismiss it out of hand.”
I spin in my swivel chair so I'm facing Sam. “All right, but can we agree that this celebration is just PR for Taylor . I mean, an open house for the administration, student bands playing—they can get a full stock of recruitment photos from this one day—it'll look like Taylor 's the most exciting college in the country.”
Sam puts his feet up on his desk, turning a page of the newspaper. “I don't know about the intentions behind this whole thing. But I kind of like the idea of giving Taylor a little more identity—an event just for us, and a common experience people can turn back to.”
I turn back toward my computer. “Well don't get me wrong—coverage for that day's going to fill up my section, so I'm all for it.”
Sam chuckles. “That a boy.”January 23, 2007
“Yep. Na, I think that's great. Different kind of audience, you know?” Dave says, cell phone pinned between his shoulder and ear as he races along in a split screen video game where he and Chang are each armed and ready to shoot at each other.
I run my cursor up and down the screen of my laptop, trying to piece together my story on recycling at Taylor from a series of interviews. I've got students claiming that the janitors just combine all of the trash, and don't actually recycle. I have janitors giving non-commital responses, saying I should speak to their supervisors. I've got waste management supervisors saying that everything is perfect in the world of recycling and that the students must be mistaken—that and a laundry list of notes about the recycling policy, it's history and how it affects the environment. I transcribed all of these notes onto computer this afternoon, thinking it would help me make something coherent out of the mess. Nothing's coming.
Chang and Dave find themselves face to face on the screen, and, in an instant, Dave shoots him twice in the chest, sending Chang's character to ground.
“Fuck,” Chang mutters as he rematerializes in another part of the game.
“All right, you too,” Dave says, not paying the game any mind. “Later bro.”
I look up from my computer. “So what was that all about?”
“The Axis has it's first booking for the semester,” Dave says as his figure on screen jumps from a fire escape down to the street. “We're gonna have a half hour set at the Groundhog's Day Festival.”
“So they're sucking you in too.” I shake my head. “This festival's getting out of control.”January 24, 2007
“Waste management is full of shit,” Phoebe says. Teri's proofreading my section over lunch in the office, while Phoebe hangs over Teri's shoulder, reading along. “My friend Jess saw them emptying the trash one time. They took the garbage, the bottle recycling, and the paper recycling and threw it all into one bag to take it out to the dumpster. The recycling containers are totally just for show.”
I look up from the reading I'm working on for my 8 a.m. class tomorrow morning. “One of the guys I interviewed said something really similar,” I say, “and I brought that up with the administrators.”
Teri looks up. “So what did they say?”
“They brought up this rule about sorting the garbage. If there's anything in the recycling that's not supposed to be there—like someone throws away food in a recyclable container, or just dumps all of their other trash in with their paper, the custodial staff isn't expected to separate it out—they're just supposed to throw it all away.”
“Sounds like a lazy rule,” Phoebe says.
“It's a safety thing,” Teri says, looking back down at the page here. “In case there are any needles or razors or anything, the janitors aren't expected to put themselves in danger.”
“Eh, whatever,” Phoebe says, taking one of Teri's carrot sticks and beginning to nibble on it. “So do you have the scoop on this Groundhog's Day thing in here?”
“The scoop?” I ask.
“Yeah. I mean, Taylor just doesn't have events like this. So what's the deal? Covering up some scandal in the college administration? Or some behind the scenes money making scheme?”
“ Preston thinks it's just a tool to help recruit more people to the college,” Teri says. I shrug.
“Not bad,” Phoebe nods, grabbing another carrot and getting up from her seat. “All right kids, I'm headed out. Thanks for letting me hang.”January 25, 2007
“This is actually kind of interesting,” Teri says. “This article argues that the ways in which communication has changed over the last ten years may be phasing out big media corporations.”
“How do they figure?” I ask. I'm sitting on Teri's bed, my back to the wall, as she sits on her desk chair, reading.
“Stuff like blogging and independent web sites are allowing people to self-publish and reach a worldwide audience. You can just put news and opinion out there, and even stream video or audio. And you don't need to be affiliated with a media conglomerate to do it. Joe Schmoe with a free website has the potential to have his stuff read my more people than could have read any major newspaper ten years ago.”
“Yeah,” I set down my own book in my lap. “But now every major newspaper has a website that people want to visit just based on familiarity and reputation—not to mention the advertising dollars to expand that audience.”
“Well, aren't you cynical?”
“Well, aren't you pretty?”
“Smooth.”
“I know.”
“Ooooooooooh!”
We both stop, and Teri rolls her eyes. I start, “Is that—”
Teri nods. “Phoebe and Geoff. They—like to do that sometimes.”
There's a bang, like someone fell over, and another long “Ooooooh” from Phoebe.
“Are they for real?”
“All too real.”
There's a scream, then a moan from Geoff.
“You know,” I say, “I bet we could give them a run for their money.”
Teri raises an eyebrow.
“I'm just saying—”
“And I'm just reading,” Teri says, turning back to her article. A second later, she looks up to give me a little smile.January 26, 2007
“Dude this is insane,” Chang says, as Mike throws in a three pointer from the corner. The man on the louder speaker announces, this is the tenth one he's made. The Eskimos are getting pushed to the limit by the high-scoring Hayes College Jokers. Mike has come to play, though and is having the most impressive outing I've ever seen on a basketball court.
The Jokers have possession, but can't advance the ball past The Eskimos' full court press. With just two minutes left, The Eskimos are down four points. Perry makes the steal and dishes it off to Mike. On a normal night, he might take it inside for the easy, certain lay-up. Tonight, he lines up right where stands, and fires another three-point shot. He hits nothing but net.
I remember Rich interviewing Mike after the home opener, when he scored 50. Rich referenced the school record of 70 points, and asked Mike if he had a chance of breaking that. Mike waved the question off then.
Of the Eskimos' 73 points tonight, Mike has 65.
“Defense!” the crowd begins to chant. I've never heard a crowd at Taylor this into a game.
The Jokers set up a give and go play, but blow a lay-up. The Eskimos center gets the rebound and passes it to Perry. Perry and Mike lead the two-on-one fast break heading to the other end, and Mike gets fouled as he shoots the ball.
“How many shots does he get?” Teri asks.
“Shooting foul,” I call out, over the roar of the crowd, “two shots.”
Mike walks up to the line. He bounces the ball twice, bends his knees and drains the shot. He makes eye contact with his coach, then with one of the his teammates standing by the basket. I'm not sure anyone else notices. I try to whisper into Teri's ear what's about to happen, but there's no point in trying to whisper in this gymnasium at this moment.
The second shot bounces hard off the backboard. The player Mike connected with is all over the rebound, and puts it back in, to put Taylor up by two points, a big enough lead that The Jokers will need a three point play to take another lead.
The Jokers call time out.
“This game is awesome,” Chang says.
Dave nods, a little more subdued. “It's pretty good.”
The Jokers score off a pick and roll with their next possession. With forty-five seconds to go, it's a tied game. Mike hits yet another three pointer, off of a high screen. The Eskimos are up three and he's two points from breaking the school scoring record.
The Jokers hurry up court, but the defense is all over them. They miss a three-pointer and score on a put back with twenty seconds left the Eskimos are up one. They foul Perry the minute he touches the ball, to stop the clock.
Perry makes both foul shots, pushing the lead back to three. The Jokers can't connect on a three pointer this time down either. Mike's got the rebound and races up the court. Perry, right behind is the only one close, and as the clock runs down, it's clear enough that, not only are The Eskimos going to win, but that Mike is going to break the scoring record.
But then, Mike does the unthinkable. With 69 points, he passes the ball off to Perry.
“What's he doing?” Chang asks, as the crowd quiets slightly, confused.
Even Perry looks surprised, and stops to look at Mike. As the defense catches up, though, he sort of shrugs and lays the ball in off the glass himself. With just one second left the Eskimos are up 5. The Jokers don't bother trying to rally this time, accepting their defeat.
Final score Eskimos 83, Jokers 78. Mike Weaver, 69 points.January 27, 2006
“So what's the plot of this movie again?” Teri asks as we take our seats in the middle of the theater.
“C—it was Robert Downey Jr.!” a guy calls out behind us, playing the movie trivia game up on the screen.
“It's about this one room in the back of an academic building at this college,” I say. “The room's all locked up and no one's allowed in there, and there's a rumor that it's because someone was murdered there 50 years ago. Then these kids break into the room, and unleash the ghost, and it stalks them one by one.”
“Didn't we have our fill of ghosts in October?” Teri asks, shifting in her seat.
“Yeah, but this is a CGI ghost that's supposed to be amazing. That and all of the gore and guts of a quality horror film.”
“Quality?
I shrug. “Well, it's a horror film.”
“It's just that these movies are so predictable,” Teri says, taking her hair out of a pony tail, then bunching it all up in her hands to put it back. “Most of the characters get killed. Then the star figures out a way to beat the ghost, or monster or whatever and survives—or the star dies, leaving the monster alive for a lower budget sequel without any of the original stars.”
“Weren't you calling me cynical the other night?”
“There's a difference between cynical and not dumb,” Teri says. “Come on, we should just go to another movie.”
“We've already got the tickets.”
“Are you telling me you've never snuck into another movie?”
“Why would I?”
“A—The Princess Bride!” the same guy calls out.
I roll my eyes and go on, “Why wouldn't you just buy a ticket for the movie you wanted to see in the first place?”
Teri shakes her head. “Weren't you ever a teenager?” I don't know how to respond. “So you never snuck into an R-rated movie after you bought a ticket to the PG-13 flic next door?”
“Na—I was never a criminal.”
“Goody two-shoes.”
The theater darkens and screen goes black. “Shh,” I say, putting an arm over her shoulders. “Time for the movie.”