Archives:
March 4-March 10, 2007
March 4, 2007
“Best play of the game, though,” I hold out my hand and Chang lobs me the little orange basketball we keep in the common room, “Mike catches the ball at the three point line, fakes a pass, then crosses it over,” I move the ball between my legs, “and goes right. A second defender picks him up and Mike goes right over him and fires the three from way down town, falling out of bounds.” I fire the ball, and my shot bounces off the plastic rim to the side.
“And he makes the shot?” Brad asks.
“Nothing but net,” I say, swinging my arm through the air.
“The guy's pretty sick,” Chang nods.
The door opens behind me. I turn to see Dave come in, his hair a mess, a shirt half tucked into his jeans. He's sort of squinting and smiles at us.
“Hey Dave,” I say kind of slowly. “How are you doing?”
He snickers. “Good.” He stumbles toward his room.
“You doing all right, man?” Chang asks.
He scratches his chest and looks to his door, to Chang, and back to door. “Good,” he says again and heads inside.
A second later, I hear sort of a crashing sound. I peak my head in Dave's room and am relieved to see him face down on his bed, not on the ground, and with nothing broken. I head back out, closing the door behind me.
“Tired?” Chang asks.
“Looks like he had a long night.” I glance at my watch. “Anyway, I guess I gotta be getting to work.” I pick up my coat. “If you wouldn't mind, maybe you could check up on him in a couple hours.”
Chang waves his hand. “You've got it.”March 5, 2007
“Hey Dave, what's going on buddy?” I ask, coming out to the common room. I'm just getting up and am kind of surprised to see that he's already out of his room.
“Yo, yo,” he replies, waving his spoon before he sets it down into his Raisin Bran.
“You didn't look so hot yesterday,” I say, bunching up my towel in my hands. “You all right now?”
“You know me—work hard, play harder.”
“When's the last time you worked hard?”
“Who was the professor we had together last year? Johnson?”
“Jones.”
“That's the one.” He shakes his finger in the air. “I think there was a paper for that class I worked hard on.”
I chuckle.
“Hard to believe it's been that long, huh?” he asks, milk dribbling from his bottom lip as he chews.
“Na, you just said hard on.”
“Mature.”
“You know me.”
“And that's why I love you.”
“So seriously, you doing all right?”
Dave grins. “It was just a long night.”
“A long night that ended the next afternoon.”
“I said it was long.”
“And you're sure it was just long?” I ask. “No chemical enhancement to your evening?”
Dave nods. “I'm all right, Preston .” He meets my eyes. “Really. I've got things under control.”
“I just remember a time when it didn't seem like you did.” I go on as Dave rolls his eyes. “And I'm not trying to be a dick about this. I just worry about you sometimes.”
“Well stop your worrying. I'm a rock and roll star now. I'm indestructible.”
“Right—never hear about a musician with a drug problem.”
“Don't you have a shower to be taking?”
I'm not sure if he's defensive or just joking—or actually pissed. I nod and decide to let it go, heading on to the bathroom.March 6, 2007
“If we run a joke issue, the joke's going to be on us,” Teri says, leaning over the center table in the Window office.
“OK, cleverly worded, but what do you mean?” Sam asks.
Teri's nostrils flair. I know her and Sam well enough to know that he said what he did to get her mad, as he knows that her anger will lend itself to him winning this argument. “People don't know, or care enough about the news here to justify satire,” she says, taking on a very consciously even tone. “With national news, everyone gets it. Here, ninety percent of the people who are going to get the satire work in this office. And the other ten percent will be the people we're making fun of.”
“And you're scared of pissing off the wrong people?”
“I am when it's going to result in a series of inside jokes that the rest of the campus population isn't going to get.”
“So we throw in some sex and fart jokes,” Sam says, raising his hands. “Everyone appreciates those.”
“I know I do,” Rich, the sports editor chimes in.
“Charming,” Teri says.
“What do you think, Preston ?” Gabby, the features editor asks.
It's Tuesday night, and we're all here to work on the paper. At first, I couldn't figure out why Sam would bring up his idea for a joke issue now, when we're all busy. As the conversation progresses, it becomes clearer why he wanted to do this now. He thinks he's going to have the majority of the editors on his side, and that will be his best ammunition to convince the clear dissenters like Teri, and anyone like me who's on the fence.
“If we do it effectively, I think it could be fun,” I say carefully. “But I worry that we are going to have trouble finding material that people will get. And if it's just going to be dirty jokes, I'm not sure I like what that says about our paper.”
“But at least people will be talking about the paper,” Sam says. “Just look at Teri's roommate. She has one wardrobe malfunction Saturday night—”
“Let's not go there,” Teri says.
“My point is that everyone's still talking about it.”
“Let's not go there,” Teri repeats.
Sam picks up the pages he was editing again. “We'll talk more about this later.”March 7, 2007
“So is it like American Idol?” Gabby, the Student Life editor asks, chewing on the end of her pen as we sit at the center table of the office, waiting for our proofreads to come back to us. “Where the judges critique them and stuff?”
“Sort of,” I say, trying to figure out how to explain a cappella competition to someone who's never heard of the idea before. The funny thing is, I can vaguely recall having a conversation like this with Teri a year ago. “The judges determine the winners, but they write up feedback for all of the groups, so they know how they can improve.”
“So the audience doesn't vote at all?”
“Na,” I say, adjusting on my stool. “Because the judges are supposed to be experts who can judge how good the groups are as musicians. That way it's not a popularity contest or anything.”
“But it's not like American Idol's a popularity contest. It makes sense—because the people are voting for the singers they would want to hear as recording artists. And in the end, that's what matters.”
“Well, it's just a really different kind of competition,” I say, not sure of how else to explain it. “But anyway, I was planning to go to the competition this weekend. So if you wanted someone to cover it, I'd be happy to do it.”
“Are you sure you're going to have time? Like, don't you have a bazillion news stories to write?”
“I've got some work ahead of me. But this one will be fun.” A part of me is volunteering because I'm afraid of what Gabby or one of her writers would write if they covered the story otherwise. Another part of me is actually kind of excited about this weekend. Now that I'm done with Emma and Veronica, a cappella isn't really a natural part of my life. I like idea of going to see another show. I might even cheer for The Off Beats. “So count me in. I'll cover it.”March 8, 2007
“But it has to be Romeo and Juliet,” one of the guys in my class says. “For name value alone, everyone's heard of it, and all of the girls are excited to read it.” One of the women in class groans. “I'm not saying that to be sexist—I'm saying it because girls are usually more excited about reading that play. Whereas, no one is excited to hear they're going to read Troilus and Cressida.”
“Is he right?” Professor Bryant asks. “Were you excited to read Troilus and Cressida?”
“Well I hadn't ever heard of it,” a woman speaks up. “It's not one of the plays that everyone knows.”
“But if it was taught in high schools, people would know it,” Andy, the guy who started the conversation goes on. “And if it was the one people read in high school, it would get people thinking about more than just love and suicide. I mean, think about what it says that Romeo and Juliet is the novel that we celebrate in our schools.”
“Quick correction, it's not a novel,” Bryant chimes in. “It's a play.”
“And Troilus and Cressida is so much better?” the woman asks. “You get a play where people just keep stabbing each other in the back, and in the end, the great war hero is the one who kills his enemy when he can't defend himself. What kind of message does that send?”
Andy stretches his neck, half rolling his eyes the way he does when he's thinking and trying to formulate a response. He looks kind of ridiculous.
“Well,” I say, as all eyes turn to me. I can't have spoken more than five times in this class up to this moment. “I would say that readers or audiences can make the distinction in Troilus and Cressida that the bad things that people are doing aren't being romanticized. Achilles is a coward and jerk. And even though people celebrate him at the end, it's clear he doesn't deserve it.” I look to the ground. “The way the story goes, it might even get people thinking about heroes and public figures in our society, and whether all of them deserve the praise.”
“So Preston ,” Bryant says, “does that mean that you agree with Andy that Troilus and Cressida should replace Romeo and Juliet in high school classrooms.”
“I wouldn't go that far.”
“And why's that?”
I lift my hands. “I'm an English major in college and I could barely get through it.”
“You're saying it's dense?”
“I'm saying, you put this in a high school classroom, and it had might as well be written in French.”
Some people laugh and Bryant nods. “Well said, Preston .”March 9, 2007
Teri and I have a seat by one of the large glass windows of The Lighthouse, a sandwich in each of our hands, a little bag of barbecue chips between us. “So what's on tap for this weekend?” she asks.
“Funny you should bring that up.” I wipe my mouth off with a napkin. “I was planning to go to take a drive over to Duggan for an a cappella competition, and I'm going to write an article about it for Gabby. Was wondering if you wanted to come along—maybe snap a few pictures.”
Teri shakes her head. “I don't know anything about a cappella.”
“Well forget the story thing. You should just come and hang out.”
“The Off Beats are competing right?” she asks, looking down, into the bag of chips. “This is the show Veronica told us about?”
“Yeah,” I say. “And it should be good. I mean, granted, I only saw the one competition before, but it was really cool to see people from different schools, and what they come up—”
“I'm gonna pass, Preston .” She keeps her eyes cast down, picking her sandwich back up and taking a bite, a piece of turkey hanging loose from the back of the bread.
“Well why? Did you have something else going on?”
“It's just—I don't think I'd have a very good time hanging out with you, watching your exes on stage.”
“Teri—”
“And I know it's not about that,” she says, looking at me again. “But in my head, that's all it can be about right now.”
I start to say something, some sort of counterargument. I can't see this conversation taking a turn for the better, though. At the least, I'm confident I won't be able to get her to go. So, I nod, taking the bag of chips and scooping out a handful for myself.March 10, 2006
The Duggan College Overachievers, an all male group that is hosting tonight's a cappella competition, wraps up its post-intermission set with a David Gray song. I remember a year ago, when The Sidewinders were hosting the competition The Off Beats sang at, and stole one of their songs. In some senses, it's hard to believe that was a year ago. I remember traveling with the girls and the groups I saw on stage so clearly. But then I remember seeing Veronica the night before they competed, as she sat outside her hotel room by the ice machine. I remember it registering in my mind just how hot she was. That seems like a long time ago.
The Sidewinders were in top form tonight, as they competed against the girls. They had the audience erupting in laughter when they were funny, and absolutely silent when they grew somber. Up to this point, they're far and away the best group to perform.
But then Emma takes the stage.
“She can look hot when she wants too, huh?” Dave says. At the last minute, I got him to agree to come along, so I wouldn't have to sit alone.
I shrug, rubbing my hands together. It's strange, but I find myself nervous for the girls, the same way I felt a year ago. No longer attached to any of them, I still feel something for the group. She's all alone to sing the opening lines of The Pretenders' “I'll Stand By You.”
It's unusual to see just one singer on stage tonight, as there hasn't been group with less than ten members competing. A couple lines in, I can start to hear the other girls. Then I see them, coming from each side of the stage. They close in on her, and by the chorus, they're all there, and they're all singing, all parts covered, hitting on all cylinders. It's beautiful.
The crowd cheers wildly when they finish—probably the loudest ovation of the night, as the girl's take their spots for their second song. I remember Emma telling me that each group gets only twelve minutes to perform, and try to tailor the set to get the most out of that time, without running the risk of running over. Knowing the girls a bit, I can see they're a little anxious as the applause go on.
The second song sees Claire as soloist, Emma moving over to vocal percussion. She leads off the song with a fast drum beat, before the girls launch into a cover of “I Want You To Want Me.” More than any of the others, Claire looks like she's having fun, dancing for every moment she isn't singing.
The applause are overwhelming again, as I start to think The Off Beats could pull out a victory tonight. Veronica steps up to the microphone to do the final solo, looking out at the crowd. She stops, peering out at one particular area, and I turn, following her gaze. There are a group of guys actually out of their seats, giving the girls a standing ovation.
Veronica smiles, sort of gritting her teeth, the way she does when she's not happy at all. The applause run on, and soon they must have lasted a good twenty seconds. I look to the side of the guys who are doing it, and see The Sidewinders sitting there.
It hits me what they're doing. They're pushing The Off Beats over 12 minutes, and the judges are going to penalize them for it.
Veronica bobs her head and the girls start in before the last of the clapping is over. They're good, as always, but I can tell Veronica's a little distracted, a little agitated. It's at this point that it becomes clear to me the girls aren't going to win.