Richard Gaughran asks this question about his students: “What is it that they see in the Dude that they find so desirable?”
One of Mr. Gaughran’s students came up with this summary, and it’s somehow appropriate for an end-of-the-year reckoning: “He doesn’t stand for what everybody thinks he should stand for, but he has his values. He just does it. He lives in a very disjointed society, but he’s gonna take things as they come, he’s gonna care about his friends, he’s gonna go to somebody’s recital, and that’s it. That’s how you respond.”
“William Hochul, a twenty-year prosecutor with expertise in running counter-terrorism cases, was in line for promotion to Main Justice in 2006. Until Monica Goodling, the infamous figure from the US Attorney firings scandal, found out his wife is active in Democratic politics and killed the appointment. Now President Obama has nominated him to serve as US Attorney in the Western District of New York.”—
UGH Monica Goodling is AWFUL. She’s the one who was behind the drama with the DOJ Honors program hiring as well. (Not that it’s any less political now, but that’s a different story.) You may also remember her as the one who ordered the nude art deco statues at Justice covered with sheets. Honestly, what a nutter.
Not to be a school snob (but I’m about to), Wikipedia tells me that this woman went to Messiah College and Regent University Law School. Not exactly the pedigree one would expect for someone at Justice. How in the holy hell did this woman get so high up in Justice in the first place? She must have something really good on someone. -MATC
4:45 a.m.: Wake up, douse self with pitcher of blood kept next to bed.
4:47 a.m.: Deep breaths when he realizes Shelley has replaced rage-blood wakeup mix with soothing tincture of lavender.
4:48–7:00 a.m. Wait in bed per psychiatric orders. Visualize happy place.
7:01 a.m.: Doctor appointed wakeup time arrives. Eat breakfast of egg whites and fresh melon. Put on nametag; “talk” to children.
7:45 p.m.: Brisk walk around neighborhood. As neighbors pass, bare teeth, but raise eyebrows to convey lack of hostile intent.
8:45 a.m.: Call recruits, ask about “relatives” and “emotions.” NO LONGER THAN ONE HOUR OF RECRUITING CALLS. Use your egg timer to stay on schedule.
9:45 a.m. Egg timer goes off.
9:50 Shelley notices the time.
10:00 a.m. Placed in front of television where DVD of Up is played for emotional connective time.
10:00 a.m- 12:00 p.m. ROLLING ON FLOOR AND WEEPING.
12:15 p.m. Lunch of light salad and decaffeinated tea. Sneak five redbulls and intravenous espresso behind Shelley’s back. Lie on tummy time mat and vibrate for 45 minutes.
1:15 p.m. Trip to Build-A-Bear Store to build Emotion Bear, the stuffed ursine friend who talks about feelings when you can’t.
1:25 p.m. Stuff perky worker with stuffing gun. Tip well.
1:45 p.m. COLD STONE YAY COLD STONE TRIP!!!
2:15 p.m. Phone Jeremy Foley, announce resignation.
2:16 p.m. SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKE!!!
2:18 p.m. Apologize deeply and sincerely to Jeremy Foley, whom you love and thank for all the hard work and understanding he has contributed to your life and to the University of Florida’s over the years.
2:20 p.m. Call Steve Addazzio and have his nameplate restored to “interim.”
3:00 p.m. Play Modern Warfare 2 with teenage neighbors under GamerTag “EmoGator09″
3:15 p.m. URGE TO KILL RISING WHY IS THAT BASTARD SHOOTING ME WITH A SNIPER RIFLE OVER AND OVER AGAIN–
4:15 p.m. Awake from catatonic rage-spasm to see Shelley standing over you with taser, glass of orange juice.
4:30 p.m. Yoga instructor arrives for private session.
4:36 p.m. Uncontrollable giggling at accidental flatulence in downward dog. FOCUS.
4:48 p.m. More giggling.
5:15 p.m. Note that yoga is boooooooooooring.
5:18 p.m. Fall asleep in mountain pose.
5:32 p.m. The mail. Hey, no one’s checked the mail yet!
5:34 p.m. Discover autographed glossy 8×10 picture of Nick Saban mailed to residence for twentieth day in a row.
5:35 p.m. Chest pains.
5:37 p.m. Lie down for remainder of day mumbling incoherently.
I really need to check my e-mail account more frequently. This one is dated December 1.
Subject: More Taylor Nowzer
i read your blog everyday. I understand the obsession with ND football. I even tolerate the male boy toy oggling. But do not toy with my emotions. Either consistent coverage of the songbird princess Taylor Swift, or none. If none, then prepare to lose Petey in a gruesome bloody mystery.*
* Nat looks hungrily at me.
Well, Gentle Reader, I take your requests very seriously. You love Taylor, and I love you, and Taylor is kind of growing on me, to be honest. So, here she is, the singing angel sent down from heaven. We mere mortals are not worthy.
With My Looks and Your Brains- The Mr. T Experience
Aaaah I forgot about this song. I used to play it on my college radio show and dedicate it to one of my old friends, always noting that I was FOR SURE the brains of that operation. (I stand by this assessment.) This one’s for you, Matt, old buddy, wherever you are. -MATC
Seriously? Seriously? Every single one of these songs is legitimately horrible. This is conclusive evidence that the people who run record companies and control radio stations should be taken out back behind the woodshed and summarily shot. What shameful, unrelenting crap they have foisted upon our poor, defenseless ears. This is just a further reminder of why I rarely listen to the radio anymore. -MATC