Student: “It’s good. Like ranch on rice.”
Me: “Wait, what?”
Student: “You know. When you’re eating steak and you put ranch on it and the ranch gets on your rice and you eat it anyway. It’s so fucking good. I can’t stop putting ranch on my rice. But not creamy ranch. That shit sucks.”
Student: “It was a pretty good walrus. Not great, but good.”
Student: “Did you know that Halloween is when cults de-head one person each?”
Here’s my Takis tale, in all its glory.
Nopenopenopenopenopenope.
I am haunted by the blue takis. I see them in my dreams. I feel them reach out to me as I move past Fred Meyers. Just knowing they exist fills me with dread. But the most chilling of all: I know I will eat them. I am inexorably pulled towards them, as sure as a leaf falls to the ground. Pray for me, and pray for yourselves that you are not next.
Do you hear it too? The icy call of demonic forces? They whisper my name, they howl, they gibber their spicy obscenities from the end cap on the chip aisle at the Hollywood Fred Meyers. They say they know me, they know my most secret desires. At first I thought they did not, could not possibly, see into the depths of my soul. But now I see how blind I was.
.
I will have them. And they… they will have me.
Last night I awoke from the most terrible dream; rivers of ice were rising across the earth. I went to the sink to splash water onto my face, and in the mirror I saw a me who was not me. He and I were identical in look, but his eyes were hollow, absent any spark of life. I knew without knowing that this husk was me, or at least a possible me, from times to come. A me who has witnessed, and consumed, the icy horror of the blue flame.
I have not studied much of the sacred geometry, but I am sure that the cylinder is of vital importance in celestial maneuverings. A cylinder is a tunnel, a passage, a direct connection from one location to another. It occurs to me as I stare at the blue heat inside the blue flame: takis are cylindrical. I assume this means these spicy fried cylinders are portals themselves. To where, I could not say. And what will be on the other side? Or who?
I see bags of these devils everywhere I go. I see them as I enter my car, I see them in my rear view. Even in the woods, when camping, I see bags of them on each table, leaning up outside the door of my family’s yurt. It is as if my friends and neighbors are deliberately placing bag upon bag of this terrible nightmare all around me, attempting to drive me mad. With each footstep I think I hear the crinkle of the cellophane wrapper of the blue heat, and it fills me with dread. Begone, devils!
The world around seems to have less color in it. Or perhaps it’s that the colors my eyes perceive are not adequate for me to describe my experience now that I have consumed the blue heat. There must be shades of color as yet unknown to man — shades from far beyond the cosmos, perhaps, or from some… place that humans dare not tread — that could better define the cerulean hues that I seem to see all around me. Hazy auras that circle all manners of things; both tangible objects from my everyday life, but also strange unseen things that come and go as they please. Although upsetting, my new… perception? It is intriguing. I find myself wondering what will change next.
After the events which unfolded last night, I have barricaded myself in my room for the safety of others. As I retired to bed, I noticed blue smears, swipes of color, across a number of surfaces in my house. I ran room to room, only to find these blue streaks dashed across virtually every surface in the house. I wracked my brain to imagine what could have done this — a precocious child with a blue marker? — only to realize, to my horror, the lines were coming from my very own fingers. I was leaving some guilty blue residue on every surface I touched; no matter how I tried to cleanse my home nothing could rid it of the colorations. It seemed to be a blue powder, smelling strongly of spices, and my cat was highly attracted to it. I fear what could happen to another human if they are exposed to this terrible new development. I have already been changed enormously since devouring the blue heat, I shudder to imagine what changes are still to come. Is the shudder from fear? Or terrible ecstasy? It seems impossible to know.
I have devised a solution for my fingertip condition: two pairs of thin leather gloves seem to provide enough barrier between my hands and the world around them. Although I discovered I do need to rotate the pairs of gloves, as too much time in one causes them to fill with the blue spice dust.
Last night I kissed my family a final goodbye as they slept, burdened with the knowledge that I could no longer stay if I wanted them to remain safe. I could feel more changes coming — physical or metaphysical I did not know — and would rather die myself than put them in danger.
Despite the shifting sands of my predicament, I knew one thing for sure: some deeper sense, beyond our five human senses, was pulling me southward. I was being called by something far greater than myself. I also had an awareness that if I wanted a remedy to my condition, I would need to heed this call and travel to the wellspring of this evil, frozen river. This damned snack item. I quivered with the desire for haste; I could feel my body getting warmer, being gradually consumed by blue heat.
I arrived at the docks, attempting to hide myself among the stevedores and longshoremen, hoping to slip into a berth on any ship headed south. I always had an ability to make myself fade into the background, unseen, and this talent made my task relatively simple. Within a quarter hour of eavesdropping upon their vulgar conversations, I had identified and stowed away upon a frigate bound for Buenos Aires, and then on to the southernmost tip of Chilé. I had no further plan beyond that, but a primal understanding that whatever I was running towards would likely remove all blockades between myself and itself. I drifted asleep as the boat left port, and slipped into an uneasy dreamless morass. Only one sliver of a dream emerged: an inhuman voice, disembodied, which spoke only one word:
“Come.”
Most of my time at sea was spent in the darkness of the ship’s hold, curled inside a narrow gap between two tremendous crates. It was impossible to tell day from night; no natural light penetrated into the space. Lanterns were occasionally lit as men checked on things and fiddled with machinery, but I was mostly left alone in the dark. I stole food from a crate, water from a utility sink. One day I was hungry enough to consider dining on one of the rats which scurried around and over me as I tried to sleep. In a brief burst of wakefulness that coincided with light, I saw to my horror that the blue spice had worked its way further up my arm. I could feel it coursing through my veins, overtaking me. Dear God, I pled, may I arrive at my destination before I am wholly gone. What would be left of me, once the Blue Heat had its rotten way?
One (day? Night?) I awoke to a commotion, and was roughly grabbed by two unseen, yet clearly swarthy, gentlemen of enormous size. I had been discovered, and in my confusion I lashed out. One of them struck me before I could issue a warning about my condition. I was too dazed to speak, and my wits remained absent until I found myself sitting for an extended time, bound to an unyielding wooden chair in the Captain’s quarters.
He was a small, brutish man, with uneven, bulbous features. When he spoke, it was with an unpitying Australian accent which hurt my ears.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t chuck you off this vessel,” he said laconically.
I told the captain my tale, and to my surprise he listened with great interest. His physical appearance initially led me to believe he would be as brutal as he looked, but I began to see sympathy in his swollen, crooked eyes.
When I had finished, he drew breath and said, “I fear you have no idea what you’ve done, you piteous bastard. I have heard a tale just like yours, once.” Crestfallen, he removed my bindings and helped me stand. I noticed he took great care not to touch the parts of my flesh which were turning blue. “I will have the crew take you to the infirmary. There is a bed there for you to lie in while we travel.” I was weak from my journey and had to wait for assistance; I could not yet walk far without help.
Despite my increasing dread I slept deeply in a proper bed and had no dreams. I awoke at daybreak to find a wizened man, so old as to be ageless, sitting beside my bed. He looked at me with curiosity, along something resembling recognition. A bond was shared between us, somehow.
Without speaking, he motioned to my arms, gesturing that I should remove my gloves. Tenderly, I did, and I saw his eyes glitter. I knew without being told: he had seen the blue heat before. Until then I had not noticed his other hand, the left, and he raised it to show me. In its place was a hook. He gestured across his wrist to communicate a terrible truth, and I knew: he had been stricken with the same condition as myself. And he had cured it by removing his own hand.
Time passed slowly and I regained my strength bit by bit. Each morning the old man, Dominic, was by my bedside. He cleaned the ship, and because he spoke a tongue unknown to the crew, he existed as all but mute. His name had been given to him by the Captain, a tribute to his own late son. They spent enormous time together, with a clear affection for one another — despite his inability to understand Dominic’s language, the Captain and he had developed a method of communication though gestures and moving minuscule, intricately carved miniatures that Dominic had carved out of scraps of driftwood. He seemed protective of me, his eyes inspecting my body as if they were sketching protective runes on my flesh.
Weeks passed and my strength returned through improved diet and the exchange of toil for my passage. My body continued to change, the dust creeping up my limbs, my fingers developing the scaly, rigid texture of fried tortillas. For a time, I imagined myself a wayfarer, a man without a country, sailing voluntarily across the world. Inevitably, the reality of my predicament would rush back to me, leaving me despondent once more.
Late one night I awoke to Dominic and the Captain seated at my bedside. In his thick accent, the Captain said, “We arrive at your destination tomorrow. Dominic decided to aid your journey.”
“How?” I asked
The Captain leaned back and put his hands on his knees. Dominic rolled out a parchment on the bedside table and placed a handful of miniatures on it. “By telling you his tale,” the Captain replied.
Dominic told his tale through his complicated dance with the Captain, gesticulating and moving his tiny idols around the parchment. Some gestures were immediately obvious, others leadenly opaque, where only the Captain understood.
The gist of his tale was that of greed — far different from my own — in his previous life, he worked for a wealthy man who collected exotic curiosities. It was in the wealthy man’s trophy collection where he discovered a bag of Blue Heat, and the temptation was too much for him. He opened the bag and plunged his hand in, gorging himself. In time his thievery was discovered and not only was he removed from his employer’s home, he was banished from the parish in which he had lived his entire life. It led him, much like myself, shamefully, to the sea, at which point he followed the impulse to heed the call of the blue heat southward.
The remainder of the story was difficult even for the Captain to decipher, but it seemed that Dominic eventually arrived where he had been called. Whatever he found at the end of his journey was so horrible he chose to amputate his own hand rather than face whatever trial was presented to him.
I expressed gratitude to Dominic, to them both, for sharing his story. On the parchment Dominic was busy drawing a map filled with landmarks for me to follow, so that I may repeat his journey. I commented on the sad fate his greedy behavior had sealed for him, and insinuated my own misfortune was attributable to one factor: blind fate. They both looked at me with stern confusion. I inquired upon their reaction and the Captain observed, “You seem to believe this was not of your own accord.”
“Clearly, it was fate itself. How could it not be?”
Dominic gestured on both his hands, indicating my own condition. The Captain said, “Dominic took what was not his and you see the price he paid: one hand. You,” he pointed at my arms, “must have transgressed far greater if your flesh is any indication.”
I was stunned.
The Captain was right, damn his eyes. I wailed for them to leave, threw the bedsheets, broke a lamp. I raged. And my rage was pure shame.
The sun crested the horizon and I was alone in its judgement. The Captain’s words scraped my insides, turning circles like a fly with a plucked wing. It was true: my sins were many. I had been vain, I had been prideful, I had coveted my neighbor’s wife, I had not just been tempted by the Blue Heat but gorged myself with both hands, barely tasting them as they passed my lips. A venal glutton, making secret arrangements with myself so as to assuage any guilt I may have felt after exercising my worst tendencies. I had ignored my family and tended solely to amassing a great many things, mostly frivolous, so as to make my friends and neighbors envious. This was why the Blue Heat called to me: not because I was an innocent swept into the currents of misfortune, but because I was a scoundrel, already miles down the river of sin.
I removed my gloves for the last time and idly tossed them over the side of the boat. In the new dawn I forced myself to truly study my transformation. My fingers were now fully Takis, blue and pliant but still fried tortillas nonetheless. The change had made its way up both forearms and had begun to show the blue powder in my armpits as well. I could feel the change beginning in my feet. My vision showed blue auras pulsing all around me; they looked to be portals of a kind, and from the other side of these irregular, moving things I heard the sounds of demons wailing, communicating with one another. Their sounds were gutteral and incoherent yet the intention clear: they intended to burst through these openings at the earliest opportunity. Then a realization consumed me: these beasts were not new discoveries, but something barely held at bay — for how long, there was no knowing — and I understood that my transformation and subsequent realization of their presence were connected. If they entered our plane, it would be entirely the fault of this imperfect man.
We arrived in Buenos Aires, and i felt the pull of the Blue Heat, so I busied myself to disembark. Despite my earlier outburst, Dominic returned, laden with a satchel filled with provisions, a machete, and what looked to be an antique pistol, with a meager store of ammunition. I assumed this gift was fantastically generous on his part, and I took it with humility. The Captain also came to wish me well; a touching gesture considering my treatment of him.
“I am familiar with the look you gave me when we first met,” the Captain said. “I have owned this face my entire life. The brotherhood of Man continually disappoints me in its predictability. Now that you have been punished, you understand how it feels to be seen as monstrous?”
I nodded, and lowered my head. “Thank you for passage, and for helping my on my way. I am truly sorry for my actions. If I survive, I will try to repair as much of the world as I am able.” This appeared to be the correct words, as he nodded to me and returned to his labors, readying the merchandise from to boat to be offloaded.
Following Dominic’s directions led me up and through plains and villages, rivers and foothills. I walked, I chartered boats, I rode animals of labor. I existed in my previous world as an aberration, but here, in these provincial spaces, I was scarcely given a moment’s regard. My complexion was more a topic of conversation than my withered limbs.
As I traveled, I reflected on the world and my place in it. I had dedicated so much time abiding rules which were not natural or foundational, yet are suffocatingly present; surrounding myself and my loved ones. We are born, we collect mere trinkets, then once we pass from the world we are survived by our belongings by millennia. To what end? Are we as the Captain suggested: half-conscious beasts who walk in revolving gears, reacting on learned instinct? Living in systems within systems, a patchwork machine which is never complete? Each generation like another row in a great coliseum, each row getting further away from the center stage? And what event are we to see there? Our destruction?
By the time I arrived at the cave, the wellspring of this compulsion to travel south, I was virtually unrecognizable. My body was mostly Taki now, and as such I loosed myself of my wardrobe some time past. I no longer felt hunger, no longer felt warmth or chill. What use does a monster have for finery? Tufts of blue dust wafted from me as I plodded, laboriously, towards the cave mouth.
I was strangely at peace; I felt no fear, despite what one might expect. More than likely I was headed toward doom, but my pulse — or whatever passed for a pulse in this new body of mine, this body built from sin and error — did not quicken. I was a frigate returning to port, a prodigal son returning to a home I had never seen. I entered the darkness and was surprised — no end of surprises, now — to find I could see with perfect clarity. My new form needed not light, nor food, nor rest. My sight was made of blue light fully; my surroundings were as easily seen as a field in the daylight, albeit all cast in hues of blue. I made my way past all manner of skittering creature and strange glowing fungus, beyond stalactites and stalagmites, past underground reservoirs and an occasional corpse. I could hear the sound of the demons beyond the veil, screaming and pounding on the door to our world. I knew it would not be long before they loosed themselves onto our world. I walked as if on a train track; veering unquestioningly toward my final station.
The cave seemed infinitely deep. How long I walked, I could not say; how deep it went I could not tell. My perception had changed and things both felt brief and infinite. My only metric was the pulsing knowledge of my destination. The demons screamed the closer I drew to it.
In time I found the cave itself growing larger, and the blue light showed more illumination being cast upon the walls. I entered a great cavern, with torches of blue flame sputtering their anemic light across the space. The flames felt both cold and hot, and did not provide comfort. At the far end of this cavern sat a being who looked much like myself; he sprawled in repose on a throne made of a dizzying array of refuse: empty bags of Takis, compressed two-liter bottles of Diet Ruby Red Squirt, half-eaten Zingers, a cushion of SnoBalls. Tapestries of candy, strung up with Red Vines, adorned the walls behind him. He held a staff of ReddiWhip containers loosely in one hand. He wore a cape of woven snack bags, composed mostly of the Flamin’ Hot family of snacks.
He turned his head to me and spoke without speaking:
“Took you long enough.”
I approached him with burning curiosity. I searched for what combination of words could embody the entirety of the pain, and the terror, of my ordeal. In time, I arrived at the cleanest option. “What are you? Who are you? Why have you brought me here?”
Although I spoke to him aloud, he responded to me without words somehow. “Who are we? We are you. Well, you are us, rather. We’ve been waiting for you for longer than you can imagine.”
Although I felt little in my new form, I now felt anger rise inside me. “Stop talking circles. Why am I here?” I gestured at my body. “What has happened to me?” I pointed at a spot where a demon howled. “What are those things I see?”
Without much haste, he turned and regarded the demon’s location. He turned back to me and said, this time aloud, “Apologies. We’re not trying to be difficult. It’s just…” he searched for words himself, his Taki lips practicing what to say next. Eventually, he settled on: “We’ve been here a long time.”
It remained silent between us for longer than I expected. Anxiety bubbled up; I craved answers, and felt impatient. I could see his — their? Why did he refer to himself as We? — lips move once more, searching for the words. At last, they spoke again.
“We are the same. We were alive too, once. We lived a life like yours: consuming, overwhelming, more, more, always more. Never enough. And we all, without understanding, were slaves to the Lord of Desire. And we all ate of the Blue Heat, and we all saw the Hounds of Desire, screaming to be let loose on the world. And found ourselves here.” Their lips worked for the words, like a cow chewing its cud. They began again.
“We all lived lives of waste and we ignored virtue. Our sins are many.”
“Am I to believe this… this tragedy occurred to me because of sin? Because of my human frailty?”
“Nothing so simple as breaking commandments. All who are alive sin, countless times. This,” he pointed at my body, “was not because of your frailty. This is because you consumed the Blue Heat. As we did. Our sins led us to the Blue Heat, and we dined as the Lords of Desire imagined we would.” He gestured to the snarling blue demons, the Hounds of Desire. “This is His work. Our gluttony, our insatiable need for more leads us to the Blue Heat, which offers them,” at this he indicated the Hounds, “the opportunity to enter our world. And despite how we know hunger, what we know means nothing in comparison to these beasts.” He seemed to sigh, and moved his staff of whipped cream cans from hand to hand. “They would eat the world.”
I absorbed this quietly. The Hounds, as they seemed to be named, gibbered and snarled, and I now saw they were not furious but mad with hunger.
“I still do not understand,” I muttered. “Why? Why all of this? Why am I no longer myself.”
“You have never truly been yourself,” they replied, with some pity. “Hardly anyone is. We are who we are surrounded by, what we choose to do with our short time. You, like us, chose waste.” He reclined in his candy throne, and looked at me. Was that a smile on his tortilla lips? “And when you ate the Blue Heat, you began your journey.”
“To where?” I bellowed. “What is this place?”
“Your home,” they answered simply. “You will take our place.”
“To what end?!?” If I could have wept, hot tears would have rained down. If I still had teeth to gnash, hair to pull… alas.
Finally, an answer: “My time has spun down and now the Hounds are trying their way in once more. Because of your gluttony, you could not ignore the Blue Heat, and once you ate of that forbidden snack, you entered a bargain you had no way of knowing existed: your greed is so great, you now embody the greed and hunger of all living things. Our existence — all those like us — is the only thing keeping the Hounds, and their masters, at bay. Our greed, contained here, in a throne room of disgust, soothes them to sleep once more.”
I reeled, for I knew he spoke truth. And a great darkness took my soul because, without words, they showed me what I most do next.
I approached them, dread twining its cold grasp throughout what was left of my soul. Doom sat before me on their throne, their tortilla face ecstatic. They would now know peace, and I would take my place on the throne, to keep the Hounds at bay.
I began at their feet, eating the Blue Heat for the last time. I worked my way up their body, consuming them in a final act of gluttony and regret. Up the legs, the torso, down the arm to each Taki finger, I ate them until he was no more and I found myself on their throne, dressed in their robes, the howls of the Hounds calming and the angry cries of their thwarted masters ringing through my mind.
How long we have been here, we could not say. When we will be allowed to be given peace, to rest, there is no way to know. The Hounds are quiet, which is all that matters now. This is our time, as the Godhead of waste, from now until the Blue Heat comes for another lost soul. Until then, we sit. And we wait.
Back in the beforetimes, when I still had Facebook and got angry about political posts that I agreed with, I would keep track of some of the bananas stuff I heard my students say. “Real Life Student Quotes,” or RLSQ, because who doesn’t need more acronyms in their life, have kinda fizzled out; not because my job isn’t still weird but because the kids in my room just don’t really say wild shit anymore. I have a feeling, though, that this year’s crop is going to come up with some real slam dunks.
Anyway, I downloaded all the quotes from Facebook before I deleted it. Here they are, recreated, in all their glory. Enjoy.
12/5/11
real life student quote #444: “the guy who invented the kazoo went to jail.”
follow up quote: “al gore didn’t invent the internet, but he did invent the environment.”
real life student quote #4958
student: “i really don’t understand why all these people want to go to mars. why would anyone want to go to mars.”
me: (half-listening, trying to work on my prep) “adventure, man. i dunno.”
student: “i would have wanted to go when i was seven, but not when they want to. like in 2030 or whatever.
(long pause)
student: “they don’t have anything on mars. they don’t even have the internet.”
(i lose my shit, different conversation starts with another student. then student walks back over to me).
student: “mars doesn’t even have flowers. or grass. or breathable air. why the hell do people even want to go to mars?”
real life student quote #2237:
“i thought starting a band for a while. but then i realized i don’t have any friends. and i’m horrible at music.”
real life student quote #22294:
(kid is hovering really, really close over my shoulder as i do work)
me: “hey, dude, back up. boundaries.”
student: “oh, sorry.”
me: “it’s ok, you just have to learn this stuff. i’ve asked you like five times today to back up.”
student: “… yeah, but i’m autistic, so whatever. i get to.”
real life student quote #4432:
student: “do we have a track and field team?”
me: “yeah.”
student: “…i don’t want to join it. i’m just wondering.”
real life student quote #67434:
(during a discussion about school lunch)
student 1: “oh man, uncrustables are bomb.”
student 2: “not from school, they’re not.”
me: “wait, you like uncrustables? they have them in the cafeteria. i can get you one if you want.” (this student doesn’t eat at school at all)
student 2: “no. they’re different from school.”
me: “that’s crazy. they’re exactly the same. it doesn’t matter if they’re from the store or if they’re here, they’re equally sugary both places.”
student 2: “no, they put something different in the ones at school. they must. that’s why all those kids are on computers and on the phones. school wants them to be all on their phones and not outside.”
me: “wait, hold up. you think the school puts chemicals in their uncrustables to keep kids quiet and on their phones?”
student 2: (shrugs as if he’s proved his point)
me: “dude, you’re a conspiracy theorist.”
student 2: “no! just that one. and maybe some others.”
real life student quote #9958:
(student eating muffin for breakfast. starts by taking off the paper wrapper on the bottom and popping it in their mouth)
me: “… you know you’re not supposed to eat that part, right?”
student: (long pause, staring at me in surprise) “but… but… it’s got muffin on it.”
me: “yeah, but that’s not food. it’s paper. you’re not supposed to eat it.”
student: (still staring at me. gets up wordlessly and spits out the wrapper)
real life student quote #338867: “he taught me how to play rocks! which is when you throw rocks at each other until the pain is too great to take anymore and someone says stop. the only rule is you can’t use both hands. he almost died because he fell into the water face first. i have my own version of the game called ’embers.’ guess why it’s called that?”
Real life student quote #6654:
Me: (opening door to see how things are going while I’m meeting with an advocate, etc.)
Student: (sitting on the floor, belly slightly sticking out of his shirt, with weird joy in his voice) “Hey, Miller, you ever seen a chubby tiger?”
Me: (slowly close door)
Real life student quote #889364:
Student (head on desk as soon as he comes in, super tired): “ugh. Tired.”
Me: “me too. I have a baby. What’s your excuse?”
Student: “my mom woke me up at like 5 and made me get her snacks.”
Me: “did you?”
Student: “I went into the fridge and then I threw a cake at the bitch. She said ‘no’ and I said ‘sorry bitch, the snack gate is closed.’ And then I went the fuck back to sleep.”
real life student quote #3344:
me: “yeah, i used to live in san francisco.”
student: “huh?”
me: “san francisco. you know, the city? san francisco?”
student: “never heard of it. you mean san FRANcisco?”
me: “…did i say it wrong? san FRANcisco?”
student: “oh, yes. they ruined pizza.”
real life student quote #4485:
student: “what the fuck is that?”
staff: “a bag of nuts and raisins. you want some?”
student: “some, yeah. why the fuck you have that on your desk?”
staff: “i was going to put it on a salad but then i decided to just eat it. but i don’t want any more, you want the rest?”
student: (grabs small, respectful handful) “you probly spit in it. (switches to a concerned tone) see, this is why you shit’s all funny, gets all stuck in you asshole. all the healthy food you eat. get you shit right, miller.”
real life student quote #2486: “how the hell you gonna be born before me and not know moby dick is fuckin real?”
staff: “it’s a story. like how candyman is a story based on real things.”
student: “nonononono, candyman is real.”
real life student quote #4438: “one day? when i’m older? i’m going to go to the store in a robe.”
real life student quote #4486: “one time? i hit a kid with a plastic tray. (long pause). he spilled milk on me. (long pause). so i broke it over his head.”
me: (whatever emoji is appropriate for trying to keep a straight face while simultaneously trying to figure out a) why he’s telling me this, b) what i’m supposed to do with the information)
real life student quote #2293: “statistics say he’s older than you, so he knows way more math than you.”
real life student quote #9684: “you don’t even have the smarts to be a teacher! miller does. barely. he’s not too smart, he’s barely scraping the paddle.”
real life student quote #283: “makeup is the devil’s frosting.”
real life student quote #48596: “you know what they should do every time a president dies? they should melt all the meat off their bodies till it’s just a white skeleton and they should dress them in president clothes. and then they should put them in a pretend presidential bunker. underneath the white house. but only if they die while they’re president.
real life student quote #224895:
staff: “tell mr. miller what you told me! about that piano made of colors!”
me: “tell me about the piano with colors.”
student: “oh, well, it’s this piano that’s got shit all over it.
me: “wait, what?”
student: “and you hit the things and they hit the doo doo and then doo doo gets everywhere.”
me: “wait, what? is this a real thing? what?”
student: “and it’s all different colors. the doo doo.”
real life student quote #4586:
me: “ok guys, go to lunch. get out of here.”
student: “YER comin WITH me. you mamma mia papa mia lookin mother fucker. look like you’re bakin pies and shit.”
me: “…….”
both: laughter.
real life student quote #42385:
student: “you know what’s funny?”
staff: “no, what?”
student: “… hold up. i forgot.”
real life student quote #29586:
student: “you know why i got two watches?”
me: “holy shit, you have two watches. so you can tell time better?, like, EXTRA good? like double checking the time?”
student: “no, this one’s my hitting watch. i’ll hit you in the face with it. knock your tooth out and not even feel bad.”
me: “huh. that’s clever, i guess.”
student: “and then this is my regular watch. i just tell time on it. it’s for fashion. but this bigass one, i’ll knock your tooth out and not even feel bad.”
real life student quote #2248: “if you got hit in the head with a brick and you had to have super powers, would it have to be a bad thing?”
me: “…” (walk away into the other room)
real life student quote #44827:
student: “if i listen to FACTS, how can i win the CONVERSATION?!?”
me: “dude… you don’t win conversations. you’re supposed to, you know, just talk. and then listen. and then you, you know. converse.”
student: “NO. you fucking WIN. you WIN the conversation, then you put it up on the WALL of your ROOM. you put the DATE, the TIME, and the PERSON you beat. up on your WALL. in your ROOM.”
me: “…ok? did you just win this one?”
student: “YES.”
real life student quote #3968: “sometimes…. sometimes i wish i had a disappointment gun.”
real life student quote:
“do you think if we were made of rubber we would ever explore the sea?”
me: “…i have no idea how to answer that question.”
student: “i mean, doesn’t rubber float?”
me: “it kinda depends on if you have weights, i mean divers use weights to…”
student: “STYROFOAM. what about STYROFOAM.”
then he left.
real life student quote #8847: (tapping his ankle hard enough to hear across the classroom) “you know what? i just realized i have this. why the FUCK do we HAVE these? what’s this called?”
me: “an ankle?”
student: “… why the FUCK do we HAVE them?”
real life student quote #9982: “i fucking HATE cactuses. they’re fucking MEAN. do you know how many people have died because of cactuses?”
staff: “(student), are you sure you know what a cactus is?”
student: “YEAH. what happens is people aren’t fucking CAREFUL, and they’re just walking ALONG, and then they fall on a fucking CACTUS and DIE.”
all staff “…”
real life student quote #996837: “how the fuck did bears figure out they could eat honey?”
staff: “bears are pretty tough, (student). they have thick hair.”
student: “no way! they got stung the FUCK UP. and what about the BABY BEARS?”
real life student quote #445759: “coconuts? you can eat those? i had that water shit inside them once. it didn’t taste how i thought it would. it tasted like SHIT. like WET HAIR.”
real life student quote #222857: (ambushing me paparazzi-style as i walk into the classroom) “HEY. who do you think the first person who discovered milk was?”
real life student quote #423958: “ever gotten a jellybean and realized it was rotten eggs?”
real life student quote #2442: (looking me directly in the eyes, intensely) “grass is GROSS… it’s EVERYWHERE. and you know what it’s right next to? ….DIRT!”
real life student quote #8796: “don’t EVER fart on an old man’s tombstone.”
real life student quote #3342:
(when, somehow, we are having a discussion about the draft and how it’s now a volunteer army)
student: “protesting the draft is bullshit. protesting anything is bullshit. it’s like, what, a fuckin dirty hippie goes up to, like, a korean general and says, ‘oh, please stop attacking me.'”
me: “what do you think the general would do?”
student: “he’d shoot him in the fucking face.”
Real life student quote #111763: “last time I had a baby bird, it died. We named it Dumbass because it fell out of the nest, so we had to take care of it. It wouldn’t eat so it died. Dumbass.”
real life student quote #2222224: “why the FUCK do they put a fucking L in YOLK?”
real life student quote #2232: “what’s that day? the ireland one…? with leprochauns…? is it leprochaun day?”
real life student quote:
(while in a group lesson, not being taught by me)
staff: “there’s one other country that celebrates thanksgiving. (student), can you tell me what country it is?”
student: “… Africa?”
real life student quote #323334:
(context: post-field trip, students are happy — and warm because it’s 80* — and the student has taken his pants off because it’s hot [don’t worry, he had gym shorts on], and we are wrapping up the day. his pants are draped over his legs.)
student (picks up his pants)(genuine astonishment in his voice): “holy shit, i forgot i wasn’t wearing these.”
real life student quote #44444:
staff: “hey, (student), what do you think of capital punishment?”
student: “i think it should be JUSTIFIED. and a DIFFICULT MANEUVER.”
real life student quote 788: “oh man, i forgot my baby picture… i put it in my safe… that’s where i keep all my treasured moments… like that spoon i chewed on… i chewed on it for like five months.”
789: “if i bring a crib in here, can i sleep in it?”
this kid is on FIRE. also, context: he’s a big lunk, and all of these quotes are being dispatched peicemeal — his head is on the table asleep until he reveals an utterance.
real life student quote #479: “did you know… that SHREK… caused 9-11?”
me: “…no?”
student: “betcha didn’t know that.” (drops imaginary mic)
real life student quote #478: “sometimes i wish i had a third hand, just to stroke my hair.”
me: “…”
student: “it’s very soft.”
EDIT: i should note this kid is a big lunk whose hair looks like an 80s car salesman.
real life student quote # 747473: “i hate france. hate it because… because their women all have hair in their armpits.”
real life student quote: “mr. miller, you should write a book. about car crashes.”
real life student quote, apropos of nothing: “so… can we have pajama day sometime?”
real life student quote:
me: “you look really awake this morning.”
student: “how can you tell? (thirty second pause as he stares at me) i went to bed at 8:30 last night. (ten second pause) i was like, ‘oh, i’m gonna take a nap.’ and then i was like, ‘aww.'”
real life student quote: “you never know when a tiger’s gonna get you.”
me: “…”
student: “why is that funny? you don’t know when a tiger’s gonna get you.”
real life student quote:
me: “hey, student, what do you know about WW2?”
student: “ww2? i know that… a lot. i think.”
real life student quote: “so apparently, i have a sticker collection.”
real life student quote: “let’s do the ‘milk challenge.’ oh, wait, we can’t. we don’t have any bananas.”
real life student quote: “i am an apex predator.”
me (laughing): “no, you are most certainly not. maybe of peach cobbler.”
student: “yes, i am.” holds up a piece of turkey. “look, i eat cow. i am an apex predator.”
me: “that was turkey.”
student: “oh.”
real life student quote: “mr. miller, can you imagine if cats were american currency? then we would back up our currency with dogs.”
real life student quote: “one time i kicked a chair. it wasn’t a very good idea.”
real life student quote: “you look bigger. it’s probably because i’m sitting down.”
real life student quote: “that looks TIGHT. i want to be able to do that. (three second beat). what is it?”
real life student quote: after i compared my animal magnetism to being like a puma (pronounced pew-mah), my student asked “why did you say it like that?”
me: “because i was saying it like the british say things.”
him: “oh, like they say ‘WAH-TER’ instead of water?”
me: uncontrollable laughter.
real life student quote: “mr. miller? have you ever made a pen out of wood?”
i threw a balled-up piece of paper at him.
real life student quote: “can i show you a picture i took of my pigeon wearing a wig?”
real life student quote: (sniffing a kitchen towel) “this smells like my cousin’s house.”
real life student quote:
student 1: “in a week, I’m gonna be a free man.”
student 2: “… like Tarzan?”
real life student quote: “what did dogs eat before they started making dog food?”
man, it’s a treasure trove today.
real life student quote:
therapist: “has anyone seen that movie, ‘2001: a space odyssey?'”
student: “is that a car?”
real life student quote: “how come a purse is a ‘go-to-the-store’ sort of bag, but if you fill a grocery bag full of things from a purse, you’re a hobo?”
real life student quote: “… and my friend is usually really smart about a lot of things but he’d just worked a bunch of overtime at the dollar store and had had like three energy drinks so he didn’t know what was going on.”
for whatever reason, that sentence absolutely amazed me.
real life student quote: “there is no such thing as a were-saxophonist. i read that yesterday.”
real life student quote:
me: “what’s something you guys think would make this classroom a safer and more enjoyable environment?”
student: “helmets and candy.”
real life student quote: “i was going to punch your bike and scream ‘the forces of evil!’ as if it mattered.”
real life student quote: “planet of the apes would be hilarious if everyone was a bear.”
it’s a little early for this, but welcome to my day. real life student quote: “i had a dream last night that there was this street fighter two-type video game called ‘hairy baby versus affectionate goat,’ but it was just two goats fighting each other. i woke up before i found out who won, which pissed me off.”
real life student quote: “i found out something amazing: when you take cheddar and eat it with strawberries, you can’t taste them at the same time. i don’t know if that’s just me or if it’s everyone else too because i can’t get anyone else to try it.”
real life student quote: “i’m writing a script for a horror movie called ‘amphibian,’ about a pig that can also breathe water and he goes around biting people. and he’s also a murderer. and at the end of the movie the pig realizes he can just leave, so he does.”
real life student quote: “i want to come up with my own nickname.”
staff: “ok, but it better be good.”
student: “… badassalus.”
staff: (uncontrollable laughter)
student: “babulous?”
man, he’s killing it today. real life student quote: “i’ll be the teacher today. here, look: ‘today we’re going to learn how to make a clown. you need a corpse and some paint. wig is optional. nose is mandatory.'”
real life student quote:
me: (teaching math) “ok, so, you remember: with an equation, whatever you do to one side, you have to do to the…”
student: “MAXIMUM!”
real life student quote: “i think it’s hilarious when animals don’t care. it’s like, ‘hey pigeon with two toes. what’s up.’ and the pigeon is like, ‘hey human. i’m like two inches from you and i don’t even care. i got other things to do. have fun on the ground, human.'”
me too, dude. me too.
real life student quote: “i just realized they call blueberries ‘blueberries’ because they’re blue.”
me: “…”
student: “what?”
me: “…you’re 17 years old.”
student: “what?”
me: “never mind.”
real life student quote: i couldn’t actually hear what they said because all i heard was something about “elbows presley,” and pretty much lost my shit laughing.
real life student quote: “my hands don’t match.”
real life student quote: “HUMAN. ARE YOU ENJOYING YOUR FOOD?”
context: writing a journal about where you would travel in the world and for how long.
real life student quote 1,443: “is great america in san jose or santa clara?”
real life student quote 1,444: “what do they call those theaters with the moving seats?” student then pantomimes moving like he’s in a cockpit.
me: “i have no. idea.”
real life student quote #767: “my hair smells like ham.”
this is quickly followed up with “i had a dream about badgers that had more than one genital.”
real life student quote: “i don’t want to take no pork chop on my BUS!”
real life student quote: “i know this girl who drinks blood.”
me: “…”
student 2: “her own or other people’s?”
student 1: “…BOTH.”
me: “…”
real life student quote, his pro for the day: “i represent but am legally distinct from the lollypop guild.”
real life student quote: “if the rule is ‘be safe,’ then the loophole is ‘be safe unless it’s in the name of science.'”
__
real life student quote, in the pool: “one of my legs feels like a candle and of my legs feels like a library. because one of my legs feels like it’s melting and the other leg feels boring.”
real life student quote: in an accusatory tone “JEREMY DOESN’T REMEMBER THE SHOW WHERE THEY SALUTE THE SHORTS.”
then, looking at his bagel: “awful waffle. this is an awful waffle.”
real life student quote:
“heather, will you please tell ben that i’m the intercontinental champion and don’t need to vacuum the other classroom?”
“adam, you may be the intercontinental champion, but you still have to do your chores.”
walks away dejectedly “nobody respects those who came before them…”
real life student quote: “how long does cake last in the fridge?”
me: “how long has it been in the fridge?”
him: “it hasn’t. i was just asking.”
real life student quote: “why don’t cops wear different colored uniforms that change with the seasons?”
real life student quote: i had a dream last night that i had super powers that were all named after orange food. and there was stuff like carrot barrage and pumpkin blast, and pumpkin blast was just doing a backflip onto a land mine and i don’t think it did any damage to the other person.
me: say that again, slowly, so i can put it on facebook.
real life student quote: (wandering idly around the classroom singing to the tune of “little indians”): “one little, two little, three little onion rings…”
yesterday’s real life student quote: (when losing, badly, in PE) “well, if i’m going to go out, then i’m going out in style. where’s my hat?”
real life student quote: “you know what would be cool is if they had dice that break when you roll them. and then they have candy inside. Yum.”
real life student quote: “in 300, everything had abs! the fat guy? abs! the rocks? abs? the bad guy’s teeth? Abs!”
real life student quote: “i think the perfect party would just have two balloons and one tub of ice cream. and the balloons said ‘happy birthday to me.’ and i was by myself.”
real life student quote # one infinity plus one: “i don’t wanna go to alabama i don’t wanna go to alabama… (ten second pause) …if i say it again, i have to go to alabama.”
quote, completely out of the blue while the class is silently working: “i bark at the neighbor’s kids because they throw pebbles at me through the fence.”
we all look at him.
“what? i’m just trying to think of things a dog would say.”
student quote: “people play ‘foldball,’ right? isn’t that something people play all the time?”
quote:
“there’s no such thing as a ‘gay finger.’
student quote #446: “every forty minutes the average human eats nine spiders.”
the awesome kid i always quote was talking about all the hidden characters he’d unlocked in a wrestling videogame, which very rapidly turned into him intentionally screwing up old wrestler names. my favorites: funky terry, the jake snake, chokehold steve coldstone.
today when I asked a student which aquatic organism they want research for their science final, he said, “can I research tigers?”
student quote of the day #2: “let’s paint a moustache on the tennis courts so no one recognizes it!”
student quote: “whose tiger tracks are these?”
real student quote: “if you could have a wish, what would it be?”
reply: “how complicated can the wish be? could i wish for a real sword AND sword lessons?”
Student quote: “my apartment complex has a swimming pool shaped like a fish. Or possibly a christmas ornament.”
student quote:
“(insert student name here), what did you do this weekend?”
“i resigned as ‘king of america,’ and then sat and stared at the wall and thought about it for thirty hours.”
man, the quotes started early this morning: “why do cocoa pebbles conduct heat so well? cocoa puffs, cocoa pebbles, the generic cereals, anything cocoa it doesn’t matter: this cereal is hotter than the other cereals. whenever i touch this bag it’s way hotter than the other bags of cereal.” this was before 8 in the fucking morning. there is not enough coffee in the world to make sense of that kid.
real life summer school quote 2: “i invented shorts pants.” a student cut sweat pants into shorts so he could go swimming and then put the pants parts he’d cut off back on his legs backwards.
day 1 of summer school true quote: “is it true that they tried to BBQ on the moon, but failed?”
Students talking about a video game, somehow both agreeing and disagreeing:
“Elephant gun is the best. It shoots t-shirts.”
in other words: mankind’s best friends. add the words “soup,” “garlic,” and “mustard,” and you’re pretty pumped.
i’m still working on my LOST post because i think i have to turn in my nerd card if i don’t weigh in on lost’s finale on my interblog. in the meantime, here’s how i made dinner: it’s an oddly rainy/pissy may in the bay area, so i decided soup was on the menu. since we already had most of the stuff here i just needed to pick up the meaty products on my way home and poof! deliciousness!
hardware i had to work with:
software i had to work with:
preheated the oven to around 425. i washed the fingerlings and cut off the weirdest bits, then put them on a greased baking pan (i sprayed it with pam). i probably laid out about 14 potatoes and used maybe 10. cut off the top of the head of garlic, put it in tinfoil, drizzled with olive oil, and wrapped it up like a delicious present. then i put both the garlic and potatoes into the oven and set the timer for 30 minutes. i didn’t have to roast the garlic; i could have probably sauteed it with the onion, but i thought the smooth roasted garlic taste would fit the beer better that way.
as the taters were cooking, i took 4 of the bacon slices and diced them, then put them in a bowl to use later. i used maybe 1/3 of the ham steak (probably less), cubed it, and put it in a bowl aside. then i diced the onion pretty fine and guess what i did with it? bowl. aside.
on the stovetop, i heated my large-ish dutch oven on high. you could use whatever vessel you think would work, i just like my dutch oven. once the oven was hot, i tossed in the bacon and the onions. (IN HINDSIGHT: i wish i’d let the bacon cook a little crisper before tossing in the onion. oh well). i let it cook for a while, then i tossed in the ham, mustard, five spice powder, bay leaf, and paprika. i stirred with a wooden spoon then i put the cover on and walked away.
while all that got to know each other, i grated what amounted to about a cup of cheddar. then i went back and stirred; it was starting to get a nice caramelization, so i needed to scrape the bottom of the dutch oven with the wooden spoon. lid back on. then i went back and grated about 3/4 cup jarlsberg. went back to the tastiness, stirred again, and poured in the beer. added cayenne and stirred, and let the beer kinda simmer down on high/medium high for a little while.
once the taters were done, i took them and the garlic out of the oven. then i tossed about 10/11 potatoes into the cuisinart food processor. i tossed in the cheese, about 5 cloves of the garlic (the flavor really mellows after roasting, so don’t be stingy, you jerk), and then started pulsing, adding chicken stock in the top as i went. the potatoes and garlic were still hot enough to melt the cheese and heat up the stock significantly. i ended up being able to use the entirety of the stock, and the consistency was of very, very watery mashed potatoes.
last step: once the beer mixture’s simmered down some, the alcohol’s cooked off, and the flavor’s the way you want it, stir in the potato mixture. put the top on, drop the heat to low/warm, and walk away till it’s time to eat. then eat it and feel happy.
just finished a really odd book that i enjoyed a lot. it’s called “the priest,” by thomas m. disch, and it’s basically a thriller, i guess, but it’s one of those books that if you try to explain what’s going on to someone you start sounding like an asshole. it’s basically about a pedophile priest with an identical twin who’s being blackmailed by persons unknown into atoning for his crimes in fucked-up ways, most notably getting a tattoo of satan’s face on his entire torso. but he also switches bodies with a bishop from the thirteenth century, during the inquisition, and then there’s a prison set up by the catholic church for pregnant girls, to keep them from having abortions, and a gay priest comes in from las vegas to figure out what’s going on, and then there’s all these bats in underground caverns, and the thirteenth century priest runs around minneapolis doing weird shit, and there’s this l. ron hubbard-ish sci-fi writer who sets up a cult based on the idea of switching bodies, just like what happens to the priest… and the book’s only 305 pages long.
disch is a hell of a writer, genre-based or not. i keep marveling at how *good* of a writer he is; the first chapter of this book is possibly the best opening to a book i’ve ever read, and seemingly completely disconnected from the rest of the novel — although, upon reflection, it makes a lot of sense. he’s got some beautiful passages all throughout. more impressive than his skills with words, disch also manages to write and (almost) satisfyingly resolve a book with such a strange plot, and he populates “the priest” with characters who are all hiding something, living two lives at once, and you manage to kind of root for all of them.
i can see a lot of people being off-put by this book, but if you can kind of hang on for a bit, it’s pretty rewarding. read it. oh, and fun fact: thomas m. disch also wrote “the brave little toaster.” so there’s that.
yeah. books.
i’d intended on writing some reviews of shit that i liked, but i’d forgotten all about this blog i set up so there went that plan. anyways, i’ve been kinda tearing through the sunset branch library lately, and i wanted to go over some stuff i’ve read because i’ve, on the whole, been really pleased with some of the books i’ve gotten.
first, i wanted to touch on shirley jackson’s “the haunting of hill house.” she’s mostly known for her often-anthologized short story “the lottery,” which is pretty cool and all, the one about where a small town has a lottery, but, TWIST! if you win the lottery you get fuckin STONED TO DEATH. WITH STONES. it’s good.
so i see a copy of “hill house,” and i instantly thought:
turns out it’s totally an awesome book. i didn’t know that shirley jackson was a san francisco native, a fact that instantly forgives a lot, and, as far as pulpy books from the mid-20th century go, it’s really good. the narrative voice is really sort of laid back, for the most part, but she can write the SHIT out of some sentences — jackson’s way with words can really take it to another place — and she ratchets up the tension really well when she needs to. as far as plot goes, it’s pretty connect-the-dots: eccentric academic who investigates the paranormal calls a bunch of people who are paranormally “sensitive” to this fucked up house. shit goes down. there’s a twist. the end. that’s pretty boilerplate and could totally blow, but there’s a lightness to the characters as they settle in to this place that they all, right from the start, think is creepy. because of the genuine warmth between characters and the oddly funny narration, though, the reader kind of cruises through the story without being pulled out by thoughts of “BULLshit, no way would people stay there after that.” there’s also enough symbolically going on that adds a nice depth — as i read, i kept thinking of “alice in wonderland” kind of coming-of-age parables, and according to this article there’s an allegory to one woman’s mental breakdown being viewed through the lens of a ghost story that, although unintended by jackson, fits very cleanly. after reading this, i’m excited to try her other stuff soon.
on the completely other end of the spectrum, i’ve been trying to read a lot of noir stuff, kind of page turners to cleanse the palate. i’d read some richard price (“clockers,” “lush life,” and he wrote for the wire and has done some other screen stuff), so i decided to try some other dudes who’d written for the wire and settled on george pelecanos. i read “the way home,” his newest book, and it was pretty much exactly what you’d expect: a solid crime drama with a good helping of social observation/commentary rolled into it. there was kind of a season 2 of the wire/frank sobatka kind of vibe to it, and it was pleasant. based on that book’s strength i grabbed his second novel, “nick’s trip,” from a used bookstore for pretty cheap, and this was definitely different. not necessarily in a bad way, though.
in fact, his earlier stuff is VERY much in the vein of dashiell hammett and raymond chandler, right down to the odd plot shifts. it seriously was as if the book had three different plots that barely dovetailed together. you could almost make the argument that “nick’s trip” is actually the exact moment where pelecanos stops aping the noir giants and starts to write the kind of books in the latter half of his career: the first half plot is like a missing wife/stolen money/hard boiled book, and the second is more about how friends grow apart and the distance that can grow between people, making them complete strangers except for that single thread of shared history and the regard for that thread. it was ok, and read pretty fast, but i kept telling wifey i wanted it to be OVER because i was sick of trying to figure out why it wasn’t just two different books entirely.
in this vein, i also read “red harvest” by dashiell hammett (LOOK AT THAT MOUSTACHE!) because i’d always wanted to see what his deal was. turns out my reaction was almost identical to “nick’s trip”: awesome for the first part but by the end you’re just confused. too many characters, too many players, and hammett has to almost keep reminding the readers why his unnamed protagonist is doing this shit in the first place. regarless, it’s totally worth reading if for no other reason than how, for stretches, hammett writes almost watertight prose, but with little flourishes that make you realize how in control of his writing the guy really is. if there’s any real subtext in there, though, good luck finding it. keeping track of what the fuck’s happening is more than enough.
lastly, before i go spend some time with wifey, i read “castle,” by j. robert lennon, and it was really good. i grabbed it from the library because the cover looked cool, and it was pretty great. the first half is slow going, and seemingly pointless: a really angry dude moves back to his hometown in upstate new york and buys a bunch of land that nobody wants. he notices that there’s a chunk of land in the middle of his land blacked out, that wasn’t included in his purchase, and he tries to figure out why. the back half, out of nowhere, kicks the story in pretty hard and throws a lot of light on the first half pleasingly. i don’t know, now that i think back on it, i’m not sure how capital-g-Good the book is, but regardless of that fact, lennon undeniably does a pretty cool balancing act between the old “middle aged white man having a freakout” narrative with pretty heavy-lifting symbols, an almost-horror thing, behavioral science gone bad, and a critique of the ongoing, fucked up war in iraq. combining all that shit into one book, my friends, is hard enough, but to make it seamless and not didactic is ridiculous.
ok. beer and tv now. bye.
is totally going to make fun of me for blogging about lost. that’s ok, though, because a) i wub her, and b) only this one will be about lost. probably. i’m not ready to fully commit to a lost blog that’s only about lost, but i’m not going to promise that this will be the only post. i fully commit to being noncommittal.
i wrote a bunch of stuff and then i accidentally erased it. fuck. anyways. now that we’re hitting the last season of lost, i wanted to burp out the single theory that i’ve come up with, and i use the terms “theory” and “come up with” loosely. it’s more of something that i mostly hijacked from other people mixed with a rebuttal of all sorts of other theories i’ve forced myself to slog through while reading a bunch of lost blogs all over the place instead of teaching.
anyways. here’s my thing: i don’t think the new 2004 timeline is time travel, i think it’s alternate or parallel or whatever you’re supposed to call it. i think that in order to set up the climax, both sets of characters will have to integrate somehow.
maybe i’ll write more later.
p.s. fuck the black eyed peas
you have no idea what you've done 