So Long Chan

At long last GT Athletics has realized what the rest of us have known since his first season with the team: Chan Gailey sucks. I did a little dance in my chair when my friend sent me the above link (my response to him was: YES!!! There is a God!).

He may have been a good pro coach, but I would be a better college coach than him. Another coach could've done so much more with someone like Reggie Ball, and then maybe we'd still have Calvin around.

Mom pointed out that he's a good recruiter, but I said it's not going to help recruitment if we keep freaking losing. Sure we've had winning seasons, but he's just not taking the team anywhere.

So say goodbye to the Gailey era and hello to anybody else.

Link

Things I've Learned About New York #23

If you are flying into LaGuardia Airport, don't check any luggage if you can help it because it seriously take eight lifetimes for it to get from the plane to baggage claim.

(That being said, flying out of LaGuardia is a breeze because it only takes about 5 minutes to get through security. Awesome.)

Here We Mark The Price of Freedom

It's Memorial Day - a day we tend to associate with three-day weekends and picnics in the park. But I would like to say just a little about what Memorial Day was created for: to honor the men and women who gave their lives serving their country. (This is going to be sappier than things I normally write, but though I have my problems with the state of our nation, I still think it is a great one.)

Though we have fought many wars, some necessary and some rather foolish, I tend to associate the idea of war and this holiday with World War II. I don't really know why I do - it's always been one of my favorite periods in history to study. It probably helped that my grandmother told me so many stories of when she was young, and both my grandfathers served in it.

My mom's dad, my Papa, was an airplane mechanic in the Pacific. That's really all I know about his time in the service. He never talked about it; we never asked. I kind of wish we had. I wish I could write his story here, but I can't. He was always a fairly quiet, reserved, humble man. My sister has a picture of him in his uniform - he looked so young. He would've been around 30 at the time he served, so he wasn't as young as some. I think he must've been proud of his service and of his country. I remember we gave him a copy of "The Greatest Generation." And if he was any example, I think that title is just right.

My dad's dad ("Big Daddy" to me) was a tailgunner in the European theatre. It's funny: he died when I was just a baby, but I know so much more about his time in the war. I'm a little fuzzy on details know, but I know we have a box full of letters and memorabilia and a list of missions he flew. He actually flew cover for the D-Day invasion, as I recall. It's a miracle he lived - tailgunners didn't have a very long life expectancy. Actually, I don't think he was ever injured either. He had medals, but I don't recall seeing a purple heart.

He was based in England. I forget how many missions he flew, but I want to say it was more than the required amount. I should look at all that stuff again, just so I can get all the details, or at least as many as we have. One of the things I do remember is the piece of flack (the stuff they used to shoot at planes) that he brought back. Amazing. We have his uniform, and pictures of him in it. He would've been younger than Papa, somewhere in his 20s. I wish I could've asked him about it too - I can't even begin to imagine what it must've been like sitting in that plane, high up in the sky, cold, trying to shoot at enemy planes before they could shoot you, most likely praying you wouldn't be killed. I don't think we can even begin to imagine the courage and sacrifice it took for those boys (because that's what most of them were) to do what they did.

I've been watching WWII movies all day - the history channel has been showing a marathon of "Band of Brothers," which is really very good if you haven't seen it. But watching that, seeing what they went through... how did they do it? Where did they get the courage to face such a formidable enemy? How do you keep going when there are bullets flying all around you? While your friends are being shot? I don't know how they did, but they did, and they did it willing. And for that, we owe an entire generation and enormous debt of gratitude. They paid such a heavy, heavy price to ensure the freedom of so many people.

And that's what it says on the WWII memorial in Washington, D.C.: "Here We Mark the Price of Freedom." If you've never seen it, you should. I've visited twice now. It always makes me cry. I can't even really do it justice, so I'm putting up some pictures I took.



This isn't written or organized as well as I would like it to be, it's more or less stream-of-consciousness. But I think it's so important to remember just how many men have given their lives in service to their country. In WWII, and every war. In this war we are fighting in Iraq - a war, as I'm sure everyone does in every war, I pray will have an end soon. It breaks my heart whenever I see the names and pictures of the young men who have died over there at the end of "The Newshour with Jim Lehrer." But I'm glad they put them up. I'm glad they make us remember who is out there trying to keep us safe. And though I don't agree with the administration going over there, I am grateful to the men and women who in every branch of the United States Military.

So just remember, when you're out there in the park, or cooking out, or doing work like I will be... remember why you have this day off... just take a moment to remember all those men, and women, who fought so hard for the country and the freedom they believed in.

how i spend my saturdays

I mean to update this blog more than I do. Not that anyone really reads it or is waiting with bated breath for my next entry or anything. But I think I should do it just to force myself to write more. I don't know why it's so hard to work myself into a writing mood sometimes. At any given moment I have approximately a million and one thoughts running around my head, and I think it would be a good idea to get them out of there and onto paper so that I don't make myself crazy. I'm crazy enough as it is.

I've been sitting in my apartment all day being pretty lame. I did a little work this morning, but mostly I've been woefully unproductive. I've been sitting on my bed reading and sort of watching Laguna Beach. For 8 hours. I've watched two entire seasons. God, that's just so, so sad. I need a life. So sad.

I also need to do work. I have so much to work to do for class and stuff. A pitch letter to write, dishes to wash, an article to write, a bathroom to clean, an interview to do. Whenever I look at the list, it's just kind of overwhelming. And it never gets shorter - every time I cross one thing off it, another thing has to be added. Gah! So much work, so little time. Time that I waste watching freaking Laguna Beach. Laguna Beach people! Please, someone make me get a life. Sigh...

I'm also sick. I think it's just allergies or a sinus infection, but I can't breath through my nose and I'm coughing, and there's a grocery bag half full of used tissues next to my bed. Yeah, that was probably an overshare, sorry about that. But I feel gross and I don't want to do anything but sit here and read and, well... Laguna Beach.

At least I've had the apartment to myself all day. Which means my roommate wasn't here to turn on the air conditioner. Which means it will hopefully be awhlie before the next battle of the A/C Wars.

Well, I want to write more, but I should probably force myself to do actual work. Thank God I have Monday off so I can get more done. I'm going to try to write more, because I need to practice, since I'm trying to be a Real Writer and all. And maybe people will actually read this.

battered and bruised

I've always been something of a clutz. I seem particularly incapable of judging the distance between myself and certain inanimate objects like chairs, tables, and walls. I seem to have a particular knack for walking past a table and running my hip into the corner, or walking past a door and ramming my elbow into the doorknob. I'm forever finding inadvertently self-inflicted bruises on myself - sometimes I can't even remember how they got there. So, yeah: clutz.

Yesterday was a particularly clutzy day. I was putting on my galoshes to go outside to run an errand, and as I was fastening the clasp to tighten them around my leg, my fingers slipped and my thumbnail hit my pointer finger. Holy shit did that hurt! And awesomely, when I inspected the damage, I discovered that it had dug a decent-sized chunk out of my skin - iike it went through several layers. Even more awesomely, as I was putting a band-aid on it, it started to bleed. A lot. Dude, did that ever hurt. It even hurt to type yesterday, though thank God it doesn't today. But it's still going to be fun figuring out how I'm going to do stuff like wash my hair.

And as if that weren't enough, as I was leaving my apartment building to walk to a friend's place, I slipped on the stairs and landed on my tailbone. And now I have quite a lovely bruise there. Awesome. Everytime I tried to turn over on my right side last night it would hurt. Ugh.

So not my day...

save me from the bad music

So I'm a total music snob - I freely admit this. To me, there are definitive categories of "good" and bad" music. Good: Radiohead, Pixies, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Ben Folds, Talking Heads.. I could go on. I'd say I'm pretty generous in what I consider good since my music tastes do a have a fairly broad range. But there are certain types of music that are just Bad. Period. For example, country music makes me want to kill myself, while gangsta rap gives me a headache. And then there's Pop.

Pop is more complicated - there's definitely some decent pop music out there, but most of the stuff you hear on those Top 40/Lite FM stations is crap. Pure crap. There is no excuse for listening to it, let alone liking it. Yes, I'm judging, and I don't care. It's Bad Music.

I've recently been subjected to this genre on a nightly basis. My roommate finally moved on from The Song, but damn does she listen to some godawful pop music. It makes me cringe. It's the kind of stuff you listen to and suddenly van gogh doesn't seem so crazy.


If you need me, I'l have my headphones on trying to drown out the voice of Hillary Duff floating across the room. Save me.

The Song

So I'll be the first to admit that when I hear a new song or album that I really like, I'll listen to it a lot. But generally that sitting at my desk with headphones on, or walking around and listening to it on my iPod.

Last week, my roommate started listening to The Song. And has been listening to it every day. Over and over and over and over and OH MY GOD MAKE IT STOP. I don't know what song it is - I'm guessing some Korean song. I would ask her to stop listening to it or listen to headphones, but a) she's Korean and there's a fairly substantial language barrier there and b) I would feel bad since I watch TV a lot and that would be pretty hypocritical of me.

But I'm seriously about to cry from frustation because it WON'T STOP. Please someone MAKE IT STOP. Before I go crazy and fling her laptop across the room. Aaauuugh.