Bad Lip Reading — Ian Version

Hassle back

When you write as much as I do, it's inevitable that you're going to lose something sooner or later, no matter how many safeguards you take.

It's been happening to me since before I owned a computer. Once in sixth grade, I spent hours writing a homework assignment, only to have it (and all of my papers) blow out of my backpack from a freak gust of wind, through a fence, across the football field and into the back road behind it. 

The paper in question was a dialogue I wrote where I was extremely discouraged about something, and Michael Jordan explains to me how he never gave up despite being cut from his high school basketball team. Perhaps drawing upon that lesson, I frantically rewrote it during a class before the one in which it was due. It was rushed and diluted and nothing like the masterpiece I'd written the night before, but it did the trick.

A year later, I typed up a report for the social studies fair (topic: the Beatles) on my mom's office computer. We didn't have one at home, so I was awed by the marvel that was WordPerfect and the dot-matrix printer. Though she tutored me in the software and I was also taking a computer class at the time, I was unaware of one minor thing — the need to save. I spent three hours typing nearly the entire report before accidentally deleting the entire thing. Because I also didn't know how to recover, Mom had to take the wheel while I dictated the entire handwritten draft to her. 

It's happened many more times since then. Usually because of some random fluke or because I somehow forget to save. And every time, it feels exactly like getting kicked in the ribs — I just sit there waiting for the paralysis and fury to subside.

I hate to retype something from scratch, especially when I recall most of it. Because then my OCD kicks in and I want to remember all of it. Usually the end result turns out better, but still. STILL.

Point is, it happened tonight and I have to do it again. And there's nothing I can do about it. And sometimes when you're kicked, you want there to at least be a foot for you to kick back. Or something.

Bleccchhhhhhh.

Address of the "all-weather" fans

So I wrote an open letter to Roger Goodell in Gambit's Super Bowl issue. 

We are Saints fans. Vibrant, irrational and unsinkable — much like New Orleans itself. All teams say their fan bases are the most rabid, but few are as organic as the one you'll find right here. The Saints have never belonged to anyone else, nor could they. And the feeling is mutual — many players settle in this crazy town for life after they've played their last, and they're family.   

Our fanhood often blurs the line between team and city — and beyond. When was the last time you saw a T-shirt with a spiked helmet that read, "Defend Cincinnati"? Would Dallas Cowboys fans ever call their quarterback Romosus? How many citizens, ravaged by one of the worst natural disasters in U.S. history, would promptly think, "Please don't let our team vacate to San Antonio"?

Read it all here.

I'm Pro-Pro Bowl

I hope the NFL decides to keep the Pro Bowl.

I've gone back and forth on this. After last year's fiasco, I didn't think I'd miss it. But this year, they actually played the game. Yes, the NFC eventually put it away, but for the first half at least, it was appropriately competitive. (Not that blowouts by themselves should be grounds for ending the game — see also Super Bowl.)

What I like best about the Pro Bowl isn't so much its loyalty to the real game or even the outcome — but the little things that make it fun that can't exist elsewhere. It's the only chance many players have to commingle on the field. It's the game where offensive lines can clap in unison while lining up. It's the only place where the NFC's Jeff Saturday could switch sides for one play so he could enjoy one final snap with longtime collaborator Peyton Manning. It's the only place where a seasoned official can joke, "Yes, there are penalties in the Pro Bowl." It's a venue for the best players and coaches to show off their skills without the heavy implications both players and fans experience during serious games. Sideline interviews are plentiful and as good as those tend to get.

I even liked the live Twitter booth they had last year, because it was such an insane idea.

Most of all, though, the Pro Bowl reminds us that football can be enjoyable even when your favorite quarterback throws to your least-favorite receiver. It puts team loyalties in perspective, as well as the game itself. A crazed, intense fan like myself often needs that reminder.

So keep the Pro Bowl. In Hawaii.

A dream I had

(From Friday, not this morning)

I went to a camp where other people my age and with similar interests gathered for the weekend (if anyone knows of a real place like this, please send details). We all stayed in cabins, which were actually small, cabin-like houses. The cabins were laid out in a neighborhood-style grid on a parcel approximately the size of a high school campus. The leader of the camp was a charismatic man who resembled Leonard Maltin.

Of all the people there, I knew only one, a friend and former co-worker in Missouri. At some point I made a new group of friends — three guys and a girl. They weren't there for quite the same reason as I was — apparently we fell into unspecified micro-interest categories — but I really wanted to fit in, because I saw what I wanted to be in them.

So with my real-life friend elsewhere and some downtime, my group said that our leader had something cool in his cabin — what, I don't know. Knowing that he wouldn't be there, I decided that we should go see it. So we did.

After making our way through a thrilling obstacle course, we found the leader's cabin unlocked and walked inside. It's as if he was there, but he wasn't; the TV was blaring, the lights were on and food was out. We proceeded to run around the inside of the cabin, jumping over the bed and skimming the top of dressers, at times screaming, "HARDCORE PARKOUR!!" We did no damage and took nothing. Then we left.

As we walked out the door, the leader suddenly confronted us.

"What were you doing in there?" he asked angrily.

"Oh, sorry about that," I replied without skipping a beat. "We were waiting for [my friend] to come back and thought that was her cabin."

"Well, I saw video surveillance that shows you were doing parkour in there," he retorted. That's when we remembered that every cabin had a security cam. What was up with that, anyway?

"We realized right away that it was yours," I said. "But we felt like it would be suspicious if we just left right away. So we decided to pass some time in there until you came back." Nice save. There was some truth to it, in the sense that we were waiting for my friend to come back. I sold it.

He looked at me for a moment. "Uh-huh," he muttered before flashing his trademark Maltin smile and walking off.

Suddenly, we all realized that we weren't in a fun and refreshing camp — we were in a horrifying cult. As the realization came into focus, we saw a vision of Dear Leader's smile superimposed over an orange-and-yellow pamphlet — the recruiting brochure.

"I think we should get out of here," I said to my friends. They looked at me warily and walked away. I got a tremendously uneasy feeling.

Later, I dreamt that a recurring dream hangout from my days in Springfield — a sort of idea mall and workout center — was condemned and being torn down.

I should really stop sleeping.

Please stop shooting people at school

So there was a shooting at Lone Star College in Texas today. No one was killed, but three were injured.

According to initial reports, two guys got into a fight on campus and at some point both pulled out guns and shot at each other. No reports have surfaced of any brave, armed heroes stopping this.

Guns always escalate a confrontation. If knives or rocks had been involved, we would be hearing about bystanders possibly suffering scrapes or nothing at all — not that it would be worth a news story in the first place.

Of course, this will ultimately change no minds. "This happened because it was a gun-free zone!" "No one died, so it was OK!" "It was yet another conspiracy to disarm law-abiding Americans!"

Or, the richest one of all: "People who fight will find ways to fight!" Yes, people will always find ways to fight. But not every way escalates it to the point of endangering themselves or innocent people. 

Maybe we ought to look again at "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." When it comes to guns, the third one cancels out the other two. We deserve safe schools and other public places. The Lone Star College shooting shows the folly of allowing people to carry on campus. Pro-gun logic would seemingly dictate that two armed people would lead to a zero-bullet standoff; instead, it led to two shooters. Who's to say a third, or fourth, or fifth, weapon would be any safer?

None of the usual pro-gun arguments make this OK. And none of their solutions will make this go away.

The inauguration: a contrast, but no comparison

Yesterday's inauguration was something I didn't at all expect.

It had a lot of strikes going against it for me to watch it in the first place: 1) it's a re-election inauguration, and a ceremonial one at that; 2) there was no way it was going to top the 2009 event; 3) it was early in the morning on a day when I woke up furious over something and had to baby-sit my niece to boot (the two were not related); and 4) I was so tired that I could barely keep my eyes open.

But I'm glad I stuck through it. Because what I saw blew my mind.

Critics who have savaged the inauguration said crowds were smaller, the oratory less enthusiastic. They're right on both counts, but miss the point. The brand of enthusiasm and history-making that defined the 2009 convention, by definition, can't be replicated. Nor should it be. It's no longer unprecedented to elect a black president — which itself is a cause for joy, albeit a more subtle one.

No, what made this inauguration remarkable is how normal, almost pedestrian, it seemed. But it's a new normal. From Sonia Sotomayor administering the oath of office to Joe Biden, to the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir, to Beyoncé, to Medgar Evers' widow delivering the invocation and the presence of the Tuskegee Airmen, the Hawaiian presence in the parade and so much more, the festivities reflected the natural American diversity that has long not defined such events. On Martin Luther King Jr. Day, no less. What could have come off as just another instance of forced diversity seemed as natural as it ever has.

Obama confirmed this by making a speech that, whatever soaring tones it lacked, may still rank among his best ever. This is a new, seasoned Obama, bringing four years of chief-executive experience to the stage. Yesterday, he presented his latest lesson learned — that reconciliation is only good insofar as it intersects with the truth. Whether or not that has to do with his being finished with elections, it was still a refreshing change of pace. Critics have long alleged that the president has been too conciliatory for his own good, too often trying to placate his opposition even before bargaining began. In an age where the tea party-led Republicans were openly stalling government just to spite Obama, it too often seemed like a pushover approach.

However, Obama also came off as a chess player, thinking 10 moves ahead and solidifying his gains when they eventually came to fruition. Yesterday's speech suggested that the chess approach has triumphed. To put it in the broadest sense, Obama has offered the GOP numerous olive branches throughout his presidency. When they refused to take them — and keep in mind, these branches often alienated Democrats and progressives — he was able to say that he tried. The increasing petulance of the conservatives exposed them as apologists for the super-rich, misogynists, racists and end-timers. And that intersects with a generational shift toward diversity and tolerance in general. 

This is why Obama could give a speech defending government; openly calling for full civil rights for gays and equal pay for women; calling for an end to partisan voter oppression; calling for an immigration policy steeped in basic human dignity; urging acceptance of and reversal of climate change; and standing up against moneyed misinformation in general — and it doesn't sound like something pipe-dreamt up by a blogger. It's the new normal. And it's about time. 

If there's any doubt that these ideals are here to stay, just look at the state of the opposition. 

Glenn Beck, one of the right's favorite pundits, held his own event concurrent to the inauguration, the Misfit Ball. Held in Dallas, the event featured roundtable discussions by fringe, yet beloved, GOP figures and pundits. The event was divided into such charming groups as "Hate Mongers," "Fat Cats," "Bible Thumpers," "Snake Oil Salesmen," "Shameless Self-Promoters" and "Earth Haters." Jokingly, of course. Its emcee welcomed participants to "where hate comes to celebrate." Satire!

Food included Chick-Fil-A and Hostess, apparently because of anti-gay remarks and supposed union role in destroying, respectively. Beck billed the event as a regular-guy alternative to the D.C. elitism of the inauguration, with an extra helping of apocalyptic persecution. In one discussion, Beck arrives at the conclusion that, despite everything, the right doesn't need to change, the GOP does — literally arrives with that conclusion, and also leaves with it.

Beck and his pals feel left out of America more than ever. And it's no wonder — hate, bigotry and ignorance have bleak prospects in the future of America. Indeed, they should never have had their time in the first place. Attitudes like Beck's are best quarantined in intimate echo chambers, where the sharply decaying population of subscribers can enjoy one final gasp of pseudo-relevance.

Yesterday, hate and regression reigned in a small, sequestered venue, while acceptance and progress paraded through the streets of Washington. Change has become the new normal. Go America.