A Merit Award, Kind of

As I had mentioned in a previous post, I had ridden the school bus for 2,300 hours. During my high school years, bouncing along with me on the back of the bus was a calculator sporting a Random Number Generator. Because of this, I could entertain myself by working through playoff brackets using randomly generated numbers as the team scores.

Working through a playoff bracket of 16 teams is cool, but using a bracket of 64 teams offered more opportunity experience both the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. So, I thought to myself, if 64 teams is cool, then why not create the "Mother of all Playoff Brackets." 128 teams would work, as would 256, and 512. My bracket, however, featured 1,024 "teams."

I put "teams" in quotes because I had to be creative in my generation of so many tournament entries. My paper spanned 16 pages taped together with 64 teams on each page.

Now, there were maybe 100 teams in the four major sports back in 1984, and if I tossed in another 100 college teams, then I would still have to come up with another 824 teams. So, I included a number of high schools, local churches, the local library, radio stations, a handful of nation states, and there were probably several Popes tossed in there as well.

And this made for some interesting match ups, no doubt. Who would have thought that the state of Alabama would face off against Pope John Paul II to see who would go on to play the winner of the Detroit Red Wings versus Fat Albert?

In the end, though, it was Merit Island High School of Florida that waltzed through the biggest dance of all to claim the grand prize. At 22 years after the fact, I felt that it was time to announce their victory to the world. Congratulations, Merit Island. Congratulations indeed.

"Let the Eagle Soar"

But enough about former Attorney General John Ashcroft's singing career. This blog entry is about a study break during my sophomore year at Cedarville University. Two desks were parked side-by-side in a dimly-lit rectangular dorm room. At one desk was Mike Knoerzer, studying for an exam in Dr. James McGoldrick's Western Civilization course. At the other desk was your's truly, studying for an upcoming honor's exam in the year-long sequence called the Making of the Modern Mind. Long story short--these two minds were essentially fried on this particular night. We had arrived at the saturation point--and then went beyond. Yet there was far more to cram in our brains before the next morning.

Enter the study break. Enter, also, the imagination--that powerful human process whereby two weary students could mentally transport themselves from their bleak existence in the "land of corn and pigs" (that's what I used to call Ohio) and into a more celestial locale. On this particular night, it was alpine majesty that came calling, and the dialogue went something like this:

Mike: "Somewhere, there is a mountain range of incredible grandeur. And above the mountain tops soars a majestic bald eagle, floating effortlessly on its outstretched wings. It soars high above the snow-capped mountain peaks, and then dips down into the valley below."

A thoughtful pause ensued as we both could see the image in our mind's eye.

Then, I offered the following: The sound of a shotgun being cocked.

Kind of ruined the moment, but made for a good study break.

How Babies are Made

I learned something about sex ed from my 6-year-old son the other day. My wife relayed the explanation to me, and it went exactly like this:

"There are two ways to get a baby. First, you can get one through adoption. And, second, you can have one through special circumstances."

Interesting indeed.

On a completely different subject, he also came up with the following poem while riding in the back seat of the car on a hot day:

"If you don't have your water

and you don't have your tea,

go get a Polar Pop

from the BP."

People with Hangups

This morning, the faculty in my hallway found our normally bland corridor splashed with the color of 46 sheets of red paper hanging from the ceiling. At present, I wish to neither confirm nor deny personal involvement in this incident. That being said, though, I will offer a few observations based on my interactions with my colleagues today.

First, I was stunned at how quickly and confidently the finger was pointed at yours truly. What gives? Where are the pictures of me hanging these up? Where is the personal testimony of someone who had caught me red handed? In spite of evidential dearth, nearly every conversation I had today began with "You did this, didn't you?" Others didn't need to ask. They just gave me "the look."

Second, I was intrigued by how many speculative conversations I heard in the hallway throughout the day. "It couldn't have happened on Saturday because I was here then and they weren't up." "Could have been Raul. I saw his car in the parking lot on Sunday." "I thought it was maintenance marking where work needs to be done." "It might be for the upcoming Renaissance Festival." "This obviously took a long time to do." And on and on it went--all over 46 sheets of paper (not that I've counted or anything).

Third, I have to admire the safety consciousness of the artist. If you look closely--and you can click on the picture above for a better view--you can see that the papers in no way obstruct any view of the EXIT sign near the door to the left. Remember Mr. Van Gogh: Safety first, artistic expression second.

Finally, I heard chatter about "our red paper being wasted." (Okay, so it was really "discourse" and not "chatter" given that it took place in the Humanities hallway.) Regardless, my guess on the matter is that someone conscientious enough to avoid blocking the EXIT sign would also collect and reallocate those papers for instructional purposes. Just a guess--not that I know anything about the particulars of this incident.

In the end, it illustrates that few things in the workplace draw as much attention as a person with hangups.

My Blog Entry about Nothing

Another Cephalopod

I was listening to Pink Floyd's Another Brick in the Wall on Thursday night when the following new lyrics came to mind. My apologies to the sea food industry.

We don’t need no calamari

We don’t need no Nemo chew

No fried seafood in my lunch box

Fishers leave the squid alone

Hey! Fisher! Leave them squid alone!

All in all it’s just a slimey cephalopod

All in all you would be better off fishing for cod.