Given my hectic schedule and family issues of late, I've been neglecting a certain pet project of mine. Of all the music blogs I wrote, 1993 was probably the one I felt least satisfied with; I wrote a measly top five of albums and the list of singles included songs released the year before. I intended to revise my look back at '93 in early-to-mid June, but real life happened.
If 1991 was the year Grunge broke out and 1992 was the year alternative rock divided and conquered, than 1993 was when it completely and unilaterally controlled the world. The Seattle rock scene had become their generation's equivalent of Liverpool, with new acts from the Pacific Northwest getting signed to record labels on a seemingly daily basis. Nirvana and Pearl Jam, the two bands that spearheaded the movement, released follow-up albums that met lofty expectations and than some. Even top 40 "pop" radio was a little more guitar-heavy than usual. That's not to say alt-rock was the only show in town, though; gangsta rap was in full swing, house and electronica were on the cusp of a breakthrough, and Brit-Pop (er, British alt-rock) was giving the Yanks a run for the money.
NOTE: numbers in parentheses note previous ranking
BEST ALBUMS
1. In Utero, Nirvana. (2) What I said in 2008: "Nirvana's third album bites the hand that feeds them, except their bile is aimed towards the music industry ("Serve the Servants"), the pitfalls of stardom ("Frances Fisher"), and Kurt Cobain's troubled marriage ("Heart-Shaped Box"). Bittersweet, though painfully autobiographical." I neglected to mention that Steve Albini's stark, uncompromising was a perfect match to Cobain's nihilistic, almost suicidal lyrics. All in all, a shattering epitaph.
2. Siamese Dream, Smashing Pumpkins. (3) Nudging themselves from "promising young band" to "promise fulfilled," Dream was made by a band barely keeping it together: frontman Billy Corgan was in the throes of depression, guitarist James Iha and bassist D'Arcy Wretzky had broken up, and drummer Jimmy Chamberlain had a serious drug problem. With all these demons in the air, they churned out essential tracks like "Cherub Rock," "Today," "Rocket," and "Disarm," mere ingredients in one of most influential albums of the decade.
3. Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers), Wu-Tang Clan. (7) The year's most staggering debut didn't introduce us to one MC but eight. This group of colorful characters --led by Prince Rakeem (aka RZA) and Ol' Dirty Bastard-- invented more than just a sound, they nearly created a full-fledged lifestyle and mindset. No '90s rap album is alternately witty, cocky, and sociopathic, or as eclectic. To paraphrase track 7, the Wu-Tang Clan was nothing to f*** with.
4. Vs., Pearl Jam (4)
5. Transient Random-Noise Bursts with Announcements, Stereolab
6. Exile in Guyville, Liz Phair (1)
7. Debut, Björk
8. Modern Life is Rubbish, Blur
9. Midnight Maurauders, A Tribe Called Quest
10. Rid of Me, PJ Harvey. (6) If Liz Phair was America's angry young feminist, than Polly Jean Harvey was her British equal. Both have a lot to say and aren't much for subtlety. However, where Phair was gleefully profane and visceral, Harvey is a more tortured soul. Where Phair teeters on insanity, Harvey isn't afraid to show her wounds. In the end, Harvey is the least compromising of the two.
Honorable Mentions: New Wave, The Auteurs; Songs of Faith and Devotion, Depeche Mode; So Tonight That I Might See, Mazzy Star; Republic, New Order; In On the Kill Taker, Fugazi; Souvlaki, Slowdive; Saturation, Urge Overkill; Suede, The (London) Suede.
BEST SINGLES
"Mr. Jones," Counting Crows
"Cannonball," The Breeders
"Laid," James
"Feed the Tree," Belly
"Linger," The Cranberries
"Creep," Radiohead
"Soul to Squeeze," Red Hot Chili Peppers
"Insane in the Brain," Cypress Hill
"Low," Cracker
"Backwater," Meat Puppets
BEST VIDEOS
1. "Heart-Shaped Box," Nirvana. This is one of those clips that can be hard to describe without somehow ruining or trivializing the work. Too bad the collaboration of Anton Corbijn and Kurt Cobain never went beyond this haunting video.
2. "No Rain," Blind Melon. Let your freak flag fly, Bee Girl.
3. "Loser," Beck. "Soy... un perdedor..."
4. "Runaway Train," Soul Asylum. All those missing kids...
5. "Are You Gonna Go My Way?," Lenny Kravitz. No, he's not Jimi Hendrix, but it's a pretty solid imitation.
Honorable Mentions: "Man-Size," PJ Harvey; "Creep," Stone Temple Pilots.
Finally, some interesting news: effective last week, I am now writing original comedy material (i.e. jokes) for iO Watercooler, the web site for Improv Olympic fans and alumni. Be on the lookout for "Stu's News" about five days a week. :)
Your thoughts?
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Friday, July 19, 2013
Ruminations on a Verdict
Late Saturday night, I posted on Facebook that the George Zimmerman verdict was "Emmett Till all over again." Reaction from my friends was mixed, to put it mildly. Eight or nine of my friends liked the status, but those that disagreed were not afraid to comment. Eventually, I backpedaled; I admitted that the Till comparison was over the top, but I still believed the jury made the wrong call. Mea culpa or not, an awkward silence hovered over the rest of my weekend.
Treyvon Martin's murder 15 months ago was no cut-and-dry homicide, and the ensuing media circus constantly reminded us of that observation. For the prickly debate about gun control and race that Martin's death fueled there has been an undercurrent of idiocy, of poor decision-making, of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Martin's death provoked a national discussion on race relations that wasn't wholly necessary, and only fanned the fire of the never-ending debate on gun control. At the same time, George Zimmerman will forever be perceived as a trigger-happy goon who got off scot-free, anointed by a jury that not only ignored his abuse of power a neighborhood watchdog, but also his wife's act of perjury. What a mess.
Other notes:
+ The bankruptcy of Detroit is as pitiful as it was inevitable. NBA great Dave Bing entered a very bad situation when we was elected mayor, and despite some minor gains he situation was just too insurmountable. The lack of economic growth was one thing, but the corruption was another (thanks, Kwame Kilpatrick). This once-great metropolis is now a black hole, sucking nearly the entire state of Michigan into its malaise. (For those of you that aren't familiar with this sorry situation, this article should bring you up to speed.) It'll only get worse before it ever gets better.
+ My congratulations go out to my friend Claire Mulaney on being hired to write for "Saturday Night Live" next season. Apparently, I've been on the Chicago improv scene long enough that I can (sort of) brag that people I've hung out with can --and have-- made their comedy dreams come true. Do your brother John proud.
Next week: the year in music, 1993.
(413)
Treyvon Martin's murder 15 months ago was no cut-and-dry homicide, and the ensuing media circus constantly reminded us of that observation. For the prickly debate about gun control and race that Martin's death fueled there has been an undercurrent of idiocy, of poor decision-making, of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Martin's death provoked a national discussion on race relations that wasn't wholly necessary, and only fanned the fire of the never-ending debate on gun control. At the same time, George Zimmerman will forever be perceived as a trigger-happy goon who got off scot-free, anointed by a jury that not only ignored his abuse of power a neighborhood watchdog, but also his wife's act of perjury. What a mess.
Other notes:
+ The bankruptcy of Detroit is as pitiful as it was inevitable. NBA great Dave Bing entered a very bad situation when we was elected mayor, and despite some minor gains he situation was just too insurmountable. The lack of economic growth was one thing, but the corruption was another (thanks, Kwame Kilpatrick). This once-great metropolis is now a black hole, sucking nearly the entire state of Michigan into its malaise. (For those of you that aren't familiar with this sorry situation, this article should bring you up to speed.) It'll only get worse before it ever gets better.
+ My congratulations go out to my friend Claire Mulaney on being hired to write for "Saturday Night Live" next season. Apparently, I've been on the Chicago improv scene long enough that I can (sort of) brag that people I've hung out with can --and have-- made their comedy dreams come true. Do your brother John proud.
Next week: the year in music, 1993.
(413)
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Monday, June 24th
So how did I spend my Game 6?
In my lifetime I've experienced ten* championships between Chicago's five major sports teams; six from the Bulls, one apiece from the Bears and White Sox, and now two from my beloved Blackhawks. (I gave up on the Cubs at age nine and I haven't looked back.) Unlike the previous nine I spent the Hawks' second title in four years in the city, as opposed to my native southwest suburbs. To elaborate:
I watched Game 6 of the 2010 Finals at a restaurant called Cabana Charlie's. My father and I wanted to see the game in a sports bar setting, and with Tilted Kilt and Buffalo Wild Wings packed shoulder to shoulder, we settled on Charlie's. The restaurant itself was a pale imitator of Jimmy Buffett's Cheeseburger in Paradise franchise, with a friendly, palm-tree exterior protecting its soulless, ersatz center. The only TVs were in the bar, and we snagged the last table with a view with 15 minutes before game time.
My family had dined at Cabana Charlie's once or twice before; the burgers were adequate but somewhat overpriced. It was never as loud or energetic, however as it was that magical night in June 2010. The bar erupted for every Hawks goal and fell silent for every Flyers lamp-lighter. I recall the confused jubilance as Patrick Kane slipped it past Michael Leighton in overtime; the buzzer went off, we cheered, but nobody could tell what happened. The replay confirmed our greatest hopes, and when the Stanley Cup was carried onto the ice about a third of the bar (including myself) cried.
Fast forward to June 2013. I had never been anywhere near the mayhem that accompanies a Chicago sports title. The Bulls riots in the early '90s made national news, but that would be the most extreme example. I stormed the north quad at Illinois State when the Bears won the 2006 NFC title, but it didn't compare to the full-fledged White Sox riot from 15 months earlier, before I transferred. Cabana Charlie's shuttered their doors earlier this year --I don't think they ever turned a profit-- so even if I had a fallback, the option wasn't there. Hook, line or sinker I would spend the clinching game somewhere in the city.
My improv commitments complicated matters. As mentioned in past blogs, I belong to a charity organization called Funny Bones, where we do game-oriented improv for sick children in nearby hospitals. We have a monthly meeting/rehearsal the last Monday of each month, and with the Hawks up three game to two and Game 6 set for that evening, I had no choice but to miss the first period. Luckily, said meeting at the Ronald McDonald House in River North, so I accomplished half of my goal right there.
Earlier that day, my dear friend Andy invited me over to his apartment to watch the game. I told him I'd meet up after Funny Bones. Driving from River North to Old Town wasn't much a challenge; finding parking was another story. Every bar and grill within walking distance was packed, and the lack of street parking indicated that. Eventually I bit the bullet and spent $13 to park in the garage adjacent to Piper's Alley (home of Second City), than ran down the street to Andy's place. At that point, the second period was almost over and the game was tied at one. Listening to the action on my car radio was not quenching my thirst.
I plopped down on Andy's couch just as the second intermission wrapped. I nearly choked on the last part of my Subway sandwich when Boston scored their second goal midway through the period. My heart sank as I feared another tidal shift in the series. I was withdrawn to the possibly of a Game 7 until the last 1:20 of the third period. Corey Crawford was pulled and an extra defenseman brought in, which usually screams desperation. I was hoping against hope for another overtime thriller, just like three years earlier. Out of the blue, Toews fed the puck to Bryan Bickell, who slipped it past Tuukka Rask, and the game was suddenly tied. I screamed with ecstasy.
The action halted for a minute or so while everyone --TD Garden, every bar in Chicago, yours truly-- could catch their breath. I had just sat down when Dave Bolland clinched it, a mere 17 seconds after the previous goal. I screamed again, loud enough to make the apartment rattle a little, than bear-hugged Andy. The last 59 seconds of the game, complete with Boston's feeble attempt at a backhander against Crawford, was just icing on the cake. In 2007 I feared the Hawks had been irreversibly run into the ground, much like the Cubs were in the '50s and '60s. Now they had won two Stanley Cups in my lifetime. Like 2010, I cried when the Cup was carried to the ice. It was just too much.
Of course, I can't forget the pandemonium in the streets. I walked down North Avenue to see if any of the bars were getting trashed, but the post-game celebration was surprisingly mannered and mostly well-behaved. Prior to leaving Andy's apartment, I watched news footage of a helicopter hovering above the corner and Clark and Addison, where the real chaos was happening. You would think half the city was celebrating in the streets, reveling shoulder-to-shoulder as the bars and clubs poured out. In a weird twist of fate, my independent improv team was supposed to play at Mullen's on Clark that night, but the show was cancelled for the Hawks game. I was reminded of that odd twist of fate as Mullen's bright green awning glowed in the noisy dark, a beacon in the joyous ataxia. I was tempted to drive up to Wrigleyville, but I was more content to stop by the United Center on my long drive home, where a smaller but equally boisterous crowd had formed a circle of cars around the stadium lot.
And that is how I spent my Game 6.
*11 if you include the 1998 Chicago Fire, but really, let's not.
(412)
In my lifetime I've experienced ten* championships between Chicago's five major sports teams; six from the Bulls, one apiece from the Bears and White Sox, and now two from my beloved Blackhawks. (I gave up on the Cubs at age nine and I haven't looked back.) Unlike the previous nine I spent the Hawks' second title in four years in the city, as opposed to my native southwest suburbs. To elaborate:
I watched Game 6 of the 2010 Finals at a restaurant called Cabana Charlie's. My father and I wanted to see the game in a sports bar setting, and with Tilted Kilt and Buffalo Wild Wings packed shoulder to shoulder, we settled on Charlie's. The restaurant itself was a pale imitator of Jimmy Buffett's Cheeseburger in Paradise franchise, with a friendly, palm-tree exterior protecting its soulless, ersatz center. The only TVs were in the bar, and we snagged the last table with a view with 15 minutes before game time.
My family had dined at Cabana Charlie's once or twice before; the burgers were adequate but somewhat overpriced. It was never as loud or energetic, however as it was that magical night in June 2010. The bar erupted for every Hawks goal and fell silent for every Flyers lamp-lighter. I recall the confused jubilance as Patrick Kane slipped it past Michael Leighton in overtime; the buzzer went off, we cheered, but nobody could tell what happened. The replay confirmed our greatest hopes, and when the Stanley Cup was carried onto the ice about a third of the bar (including myself) cried.
Fast forward to June 2013. I had never been anywhere near the mayhem that accompanies a Chicago sports title. The Bulls riots in the early '90s made national news, but that would be the most extreme example. I stormed the north quad at Illinois State when the Bears won the 2006 NFC title, but it didn't compare to the full-fledged White Sox riot from 15 months earlier, before I transferred. Cabana Charlie's shuttered their doors earlier this year --I don't think they ever turned a profit-- so even if I had a fallback, the option wasn't there. Hook, line or sinker I would spend the clinching game somewhere in the city.
My improv commitments complicated matters. As mentioned in past blogs, I belong to a charity organization called Funny Bones, where we do game-oriented improv for sick children in nearby hospitals. We have a monthly meeting/rehearsal the last Monday of each month, and with the Hawks up three game to two and Game 6 set for that evening, I had no choice but to miss the first period. Luckily, said meeting at the Ronald McDonald House in River North, so I accomplished half of my goal right there.
Earlier that day, my dear friend Andy invited me over to his apartment to watch the game. I told him I'd meet up after Funny Bones. Driving from River North to Old Town wasn't much a challenge; finding parking was another story. Every bar and grill within walking distance was packed, and the lack of street parking indicated that. Eventually I bit the bullet and spent $13 to park in the garage adjacent to Piper's Alley (home of Second City), than ran down the street to Andy's place. At that point, the second period was almost over and the game was tied at one. Listening to the action on my car radio was not quenching my thirst.
I plopped down on Andy's couch just as the second intermission wrapped. I nearly choked on the last part of my Subway sandwich when Boston scored their second goal midway through the period. My heart sank as I feared another tidal shift in the series. I was withdrawn to the possibly of a Game 7 until the last 1:20 of the third period. Corey Crawford was pulled and an extra defenseman brought in, which usually screams desperation. I was hoping against hope for another overtime thriller, just like three years earlier. Out of the blue, Toews fed the puck to Bryan Bickell, who slipped it past Tuukka Rask, and the game was suddenly tied. I screamed with ecstasy.
The action halted for a minute or so while everyone --TD Garden, every bar in Chicago, yours truly-- could catch their breath. I had just sat down when Dave Bolland clinched it, a mere 17 seconds after the previous goal. I screamed again, loud enough to make the apartment rattle a little, than bear-hugged Andy. The last 59 seconds of the game, complete with Boston's feeble attempt at a backhander against Crawford, was just icing on the cake. In 2007 I feared the Hawks had been irreversibly run into the ground, much like the Cubs were in the '50s and '60s. Now they had won two Stanley Cups in my lifetime. Like 2010, I cried when the Cup was carried to the ice. It was just too much.
Of course, I can't forget the pandemonium in the streets. I walked down North Avenue to see if any of the bars were getting trashed, but the post-game celebration was surprisingly mannered and mostly well-behaved. Prior to leaving Andy's apartment, I watched news footage of a helicopter hovering above the corner and Clark and Addison, where the real chaos was happening. You would think half the city was celebrating in the streets, reveling shoulder-to-shoulder as the bars and clubs poured out. In a weird twist of fate, my independent improv team was supposed to play at Mullen's on Clark that night, but the show was cancelled for the Hawks game. I was reminded of that odd twist of fate as Mullen's bright green awning glowed in the noisy dark, a beacon in the joyous ataxia. I was tempted to drive up to Wrigleyville, but I was more content to stop by the United Center on my long drive home, where a smaller but equally boisterous crowd had formed a circle of cars around the stadium lot.
And that is how I spent my Game 6.
*11 if you include the 1998 Chicago Fire, but really, let's not.
(412)
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Where Am I Going? Where Are You Going?
Last week before class, I was eating lunch with an improv classmate. He's 22 and on the verge of graduating from Northwestern, and we were discussing life in general. At one point he asked me why I'm in the conservatory program. "Why are you doing this," he asked repeatedly. He knew I was an intellectual of sorts, but at the same time he seemed to think I was wasting my natural abilities on just improv. I explained to him my job situation and my passion for improv and comedy, but he kept asking "why." Eventually he settled on my desire to write comedy professionally and possibly pursue a future in theater. He wasn't totally placated, but it was the best answer I could give him.
Less than fourteen months from now, I will be turning 30 years old. In a slightly less intimidating sense, I will be turning 29 in about seven weeks. I suppose I feel neurotic about my birthday because I thought I would be established at this point. That can be a loaded word, but that's how I feel. For all my accomplishments in improv, my burgeoning Twitter feed, not to mention a smattering of published articles, that pretty much sums up my first 5 1/2 years since graduating college. I feel like I've achieved a few things but accomplished so little at the same time. The career that I aspired for disintegrated a little over three years ago, and my current temp job is nowhere near a career. In the last year I've garnered two job interviews out of hundreds of job applications. I don't know if I'm doing something wrong or if I'm just another member of an increasingly lost generation of Americans.
Judging from my accomplishments in the previous paragraph, one might assume my primary issue is a lack of motivation or direction. That is not totally true. Since my career in radio came to an abrupt halt I've been trying to parlay my improv "hobby" into something greater. I've been marketing myself as a comedy writer first and a comedic actor and improviser second. What people don't realize about improv is that there's very little money there; that ability to think on your feet and create scenes and situations from thin air is meant to progress into bigger and better things. My monologue-style jokes aside, most of what I've written lately has been based on scenes I've performed in class with my conservatory ensemble at Second City. I had some part in the creation of four short films in 2012, and though my 2013 output so far pales in comparison I'm still banging away on the keyboard. I have a better idea of how to market myself than I did two years ago.
In a nutshell, Rome wasn't built in a day. Some of us are late bloomers. As long as you're in my corner, I think I'll be alright.
Other notes:
+ So it turns out my father has B-Cell Lymphona. In a nutshell, it could be Hodgkin's Disease or it might not; it's literally 50/50. With that said, it was caught early and there is an 85% survival rate, so some type of radiation or chemotherapy is imminent. This will not be an easy path to take, but there's room for optimism. I'll keep you posted.
+ The NSA is tapping our phones?! Wow, I'm so shocked... in 2006. Heck, even Stephen Colbert was joking about it when he famously grilled President Bush at the White House Correspondents' Dinner that year. It scares me too, don't get me wrong, but at the same time our collective memory...
+ That was probably one of the best finishes to a hockey game I've ever seen. Congratulations again to the Blackhawks.
(411)
Less than fourteen months from now, I will be turning 30 years old. In a slightly less intimidating sense, I will be turning 29 in about seven weeks. I suppose I feel neurotic about my birthday because I thought I would be established at this point. That can be a loaded word, but that's how I feel. For all my accomplishments in improv, my burgeoning Twitter feed, not to mention a smattering of published articles, that pretty much sums up my first 5 1/2 years since graduating college. I feel like I've achieved a few things but accomplished so little at the same time. The career that I aspired for disintegrated a little over three years ago, and my current temp job is nowhere near a career. In the last year I've garnered two job interviews out of hundreds of job applications. I don't know if I'm doing something wrong or if I'm just another member of an increasingly lost generation of Americans.
Judging from my accomplishments in the previous paragraph, one might assume my primary issue is a lack of motivation or direction. That is not totally true. Since my career in radio came to an abrupt halt I've been trying to parlay my improv "hobby" into something greater. I've been marketing myself as a comedy writer first and a comedic actor and improviser second. What people don't realize about improv is that there's very little money there; that ability to think on your feet and create scenes and situations from thin air is meant to progress into bigger and better things. My monologue-style jokes aside, most of what I've written lately has been based on scenes I've performed in class with my conservatory ensemble at Second City. I had some part in the creation of four short films in 2012, and though my 2013 output so far pales in comparison I'm still banging away on the keyboard. I have a better idea of how to market myself than I did two years ago.
In a nutshell, Rome wasn't built in a day. Some of us are late bloomers. As long as you're in my corner, I think I'll be alright.
Other notes:
+ So it turns out my father has B-Cell Lymphona. In a nutshell, it could be Hodgkin's Disease or it might not; it's literally 50/50. With that said, it was caught early and there is an 85% survival rate, so some type of radiation or chemotherapy is imminent. This will not be an easy path to take, but there's room for optimism. I'll keep you posted.
+ The NSA is tapping our phones?! Wow, I'm so shocked... in 2006. Heck, even Stephen Colbert was joking about it when he famously grilled President Bush at the White House Correspondents' Dinner that year. It scares me too, don't get me wrong, but at the same time our collective memory...
+ That was probably one of the best finishes to a hockey game I've ever seen. Congratulations again to the Blackhawks.
(411)
Saturday, June 15, 2013
Child is Father to the Blogger
After three months and multiple delays, my father finally had his brain surgery on Friday. We were informed two days earlier that the growth in his skull was spreading again, and that it would have to be removed sometime in the next 10 days or so. On Thursday the hospital scheduled the procedure for 9:30 AM the next day; I was forced to request a day off work on less than 24 hours' notice, a personal first. I spent most of Friday morning and afternoon with my mother sitting outside the ER; she nonchalantly skimmed through a magazine while I tried to get some writing done for class. For all intents and purposes, she was a complete trooper.
Judging from first impressions, the surgery was a success. The growth was removed, but it's still not clear if the tumor was cancerous or not. (Yes, it was a tumor.) At the same time, the aftereffects are yet to be determined. He doesn't seem to have any sensorimotor issues, and his speech is not slurred. However, my dad might have blurriness in his right eye --he's already very nearsighted-- and possibly some short term memory less. When I visited on Saturday, there didn't seem to be any noticeable permanent damage; he was watching TV and conversing without any issue. At the same time, he was a little tired and still feeling quite dizzy.
Thank you again for the thoughts and good vibes and may you all have a Happy Father's Day.
(410)
Judging from first impressions, the surgery was a success. The growth was removed, but it's still not clear if the tumor was cancerous or not. (Yes, it was a tumor.) At the same time, the aftereffects are yet to be determined. He doesn't seem to have any sensorimotor issues, and his speech is not slurred. However, my dad might have blurriness in his right eye --he's already very nearsighted-- and possibly some short term memory less. When I visited on Saturday, there didn't seem to be any noticeable permanent damage; he was watching TV and conversing without any issue. At the same time, he was a little tired and still feeling quite dizzy.
Thank you again for the thoughts and good vibes and may you all have a Happy Father's Day.
(410)
Monday, June 3, 2013
Through a Third Freshman's Eyes
Get ready to feel old again!
For the third year in a row, I present my assumptive Mindset List for graduating high school kids/incoming college freshmen. This year's high school grads were born in late 1994 or early-to-mid 1995, mere preschoolers at the turn of the millennium. I can't speak on behalf of Americans ten years my junior (!) and these observations may not be totally representative of all 18-year-olds, but it's certainly something to wrap your head around. Besides, why should we wait for Beloit College's annual list in three months?
(NOTE: if anything may appear to be missing, I was just trying to avoid overlap from last year's list. Click here for said blog entry.)
With that said, if you are an incoming college freshman...
...there has never been an Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building.
...with the exception of a four-year gap in the late 2000s, the GOP has always controlled the House of Representatives.
...women have always been able to captain a space shuttle.
...your British friends have never invested in Barings Bank.
...Michael Jordan has only retired twice.
...there has always been at least one NBA team in Canada.
...there has never been an NFL team in Los Angeles, but there's always been one in northern Florida.
...Kevin Garnett, Jerry Stackhouse, and Kurt Thomas have always played in the NBA.
...the Major League Baseball season has never been shortened by, nor subjected to, a strike or work stoppage.
...you have never seen a sporting event inside Chicago Stadium or Boston Garden.
...the San Francisco 49ers have never won a Super Bowl.
...Cal Ripken Jr. has always owned the record for all-time consecutive games played.
...Connie Chung has never co-anchored the CBS Nightly News.
...you never saw Chris Farley or Adam Sandler on Saturday Night Live.
...classic kids' shows like "Ghostwriter," "Legends of the Hidden Temple," and "Tiny Toon Adventures" have existed only in repeats.
...Jon Stewart has never been on any cable channel besides Comedy Central.
...Jay Leno has always beaten David Letterman in the ratings.
...you have never had a sip of Coke II, and you don't know what it used to be called.
...you have never seen a first-class postage stamp below 30 cents.
...Mickey Mantle, Jerry Garcia, Ginger Rogers, Selena, Ed Flanders, Michael O'Donoghue, Shannon Hoon, Easy E, Wolfman Jack, Orville Redenbacher, Peter Cook, Donald Pleasance, Elizabeth Montgomery, Dr. Jonas Salk, and Bob "Happy Trees" Ross have always been dead.
..."The Far Side" and "Calvin & Hobbes" have never run in your local newspaper.
...you've probably never read a newspaper.
If you have anything else to add, let me know. Writing these lists are both inspiring and depressing.
For the third year in a row, I present my assumptive Mindset List for graduating high school kids/incoming college freshmen. This year's high school grads were born in late 1994 or early-to-mid 1995, mere preschoolers at the turn of the millennium. I can't speak on behalf of Americans ten years my junior (!) and these observations may not be totally representative of all 18-year-olds, but it's certainly something to wrap your head around. Besides, why should we wait for Beloit College's annual list in three months?
(NOTE: if anything may appear to be missing, I was just trying to avoid overlap from last year's list. Click here for said blog entry.)
With that said, if you are an incoming college freshman...
...there has never been an Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building.
...with the exception of a four-year gap in the late 2000s, the GOP has always controlled the House of Representatives.
...women have always been able to captain a space shuttle.
...your British friends have never invested in Barings Bank.
...Michael Jordan has only retired twice.
...there has always been at least one NBA team in Canada.
...there has never been an NFL team in Los Angeles, but there's always been one in northern Florida.
...Kevin Garnett, Jerry Stackhouse, and Kurt Thomas have always played in the NBA.
...the Major League Baseball season has never been shortened by, nor subjected to, a strike or work stoppage.
...you have never seen a sporting event inside Chicago Stadium or Boston Garden.
...the San Francisco 49ers have never won a Super Bowl.
...Cal Ripken Jr. has always owned the record for all-time consecutive games played.
...Connie Chung has never co-anchored the CBS Nightly News.
...you never saw Chris Farley or Adam Sandler on Saturday Night Live.
...classic kids' shows like "Ghostwriter," "Legends of the Hidden Temple," and "Tiny Toon Adventures" have existed only in repeats.
...Jon Stewart has never been on any cable channel besides Comedy Central.
...Jay Leno has always beaten David Letterman in the ratings.
...you have never had a sip of Coke II, and you don't know what it used to be called.
...you have never seen a first-class postage stamp below 30 cents.
...Mickey Mantle, Jerry Garcia, Ginger Rogers, Selena, Ed Flanders, Michael O'Donoghue, Shannon Hoon, Easy E, Wolfman Jack, Orville Redenbacher, Peter Cook, Donald Pleasance, Elizabeth Montgomery, Dr. Jonas Salk, and Bob "Happy Trees" Ross have always been dead.
..."The Far Side" and "Calvin & Hobbes" have never run in your local newspaper.
...you've probably never read a newspaper.
If you have anything else to add, let me know. Writing these lists are both inspiring and depressing.
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