He’s Hot and He Plays a Soon-To-Be-Villain

My bestest friend sent this to me. She teaches high school and her students have to write bibliographies. She decided that she should write one, too. Here's part of it. And so this I did not write, but my bestest friend did.

Michael Rosenbaum recently bought a custom van. Maybe he uses it to lug around his HOTNESS, because he is SO HOT. Or maybe not. Why would you buy a custom VAN, though? This fact kind of ruined my unbridled obsession with him. But, anyways, let me walk you through the life of the man who plays Lex Luther on the WB’s Smallville.

Mr. Michael Elizabeth Rosenbaum (well, I lied about the Elizabeth part) was born in Oceanside, New York, where he was immediately HOT. He considers his hometown Newburg, Indiana, however, which is just fine with me, because that is much closer to Marysville, Ohio than Oceanside, New York. In fact, Newburg, Indiana, is only five hours away. Sadly, Michael Rosenbaum divides his time currently between Los Angeles (34 hours from Marysville) and Vancouver (38.5 hours from Marysville). It looks like I won’t be hanging out with Michael Rosenbaum any time soon.

Here are some pertinent facts about Michael Rosenbaum, which I would have memorized if I were a stalker: DOB – July 11, 1972; Eyes – blue; Height – 6’0; Looks - HOT. Michael has been in a few successful movies, such as Sorority Boys (he dressed up like a girl!) and Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil and Bringing Down the House. Maybe he’ll get a leading role sometime soon so I can watch him even more… even though I’m really not a stalker.

Michael Rosenbaum states, “I was pretty much a homebody;didn't really go to school dances, never went to a prom. I was a bit of a loner, a geek. Lex refers to his past that he was this bald headed freak at this elite prep school. Well, I was, like the shortest kid in my high school--really nervous and kind of weird--so I can relate.” Boy, have things changed, ‘cause now he’s HOT.

Currently, Michael Rosenbaum plays a young Lex Luthor on Smallville. He is talented at portraying a rich business man who stands up for his friends and stands up even HIGHER (if you get what I’m sayin’) for his girlfriends. I like watching him because I am a heterosexual woman with eyes. Michael has also been a regular on the Conan O’Brien show and he does voiceovers for cartoons. Wow – HOT and TALENTED! Do you think he will have my babies?

Whiny Letter to My Friend

This is an actual email sent to my bestest friend in the world. Hi, Here's what's new. 1) I had a loud disagreement (read: fight) with my roommate about her boyfriend always being over. I said, "when's he going to start paying rent?" She said, "I didn't know it made you uncomfortable." I said, "I don't want to live with a man, particularly a man I barely know who doesn't make eye contact with me." She said, "you should have said this earlier before him staying here every night became institutionalized. Now he's going to be all mad about it." I said, "that's not my problem." Anyway, the conclusion reached was that he could stay over once in a while when she gave me advance warning. Did I ever tell you why I got a roommate? It's because I was depressed beyond all belief. I could barely get out of bed in the morning and I literally thought I was going to die. People didn't talk to me. I didn't talk to people. It was like I was invisible. I went to a therapist once (the one and only time I ever went to see her - she terrified me) and she told me that I needed a roommate so I'd be exposed to someone everyday and when I came home from school or work there would be someone there and it would be good for me. Also, a roommate would invite me to do stuff with his/her friends and I could be more properly social. So, I got a roommate. It may be the only piece of advice I actually took from this woman. So she (my roommate, not the therapist) never comes home now. Since we had our discussion, she just doesn't come home. Fine. (We had made appointments to have lunch and roommate night, both of which she cancelled, so it's not like I didn't make an effort to keep communication alive.) I'm back at square one. I'm here at school really late because I can't go home to an empty apartment. For the first couple of days it was okay...I could read and listen to music really loud and no one said anything or bothered me. But now I'm back to where I was when I lived by myself. I convince myself that no one likes me or notices me and I'm really, really, really sad when left alone. Which is a lot. Then I start to think about how I misjudge people. I thought she was my friend. I thought she would be there for me when I was upset or sad, but instead she doesn't notice anything and even when I point things out to her, she doesn't think it's her problem. How could I possibly misjudge someone so much? And then I decide I can't trust anyone because my judgment has been so bad. Then I am even more upset. And even more alone. This is a huge problem in my life. Being at home makes me uncomfortable when she’s there and uncomfortable when she isn’t there, too. 2) I just spent yet another small fortune on fixing Magenta and there’s another $800 worth of work that needs to be done that I can’t afford to do right now. 3) In order to pay for these truck repairs, I have decided to teach two classes for my part-time job next semester. But I don’t really have time to do that. One of these classes is a class I’ve never taught before, so there will be a tremendous amount of prep work involved. I’m also taking a class for myself next semester and taking a written and oral prelim as well as TAing. 4) However, just so you know that my life is not all bad and that I’m not nearly as depressed as I was last year about this time, I got my hair cut today. I don’t think it’s been this short since I was seven years old. It’s true what they say. When you cut your hair short, you just can’t get it short enough. 5) Biker Boy and I are doing well. He’s had a cold this week, but I think he’s feeling a bit better. At least that is what he told me when I passed him in the hall at school today. Wednesday is date night for us and yesterday we just hung out and watched “Whose Line is it Anyway?” on his couch. We also played a game where we tried to make the most beautiful pattern on the table out of candy taffies. That was fun. Biker Boy and I have a theory about scarcity. Scarcity makes you want something more. So we don’t see each other every night. It’s not practical and it makes us enjoy the time we have together even more. So me trooping over to his place every night when I’m in a funk isn’t an option, but he certainly knows that I’m upset about my roommate situation and he’s quite patient with me. This is definitely an improvement over the situation I was in last year. 6) I got an email from Drunken Ex Boyfriend. Apparently he doesn’t hate me after the disastrous trip to Minneapolis and he wants me to know that he’s doing okay now that we’ve cleared the air about our relationship. In sum, I am sitting here at school, contemplating my financial woes, my roommate woes, and considering stopping at Target on the way home from school, buying a trashy romance novel, and reading it all night tonight, pretending that these woes don’t exist. As a matter of fact, I think that’s exactly what I will do. Target, trashy book, call to Biker Boy, and bed. And I won’t have to think about the fact that sometimes life throws you crap that you don’t want to deal with. Because if I ignore the crap, maybe it will go away (except for that horrible presidential election – that doesn’t go away for another four years). I miss you, kiddo! Love, Neurotic Grad Student

21A

There's a guy out there. I've never met him. His name is Kevin Kling and he's written a play called 21A. This play is based on a South Minneapolis bus route. It's a one act play and it's about eight folks on the 21A bus. I rode the 21 last night. Not the 21A; I think it was the 21G, but it's the same route for the part I was on. Yeah. Here's the deal. Biker Boy and I had some stuff to do and it involved taking the light rail. Well, the light rail stations aren't all that convenient to where I live, so Biker Boy and I had to take the 21 from the light rail station to my place. Yeah, I live two blocks off the 21 route. Anyway, so here Biker Boy and I are, riding on the 21 at about 9:30 on a dark December night. First of all, the only two seats next to each other are in the back of the bus. As I head to the back, I notice that the passengers on this particular bus are a diverse mixture. Biker Boy and I exchange grins because this is the stuff stories are made of!! At the very next stop, three really large, really stoned black men stumble on to the bus. I can smell them before they get to the back of the bus, where they collapse. The perfume is what I imagine San Francisco smelled like in the 1970s. The bus is full now. People are standing in the aisles, but these men get seats. One sitting across from me becomes as horizontal as is possible in the seat. He's sitting there, as if it would be impossible to move, when something across from him catches his attention. "Is that the new LL Cool J album?" He sits straight up and leans in quite suddenly to the guy across from him. "LL Cool J has been around forever," says another guy in the back of the bus. It's unclear to me if this guy knows either the owner of the LL Cool J album or the guy who asked the question. "Can I see the cover?" the guy asks when the owner of the LL Cool J CD answers in the affirmative. "LL Cool J is old," the other guys adds. No one has asked this guy his opinion, but he keeps giving it. "He's been around forever." The owner of the LL Cool J CD gets off the bus. He's wearing a jacket that promotes one of the Cincinnati sports franchises. As he gets off, one of the other fellows says, "Cincinnati's gay." The other men laugh. This other guy starts asking everyone if they have a light. "You? Gotta light? You?" Then there's yelling. "Hey! Hey! HEY!" I turn around. This man smiles at me, showing off his gold tooth. "You gotta light?" "No, I'm sorry," I say, trying not to laugh. Biker Boy says under his breath, "is he going to light up ON the bus?" "You're all lame. I'm on a bus full of lame people." This makes it difficult not to laugh, because one of our profs is always telling people that stuff is lame. LAME. As we come to the stop across from Taco Bell, the stoned men get out. "We gotta get us some Taco Bell." Yeah, I bet. I would too, if I were as high as you. The munchies do strike hard. Biker Boy points out later that within two blocks the demographics of the bus change entirely. It's no longer quite so diverse. By the time we actually got off the bus, I couldn't help but laugh and laugh and laugh. The quotes are numerous. "I'm on a bus full of lame people." "Cincinnati's gay." Rock on, 21!!!

Hi Goldy!!!

For the record, I am a HUGE fan of the undergrad institution I graduated from. As a matter of fact, I do believe I am one of the few graduate students who makes it a priority to donate money to my school's alumni association, just BECAUSE. However, as part of a departmental norm, I am part of a mentoring group with a couple of very cool first year students. I am not really sure how I ended up with such cool mentees, but there you have it. One of these mentees wanted to do something as a mentoring group and she decided it should be a U of M women's basketball game. If anyone asks, these are pretty cool games to go to. It was only six bucks for us to get in with student IDs and there were plenty of seats. We didn't plan ahead and get tickets ahead of time, so it is good for procrastinators like ourselves. Also, the team is great and has a pretty good record, so go SUPPORT WOMEN ATHLETES.

Well, whatever, I'm there with my mentoring group, the boyfriend of my fellow mentor, and Biker Boy. My fellow mentor sees GOLDY THE GOPHER down the bleachers. Oh, boy. She's a undergrad alum. "WE NEED OUR PICTURE TAKEN WITH GOLDY!!"

That's right. I ended up stalking a mascot and then asking (or making her ask, I should say) the undergrad dressed up as a GOPHER to take a picture with us. And damned if I'm not excited as hell to see this damn picture.

Then I had to go to this Capital One web site where they are having a contest for the number one mascot of the year. You can vote up to once a day. Since Goldy was so nice to us yesterday, I have to vote for him.

My undergrad institution had two mascots - one male and one female. I think Minnesota should consider this.....

Bless the Broken Road

Sometimes there's a song that I listen to over and over and over and over again. Dozens of times in a row. Then I don't listen to the song for years. But every time I rediscover a song like this, it sets off waves where all I do is listen to the song. Songs from the past include Skid Row's "Wasted Youth," Juice Newton's "Angel of the Morning," and Garth's "Which One of Them." Just before Thanksgiving, I listened to "Which One of Them" dozens of times in Magenta. Dozens. Right now there's a Rascal Flatts song called "Bless the Broken Road" I can't seem to get enough of. There's a verse that says: I think about the years I spent just passin' through I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you But you just smile and take my hand You've been there, you understand It's all part of a grander plan. Yeah. If the decade of your twenties suck, I'm glad I'm here in this place where I am. Biker Boy really does sometimes just smile and take my hand and make me think everything is going to be all right. I volunteer for an organization that does court monitoring. Yeah. Once or twice a month, I take an afternoon off from school and go to the county courthouse and watch proceedings. Setencings, pre-trial hearings, motions of all sorts, I've sat through them all. It's weird because anyone, ANYONE, can just walk in and watch court. I have this shield because I'm with this well-established organization, but any Joe Blow off the street can come in and hang out in the gallery. Yesterday I watched a jury trial for an hour, among other things. Some guy accused of CSC 1. Criminal sexual conduct first degree. Basically he was accused of raping his stepdaughter. It wasn't all that exciting. There were a couple of witnesses on the stand and the jury sat in the jury box, watching the attorneys fire questions at the witnesses. Some jury members were quite attentive and you could see their eyes bounce from person speaking to person speaking. Some were not quite so attentive. They stared at the ceiling. They doodled in their notebooks. They never looked at the witness stand. The defendant was in custody, so there were a couple of sheriff's deputies in the courtroom as well. So the jury watched them, too. What does any of this mean? I have no idea. It bothered me that I know the name of the girl this man was accused of molesting. It bothered me that the jury got to go home and discuss the case over spaghetti with their spouses even through they're not supposed to. It bothered me that I assumed this man's guilt without thinking twice. It bothered me that stepdaughters are in danger. It made me even more angry about my roommate's somewhat strange obssession with defending Woody Allen's disgusting relationship with his mentally disabled stepdaughter. It made me angry that the one of the only two non-white faces in the courtroom was the defendant. It bothers me that I can't stop thinking about this trial. The nurse who did the exam on the alleged victim was on the stand. She had the great job of opening the evidence bags and showing the jury the clothes the victim was wearing when she came in for the rape exam. It was an OJ-like moment when she held up the jeans, white tank top, and pink t-shirt. I keep picturing some girl in a pink t-shirt going upstairs with her stepfather and getting punched and raped. I keep picturing this girl getting no support from her mother (who had told the police officer that her daughter was a whore) and crying all alone in her room at night. I picture this man getting raped himself while in jail. I see it all in my head. More than that, I picture this happening again and again and again all over the world, in all sorts of families, in all sorts of towns and homes. I can't stop thinking about it. Over and over again, everywhere I look I see violence. Horrors at home and horrors overseas. And sometimes it gets to me. Let's examine the statement Kobe Bryant made when he settled the criminal rape charge. "First, I want to apologize directly to the young woman involved in this incident. I want to apologize to her for my behavior that night and for the consequences she has suffered in the past year. Although this year has been incredibly difficult for me personally, I can only imagine the pain she has had to endure. I also want to apologize to her parents and family members, and to my family and friends and supporters, and to the citizens of Eagle, Colo. "I also want to make it clear that I do not question the motives of this young woman. No money has been paid to this woman. She has agreed that this statement will not be used against me in the civil case. Although I truly believe this encounter between us was consensual, I recognize now that she did not and does not view this incident the same way I did. After months of reviewing discovery, listening to her attorney, and even her testimony in person, I now understand how she feels that she did not consent to this encounter. "I issue this statement today fully aware that while one part of this case ends today, another remains. I understand that the civil case against me will go forward. That part of this case will be decided by and between the parties directly involved in the incident and will no longer be a financial or emotional drain on the citizens of the state of Colorado." Fuck you, Kobe. Yeah, I know. It's so hard to tell when people consent to sex. Fuck you. That statement is taped to my desk as a reminder of all the work we have to do. We can't keep dragging people's names through the mud. The girl who was raped in the trial I watched, I know her name. The girl in the Bryant case, everyone knows her name. Don't they have a right to not be victimized over and over and over again by the criminal justice system? Don't I have a right to know that if I were raped I could count on the police to protect me? And judges to not say my name in court? And my mom not to tell everyone I was a slut? But I have to think that some higher power has this in order for a reason. I'm unclear about religion or god(s), but I know that there hasn't to be a reason for this madness. So, until I figure it out, I will do my best to survive and help those who aren't so good at surviving. Because there's always another song that will be listened to over and over and over again.