What's The Point/Dot/Period?

Oh small, filled-in circle, how you confound me!

At the end of a sentence you are a period (or a full stop for our British friends).

In between radio station call numbers you are a point.

When I'm typing in Web addresses you are a dot.

Identity crisis much?

No Coencidence

I'm afraid my blog title makes me look like a pretentious jerk. I may still be a pretentious jerk (I hope not), but the blog title is not indicative of that.

Allow me to explain.

It has been years since I have written steadily. I decided about three years ago to pursue editing rather than writing. One can often make more money and ascend faster as an editor than a writer. For the past three years I have put correcting the poor writing of others above churning out the poor writing of myself. As one who loves to write, I feel the loss.

Most who know me recognize that I am a cinephile. My favorite collaborative pair behind the camera is the Coen brothers. They have written, directed and produced some of the more thought-provoking pictures I've ever seen. If the name doesn't strike a chord, they're responsible for "O Brother, Where Art Thou?", "Fargo" and "The Hudsucker Proxy." One of their harder-to-find films is "Barton Fink" — starring John Turturro as the titular character and John Goodman as his "friend" Charlie.

*** SPOILER WARNING *** Barton is a playwright who is beginning to earn praise on Broadway when he gets an offer to write for the moving pictures in Hollywood. Barton accepts and is told to write a formulaic wrestling flick for his first go-round. As he begins to write, distractions pile up, and he finds himself in writer's hell: He suffers a complete mental block. Charlie attempts to help Barton get his groove back. He also may be a serial killer. The Coens are notoroius for developing films that have multiple meanings; this is my interpretation: It is apparent in "Barton Fink" that Barton has found himself in hell (either literal or figurative). Charlie (who may be part of Barton's imagination or may be the devil himself) gives Barton his mind back. In the climactic scene, Charlie runs down a fiery hallway yelling, "Look upon me, and I'll show you the life of the mind!" After the exchange, Barton's pen is flowing again.

I titled my blog after Charlie's threat/warning/declaration. This blog represents an opportunity for me to exercise (exorcise) my writing mind. Hope this clarifies the matter. I am no mind, I am just trying to know mine.

*** CINEPHILE PRATTLE WARNING *** I warned earlier of spoilers, but I didn't give away enough of the film to keep someone from watching. I invite anyone to see the film and judge for himself or herself what the relationships, settings and events in the picture represent.

The Other Side Of The Lectern

Today is national talk like a pirate day. I'd like to think I did my part.

"Mr. Beauchamp, what is the thinking process of the reporter?"

Aaarrgh.

I gave my first exam today. As usual (?) students were trying to get last-minute answers out of me before D-Period began. Other students were hurriedly perusing their notes for little nuggets to commit to memory (rather than actually learning).

All in all I feel like the exam went well. I reviewed with the students last class period and told them more than they would need to know about what was going to make up the exam. I told them there would be about 50 questions and that the test would be worth 200 points. Groans all around. Shocked faces twisted in wonderment that I would dare make the average question worth four points. Where did I get off...? I quickly explained that there were 1350 points available in this course, and that I wanted the exams to be weighted accordingly. I said, "If you fail a test it will drop your overall grade by one letter." Good thing this is print news writing and not statistics.

As for the exam itself, I included just about every kind of question one could want. I started off with an oldie but a goody: multiple choice. Next, to set the mood right, I threw in a pinch of true/false, followed closely by a section of matching. To showboat I rustled up some short answer. The exam also included some listing, identification and I had the students write a lead based on six reported facts.

We'll see how the scores line up, but I think I made the test simple enough for everyone to pass if they put in a couple hours of study. But you never know with college students. I'm sure I'll hear a bevy of excuses come next Tuesday.

I just hope no one offers up "a touch of the scurvy."

Why I Am A Sports Fan

I've thought about this topic for some time now. I have literally cried over baseball — specifically Dodger baseball. So many highs and lows for sports and me.

I guess my illogical love for baseball is similar to my equally illogical love of playing golf. In both endeavours I have dealt with more than my fair share of failure. In both the humiliation was often so deep I swore them off — at least for a minute or two. What brings me roaring back to two of my greatest passions are the triumphant moments that are so few and far between. In golf I'll triple bogey a hole (or worse), swear to sell my clubs on eBay, then sink a birdie putt and dance the tango with my putter.

Baseball is a little different; I have no control over the game. However, I feel every J.D. Drew strikeout, every Chad Billingsley walk, every Padre victory. I take everything so personally. Many a day has been ruined for me by a poor Dodger performance.

Then nights like last night happen. I could prattle on about why I love this game and how it affects me, but stories like this say more than I ever could.

One Of Those Days

Woke up today. Wish I could will myself to do it. Sometimes I get anxious about the day's trouble so I never actually have any sleep to wake up from. Today wasn't one of those days.

Maybe it should have been.

I have been in my new job as instructor of communication and director of student publications for two months now. Last Friday marked the second issue of the Bison, the student newspaper at HU. We publish semimonthly, so the first issue was Sept. 8. The first issue I went to bed at 6:30 a.m. on Thursday. Our deadlines are always on Thursday, so Wednesday nights aren't very conducive for sleep. So last Thursday I got to bed at 4:30 a.m. Getting better. I got back up to the office at 10 a.m. the same day. I made some quick edits, and my assistant and I packaged and uploaded the paper to a disc. We beat deadline by 30 minutes, so things were seemingly going well.

Friday we delivered the paper to on-campus newsstands. Students are always eager to leaf through our 12 pages of small-college news while downing chicken biscuits and ruby-red grapefruit juice. Arriving back at the office, the editor pointed out a mistake that had made it into the paper. Turns out the staff had granted someone an incorrect title. I tell my students (ad nauseum) credibility is the lifeblood of any publication (at least any publication that doesn't feature doctored photos of Saddam and Osama as secret lovers). Needless to say we had a small problem on our hands.

Friday I was granted a reprieve from hearing about our error. I headed to Tulsa to visit a friend and forget the Bison. Today the piper came calling. I received not one but two visits from concerned individuals about the mistake. I understand their concern. I was perturbed when I found out on Friday. We will be running a retraction next Bison. Still, I get the feeling when I get visitors it will only be regarding problems instead of praises. It's all eerily similar to my last job as a copy editor at a medium-sized daily. The only time you would hear from the bosses (or anybody for that matter) would be when you would screw up. I think this is the nature of the newspaper business. I guess HU is just a microcosm of the professional world. I suppose I expected something different with a position in which I am supposed to be the acting publisher. The publishers at the papers I've worked for in the past never heard from the ownership groups unless there was a problem with money. I'm lucky not to have to fumble too much with money. I don't have to fire anyone because of budget concerns. I don't have to deal with the irreligious views of coworkers.

At the end of the day, I am thankful to God for this job. Outside of Wednesday nights, I work reaasonable hours, and I get to serve in a sort of mentor position. Despite the criticism of the day, I really feel like I am making a difference. I feel like I am doing something important. I feel a charge to inspire my students/staffs to greatness, and I think they respect me for it. Best of all, I am fulfilling a dream I have had to work in higher education — especially at an institution whose ideals I mostly share.

Hope I never wake up.