Five Things That Will Save You in English Courses

Everything I'm about to tell you is something you can trust. Why? Because I'm an English instructor. Also, I am friends with and converse often with other English instructors who teach a plethora (<
Why am I telling you this? Well, I'm not risking my life or anything. It's not a secret. Chances are your English prof has hinted at these five things in class. I'm here to tell you again and to emphasize how true these simple acts of English kindness really are.

So...if you want to make English courses easy on yourself, take these five things to heart.

5. Tricks are For Kids

I put my hands up, tricking out my paper, the butterflies fly away

If you are taking a beginning English course at a university, chances are your instructor is younger and KNOWS YOUR STUPID TRICKS! Making a period 32 pt size to get more spacing? Really? Adjusting the margins? Tweaking the font size, line spacing, indentation, or header? Dude, we have been there. We know these things. Also, 3 inch margins are super noticeable. This leads me to my next piece of advice...

4. Just do the Work

If eventually he'll write Shakespeare, you can write your %$^@# essay

Seriously. Just do it. It's really not that hard once you actually sit (or set, crap) your butt down to do it. Your instructor wants a 3-page paper on ethos, pathos, and logos. Do it! Tell your buddies to just back off for like one day and do the work. Also, if you know you are a slow writer, then waiting until 2:00 am the night before sounds like a disaster to me (and also like college). Most of your instructors are realistic. They know that 9.9/none of you have worked on this assignment for more than last night (there are outlying overachievers, but we'll leave them there). We don't expect you to etch your essay in gold. Just do it!

3. Do We have to Be LeVar Burton to Get you to Read?

This is LeVar Burton for the age impaired

Speaking of Nike, just do the readings too. Do you know why your teacher has you read articles or stuff from your book? Because he or she doesn't want to lecture you on thesis statements for an hour. Do you want that? Didn't think so. English instructors, for the most part, like to have class discussions where students can talk about issues happening in the now. Doesn't that sound better than a lecture on the semi-colon and its uses? Just read the assignment. It won't hurt you anymore than looking at your facebook feed (except during election season). Try to understand what you are reading,  retain it for class, and you just might fight yourself participating instead of sleeping with your shades on like a douchebag.

2. Conferences are not for their health

"Billy, your paper is you typing "oh shit" over and over"

Often, English instructors have conferences which means they set aside an allotted portion of time to meet with each student. First, let me tell you that even though many teachers cancel their classes this week, this isn't no joy ride, son. This is a long, tiring week where your teacher sees about 15-20 of you at least 4 of the 5 days from 8:00 to 4:00 and even later if they have grading. This isn't a vacation week like it is for you. Also, they prepare for these meetings. They read your rough drafts, mark on the paper, and are ready to give feedback. With conferences where you bring your draft, they are ready to help you make it better. And what do you do? Not bring it, not come, not nothing. Nada. Being stood up by a date is horrible, but by a student it is no better. Imagine making a mixed CD, giving it to your crush and they just throw it in the trash right in front of you. Feel those feelings? Feel them? Yeah. That's the tip of the iceburg, punk. Come prepared.

1. Those Marks on Your Paper Are not Hieroglyphics

"I Offer my Blue Inked words to the goddess of who ever reads this!"

So, you get your paper back from your teacher. Let's say it's a rough draft. You are suppose to make corrections. Guess what? IF YOU JUST DO WHAT IS MARKED YOU WILL GET A DECENT GRADE! Your prof spent hours marking all those papers, and it wasn't to appease some ink-savoring deity. Those words are for you, like little text messages on your paper. That's why you feel the wrath of God when you turn it in without taking the comments seriously! This is super simple and will save your soul. Also, when you get a paper with a grade, there is more (usually) than just a letter grade at the top. There are other markings written in a language called English that have these words that form sentences which tell you how to not screw up next time. 

Pride Number Five

Yesterday was the fifth Lexington Pride festival and probably the hottest in its history. Despite the oven-like temperatures, people from all across the tri-state area celebrated the GLBTQ community.

I've been to the Lexington Pride festival every year since 2008. The first year was very monumental for me. I had come out January of that year and just 6 months later I was walking through Cheapside letting my gay pride show to all of Lexington.

Pan the rainbow crowd

It was quite an experience to say the least. I went with my friend Robeij who had also recently come out. Together, we took some huge steps in maturing and developing as gay youth.

Wet homosexuals

Looking back, I can see how far I have come, how I started to realize that my identity as a person could never be summed up in one word, how I deserved more than what I settled for, how putting your happiness first isn't always selfish, and how powerful it is when people unite together for a common cause.

Dance like nobody's watching

The above picture is from Lex Pride 2009. I love this picture, because I remember this as a moment of hope for me. Many of us, especially in the gay community, face such adversity in our relationships. Those of us who are "out" still live in fear of persecution, religious altercation, and societal judgement in general. Seeing these two women dance and show their lasting love for each other was beyond amazing.

After Pride 2009, the location moved to the courthouse due to growth! In a very short amount of time, this festival had some extreme growing pains and needed room. The 2010 Lex Pride also started having local and national sponsors.

We knew him and C3PO were close but not that close!

As I was looking through all my facebook albums for pictures, I noticed that I always caption it with "hot". I suppose Pride being a hot, homorific day is not all that new.

I'm not sure if the leotard is scarier or the hand that is coming to get me

The outfits at Pride (any year) are always a hoot. This particular fella from Pride 2011 was great. From the frontview, nothing was left to the imagination. I'm pretty sure I could have told you what his kids would look like. 

Pride 2011 was an extra special year, because it was the first Pride that Emily and I went to as a couple. This is not to say I haven't gone to Pride with a girlfriend before, but, for me, going with Emily was great in that she got to see that it is possible to create a world where we can hold hands. We don't have to hide behind closed doors or around close friends. 

<3

So that brings us to Lexington Pride 2012. This was a great year in and of itself. We got to see so many people that we love. And, to me, I saw so many more gay parents this year with their children. It was heartwarming and hopeful. We signed the rainbow truck, had some beer, watching some drag shows, talked with friends, rain through a fountain, drank our weight in water, ate great food, and loved every minute and every one of it. 

LeeBroSto made it on the truck

Wicked

Here is my latest short story called "Wicked." 

It is pretty short, so I hope you'll humor me with reading it. Thanks!

Wicked

LeAnn Stokes

The door closed behind her, and she stepped into the liquid light of the nearby streetlamps. Down the sidewalk, she tripped on a dislodged piece of concrete and let out a curse into the midnight air. Although she didn’t fall, the impact smashed her big toe, and the blood slipped from the cracked toenail onto her high-heeled shoes. She limped to a bus stop bench a few yards away and pulled her leg over her knee. The blood was already drying and clinging to her shoes, and a pool had formed in the arch of her foot. She looked back to the dislodged concrete and noticed a trail of blood drops and smears.

            She reached for her clutch purse and realized it was not underneath her arm but had fallen into the grass where she tripped. Putting both hands on the bench, she hoisted herself up with as little pressure on the foot as possible and limped towards the grass. She left a weaker trail as she struggled to somehow hop one-legged to the lawn. Losing her balance, she instinctively set her hurt foot down and yelped from the pain that shot up from her toe to her teeth. The pain prostrated her, and she crawled the rest of the way.

            With the purse in her mouth, she inched back to the bench and pulled herself onto the seat. When she looked down, she noticed that the rough concrete had scratched up her knees. She reached into her purse and pulled out her pocket mirror and some tissues. Her hair was not as bad as the make-up which ran amuck down her face like runaway graffiti artists.  She dabbed at her face and said as the tissue just smeared the make-up worse.

            She clapped the mirror shut and stared at the headlights approaching. She grabbed her purse and went to stand, momentarily forgetting her injury. The pain sent her back down to the bench, and the bus zoomed passed the stop. She yelled and flipped off the back of the bus as it disappeared down the congested street. She reached into purse and pulled out her phone. She pushed the power button over and over and then threw it onto the blacktop. As she cried, she pulled her mirror and tissues back out and tried using the tears to clean the make-up off her face.

            The sound of an approaching vehicle caused her to clap the mirror shut again. She rose slightly from the bench, but noticed that the headlights were too small. As she began to re-open her mirror, she saw her phone lying in the street. The oncoming car was quickly approaching as she pulled herself off the bench and started limping to the road. As she stepped onto the blacktop, the car screeched its tires and swerved in her direction.

           

He woke up in a cheap hotel as the sun illuminated the room in hallowed beams of dust and dead skin. The TV had been playing all night, recapping the same scene over and over. He had put a pillow over his head to muffle the noise, but he wanted to see the pictures. He saw her laying on the side of the road. Her body twisted; her mouth in a wicked grin.

            She was leaving him. She told him after they sat up naked in his bed. Her hair was disheveled, and she ruined her make-up with a sudden outburst of tears. She hated him. He could feel it. As she began to dress, he felt that even the scent of her clothing permeated the room with loathing. He asked her why. He accused her of cheating, and she laughed while buckling the straps on her shoes. She asked him if he had any cigarettes.  He opened the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out half a pack of cheap menthols.  She drew one from the pack and produced a small lighter from her purse. He took one as well and puffed in short, abrupt draws. 

            She was on her second cigarette before he began to plead with her. He suggested couples therapy or even hypnosis. After taking a long drag, she asked him if she could use his phone. He started yelling at her. He called her vain and selfish. He accused her of prostituting and giving him genital warts. The curl of her cigarette smoke wrapped around her like a shroud. He knocked the cigarette out of her mouth and let it fall to the carpet. He screamed and began to pound on the night stand until it cracked and splintered.

            She grabbed her purse and tucked it under her arm. He was still in bed looking at his hands, bewildered at the redness flowing down his arm. She side-stepped around piles of junk on the floor and went to the door. She turned the knob and stopped in the doorway. He looked up from his hands in time to see her standing halfway into the night giving him that same wicked smile.

Twenty-Six Going on Eighty

In some ways, I feel that at any moment I'm going to purchase some tennis balls and canes. It seems that upon turning twenty-six an impending sense of "old" has crept into my life like no other moment. My girlfriend keeps me young (giggity), but here are my top five reasons for feeling like a geezer on this side of twenty-five.

#5 My Bedtime

At 7:30, I take these glasses off, big boy

I was talking to the girlfriend the other night, and I sort of freaked her out. In an outburst of excitement I said, "Hey , babe! How about we snuggle down at 9:30 and read for a bit. Sounds fun?" After calming her down, I ensured her that I wasn't using bengay (despite my minty smell) and hadn't yet purchased any tennis balls. In my defense, I work...a lot and hard. It is very hard for me to party all night and still get up for work. *sigh*

#4 What excites me...

This is a very naught, naughty book. The hold hands on page 5.

There was a time when I found myself at parties with drinks, glow sticks, black lights, wads of cash, scantly clad women, and *ahem* *cough* *cough*. Now, it seems that the part of my brain that gets excited has truly dulled. As an English person I do not begrudge myself the fact of loving a good book; however, I have done a bit of couponing. I think the low point for me was the palpitations of my heart after seeing a "buy one get one free" sign. *sigh*

#3 Using the Word "Whippersnapper"

In my day, we had to text using only a number pad none of the qwerty keyboard shit

Now, I do not believe that I am an ageist, but I do find myself looking at those younger than me and realizing their naivety and wondering if I ever looked so....dumfounded for lack of a better word. I suppose it is just that I now see how I once looked: ambitious, dreamy, hopeful...and relatively idiotic. *chuckle* *sigh*

#2 Connoisseur not Drinker

One more of these and someone's going to be in my lap....for a story!

I completely believe that drunken nights on cheap Vodka and Everclear are a right of passage for college. I mean, we even came up with hooch, a drink of mixed shit with high alcohol content. "It's not about the taste!"  We yell with solo cups in hand. "It's about the party!" As I shimmy into my evening slippers, I search through my bottles of high-end, foreign and domestic beers, seeing what I would like to try. I yell from the kitchen, "Well, dear, let's try this beer. It has a low percent, but it seems to have lemon zest in it. How fetching!" There would be a cigar in this scene, but when you date a nurse, cigars are always missing from scenes such as these.

#1 The R Word

Uncle Sam had a sex change, but he still wants you

Responsibility. I'll give you a moment to stop cringing upon reading this word.....chilling, isn't it? There was a time when we all threw up our middle fingers and told the Man to do his own bidding. We listened to Mr. Dylan and the Beatles on our recently purchased record players, smoking toasts to free love and peace. Well, perhaps not that far, but we have all wanted to shank that bitch Responsibility. This R word is what makes us get early in the morning, go into massive amounts of loan debt, and decide not to go to Frankie's end of the semester party the night before our big final. However, the R word does not seem so bad to me now. It's sort of like someone who used to not be your friend, but now is. It's still kind of awkward, but you don't mind them visiting and chatting for a few minutes. *face palm*

Look it Up!

Everyone thinks the the "look it up" mentality is a phenomenon. What I am referring to here is the idea that any time anyone is clueless about a certain piece of information, we immediately go to the internet to..well.."look it up." We have turned Google into a verb as well as IMDB (despite the clunky sound). With iPhones, smartphones, and even most pre-paid "cheap" phones, we have access to limitless amounts of information.

This concept is not new, not if you were raised like I was. Despite my family's modest means, we always manged to have access to dictionaries, thesauruses, and encyclopedias. Whenever I came upon information I didn't know, which was usually vocabulary, I would ask my mom who in turn would tell me to "Look it up."

In case you were thinking they were digital

After I got older, I began to believe that this response was because she was too prideful to admit that she didn't know the answer. After I looked a word up without asking her, I would drop the word into normal conversation to see if she looked confused. She never did.

The older I get the more I realize how much smarter my mother is than I am. All the time I spent trying to exploit why she made me look things up for myself was time spent learning vocabulary and history. It also taught me how to learn things for myself and even self-teach to some extent.

Some people say that the internet is making us stupid, and there may be logic to that, but I cannot help but wonder if those of us who love to "look it up" had folk who pushed us to always know more.

Bad Etiquette for Zombie Enthusiasts

On May 26th, police killed a man who was nakedly eating another man's face. The man who was attacked is recouping at a Miami hospital with obvious wounds to his head and also to his legs.

Because of the zombie-like behavior of the man, this Huffington post article has been shared almost 60,000 times with as many as 250,000 likes. What is scarier than the drugged out, disturbed individual in is article is the compassion, common decency, and humanism missing from my Facebook feed and from comments on the article itself. It seems this article has spurred zombie enthusiasts into their own feeding frenzy, clogging up their posts with jokes about melee weapons, guns, and other supplies necessary for a zombie apocalypse.

Now, before someone starts whining about me "ruining all their fun" and "it was only a joke" let me say that I am a huge fan of the zombie entertainment industry; however, you can be damn well sure I don't want a zombie apocalypse to happen even if it could (in the way portrayed by Hollywood anyways).Putting the joking about a man's death aside, there is nothing appealing about a zombie apocalypse. 

I highly doubt these will be your post-apocalyptic procreation choices

Besides being hunted every day of your life until you eventually die (sooner rather than later), your time will consist of foraging for food, learning weapons, contending for alpha(fe)male, building fortresses, tearing down fortresses, moving....in other words, think about that History Channel special about prehistoric men who may have lived during the dinosaurs and multiple that by your lucky number.

This isn't a joke, kids. This is a man's life. If you actually read the article and/or watch the video, you will notice that they say that the man was likely coked out of his mind. This is a very sad story, and I don't think the family of the man who almost died would appreciate the zombie nonsense.

Thoughts on a Side Story: J. Edgar

No plot spoilers that aren't in history

Last night I watched J. Edgar with some friends, and it turned out to be a better movie than expected. I'll shed some historic light on it, so you won't have to refer to Wikipedia constantly after the movie to understand what's going on. J. Edgar Hoover (no relation to Herbert Hoover, 31st president) is famous  for having started and directed the FBI. So, the movie is pretty much how the FBI comes to life, what J. Edgar has to do to make that happen, the crimes that take place, backlashes, adversity, etc. 

What I am more interested in are the side stories. This movie takes into account the rumor that J. Edgar was a closeted homosexual and had a relationship with Clyde Tolson, the associate director of the FBI. I believe that albeit this was a rumor which  could have exploited, it was actually represented very tastefully. It shows a confused J. Edgar who seems extremely tormented by his sexuality. And this story, which is gingerly touched on, is what truly affected me from the movie.

Tolson and Hoover in 1939

It affected me to think of how tormented poor J. Edgar was and how he lived his life the truest he could with Tolson and with apparently little to no physical contact. Of course, this movie focuses on Hoover, but what about Tolson, the man who reportedly loved Edgar for the rest of his life? He stayed his companion to the very end, so much so that he was Hoover's heir and inherited all he had. I'm sure Tolson would have traded that inheritance for one moment when they could have been true to themselves without fear.