Microsoft has been pimping itself all over the TV recently with an advertisement that features Jerry Seinfeld and Bill Gates. It is brutal. Not only does Bill Gates look like ET, but Jerry is chubby and not funny. If you're going to be chubby, it's fine; but, if you're not making anyone laugh, then what good are you? Just ask Jason Alexander. Loser.
The discussion in class was interesting because I never realized what an asset Answers.com can be. I always just thought it was another crappy search engine. In truth, though, the page summaries that were returned looked to be glorified Wikipedia pages. Which is OK if that's what you're looking for.
Edutopia, George Lucas' educational initiative was intriguing because who would have thought that the Star Wars guy was such an education buff. Good for him, because not enough celebrities care, whether it's education, AIDS or reading programs, there is never enough.
"Start with the Pyramid: Real World Issues Motivate Students" was a wonderful article. I have always thought that the manner in which school runs is a bit archaic. And I do not mean that in a bad way. The world is advancing, however, and schools are being left behind.
I particularly liked the architecture project by Mountlake Terrace High School, in Washington, where students developed a futuristic classroom for the year 2050. Their research proposal/scale drawings/budgets were then submitted to a panel of professional architect where a winner was chosen.
What it comes down to is that there is only so much book work that can be done. After a while, you just have to get out into the field and do it. George Lucas is doing it because he cares. And because his pockets are just a little bit bigger than his stomach.
Bill Gates' new commercial, however, does not get it done. At all.
A Game of Solitaire and the Toilet Seat:: Knowing When You're too Young to Grow Up.
“You see, Angeee,” my father said. “This is why I always say leave early. We would’ve beat this shit weather if you had got your ass in gear.”
I didn’t know whether to say sorry or fuck you, so I just sat quiet as my mother stroked my bowing head. A quick shoulders/back work out gave me a slight hunch that my mother might have confused for dejection.
“Italian leather is so soft, Dave. Have you ever felt Italian leather,” Grandma said to my father, who wasn’t going to respond, until my mother pinched him. Grandma really was tapped, I thought to myself.
“Dave, my mother just asked you a question,” my mother said with the authority of a wife who actually has sex with her husband.
"And I would have answered her if you gave me a friggin’ chance. My mind is on driving,” he stammered. Sucking wind like a smoker on the track, my father calmed himself down enough to answer grandma. “Liv, I used to haul furniture, come on. And we have one in the house, a sofa. You know, in the living room. You were sitting on it today.” My father was particularly agitated today and he had absolutely no time for grandma’s meanderings.
“Italian leather, Andrew, do you know how soft it is,” grandma said, as she looked straight ahead. Her face didn’t even move and I wondered if she was already dead and her voice merely a recording.
My father weaved in and out of lanes like aBoston
I was compelled to have the last word in my fruitless, running argument with my father. “This weather sucks,” I muttered under my breath as we pulled up to the check in. “I shouldn’t have even signed up for this fuckin’ trip, I swear. Sucks. Absolutely sucks.” The rain now splashed down on the car in waterfall increments I did not want to move.
“Ange, stop already!” my father’s voice began to rise. “Would you have rather been the person everyone was waiting for?”
“I would have rather been the person who called in to cancel his ticket,” I spitefully commented, knowing that this would surely get him steamed.
“Well next time, you pay for your own goddamn trip!” he growled, and before I could respond, he looked at me in his rearview and said, “Just get the fuck out of the car.” Our goodbyes would have to be said over the phone.
With a huff, I slid the van door open, grabbed my duffle bag and rejected my mother’s reaching eyes. Before the door even had time to click closed, my father skidded out and nearly side swiped a bus. And the rain remained persistent as I stood outside the terminal and tried to turn my head 360 degrees to capture every instance of life. Or maybe I wanted to break my own neck, I’m not sure.
I didn’t know whether to say sorry or fuck you, so I just sat quiet as my mother stroked my bowing head. A quick shoulders/back work out gave me a slight hunch that my mother might have confused for dejection.
“Italian leather is so soft, Dave. Have you ever felt Italian leather,” Grandma said to my father, who wasn’t going to respond, until my mother pinched him. Grandma really was tapped, I thought to myself.
“Dave, my mother just asked you a question,” my mother said with the authority of a wife who actually has sex with her husband.
"And I would have answered her if you gave me a friggin’ chance. My mind is on driving,” he stammered. Sucking wind like a smoker on the track, my father calmed himself down enough to answer grandma. “Liv, I used to haul furniture, come on. And we have one in the house, a sofa. You know, in the living room. You were sitting on it today.” My father was particularly agitated today and he had absolutely no time for grandma’s meanderings.
“Italian leather, Andrew, do you know how soft it is,” grandma said, as she looked straight ahead. Her face didn’t even move and I wondered if she was already dead and her voice merely a recording.
My father weaved in and out of lanes like a
I was compelled to have the last word in my fruitless, running argument with my father. “This weather sucks,” I muttered under my breath as we pulled up to the check in. “I shouldn’t have even signed up for this fuckin’ trip, I swear. Sucks. Absolutely sucks.” The rain now splashed down on the car in waterfall increments I did not want to move.
“Ange, stop already!” my father’s voice began to rise. “Would you have rather been the person everyone was waiting for?”
“I would have rather been the person who called in to cancel his ticket,” I spitefully commented, knowing that this would surely get him steamed.
“Well next time, you pay for your own goddamn trip!” he growled, and before I could respond, he looked at me in his rearview and said, “Just get the fuck out of the car.” Our goodbyes would have to be said over the phone.
With a huff, I slid the van door open, grabbed my duffle bag and rejected my mother’s reaching eyes. Before the door even had time to click closed, my father skidded out and nearly side swiped a bus. And the rain remained persistent as I stood outside the terminal and tried to turn my head 360 degrees to capture every instance of life. Or maybe I wanted to break my own neck, I’m not sure.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
As a writer, you have a very clever way with words to intrigue the reader. Microsoft is doing a multi-million dollar ad campaign against Mac to win the war on Vista. I understand what you mean about the commercial though; let's hope the newer ones get better.
Thanks for consolidating your comments and making them brief. Yes, it is surprising that George Lucas is doing all this work and spending millions of dollars.
Now, go ahead and see the extended commercial in your leisure time. Here's the tinyurl that I created just for you: http://tinyurl.com/58vrxq. Enjoy!
ارقام شركات مكافحة الحشرات بالرياض
Post a Comment