Jason F.C. Clarke

I posted a comment over on the Ed Zone regarding the Pats-Colts game Sunday that was so long, I might as well post it here:

While I don’t like Manning (in that way you tend not to like people who are talented and aren’t at all humble about it and are overhyped and willing to shill for any product in existence so they’re constantly in your face), I’m happy for the people of Indianapolis. I mean, Boston has reveled in four major sports championships since February 2002, while Indianapolis has arguably felt the pain of pre-2004 Red Sox fans more than once in the same time frame. Obviously I would have preferred a Pats win, but, eh, this just doesn’t hurt as much as it might have.
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The beginning of the semester is the busiest time at work, so apologies for not getting a new post up here sooner.

As mentioned in my long-ago last post, I’m working on a review of the Xbox 360 game Gears of War. I should be able to get that up over the weekend. Speaking of which, GO PATS!

Okay, so there’s a lot of ground to cover since my last post…Christmas in LA, my birthday, and a brief review of the game Gears of War, for starters. But I’ll try to spread those out over the next couple of weeks. To tide you over, here’s a New Year’s questionnaire I shamelessly stole from Robin.
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I thought I’d squeeze one last blog entry in before Christmas. Today I blog to you from sunny Simi Valley, where today temperatures were in the 50s…much like New England at the moment. I’m staying with DG’s family for my first Christmas away from home. As I jot this down, DG and her family are busily baking what appears to be hundreds of cookies.

And now I’d like to discuss something else: how little I enjoy flying.

I used to fly fine until a particularly turbulent cross-country flight in spring 2000. My good friend Ruth can attest to the Rainman-like state that flight reduced me to; by the end, I was rocking back and forth, listening to the Beatles’ “Eight Days a Week” on my MP3 player over and over. For the next three years, flying was an exercise in pure terror. The fear finally evaporated on a long return flight from San Francisco in summer ’03, where my hangover more or less forced me to forget about my fears.
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Apologies for the lack of updates, but there’s just not much to report lately.

DG is at a conference in San Diego this week, so I’ve had the apartment to myself. That means I get a whole week of the apartment relatively clean and uncluttered, the way I like it.

This week has confirmed for me that I am not the primary source of our apartment’s constant state of clutter. I have no doubt within a day of my beloved’s return there will be opened mail, knitting patterns, and half-empty bottles of Pepsi covering every square inch of the coffee table. And the thing about a coffee table is that it sets the tone for the whole apartment. It really ties the room together, y’know? So if the coffee table is a wreck, the living room looks like a wreck, and by extension, I’m a wreck. I am a wreck, of course, but I’d prefer new acquaintances discovered that on their own in due time, rather than getting a misleading, if accurate, picture upon viewing our coffee table.

But I kid my wonderful, forgiving girlfriend. Her tendency toward clutter is cute. And she’s a lot better than I am about the dishes, which are arguably much higher on the housecleaning pyramid, and have a greater potential to cause typhoid fever.
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