E-Mail

I should also add that there is a new way to get in contact with me (because I know you want to):

mrvestgetsschooled@gmail.com

I wanted to have it be mrvestgetsemail@gmail.com because that is devastatingly clever, but for the sake of continuity I stuck with the other one.

So please send your thoughts, ideas and the last place you saw Anderson Cooper so I can find him myself.  If you're funny I'll give you your own post.  How's that for an incentive?

On Underdeveloped Undergraduates

I have a job on campus.  I’m one of the lucky kids who received federal work study.  Is it demanding?  No.  It is stressful?  Sometimes when I get a paper cut.  Is it “blog-a-ble?”  Ah-yes!

My workplace deals with undergraduates, both current students and admissions candidates.  Now, I’m not going to mention actual names of students I interact with or my co-workers (who are just fabulous), but there are some things that are very much worth mentioning.

Look, I can understand why people want to go to this school.  For years it is pounded into their head that it is “the best” and being admitted here will lead to a life of glamour, intrigue, and those parties where tiny, tiny quiches are served.

Before arriving here, I too had some of those thoughts and how could you not (thankyouverymuch Elle Woods)?  Though, as the months passed and I have interacted with a lot of people here, I can’t help but look at the undergraduates and think, “Are these really the best and brightest?”  Allow we me to provide you with two examples:

1) A kid comes in with a letter and a piece of paper, comments that he needs to mail it.  Blank stares because saying, “Then mail it, douche” isn’t a very kind thing to say.  But here’s the thing:  he didn’t know how to mail a letter.  We had to instruct him how to do it.  He was dumfounded with every step. 

A few of you may be thinking, “How often to people send letters today anymore?” and to that I counter AAA, credit card companies, and friends who are shoving their marriages in your face (Congrats, by the way! Can’t wait!) 

This kid had not a clue on how to address and stamp an envelope.  After the mini-lesson was done, he just stood their, mouth agape. 

“Now what?” he says.

“You mail the letter.”

“How?”

(face slap) “You put it in a mailbox.”

“A what?”

IamnotevenkiddingyoupeopleIswear.

2) Another winner enters with a form all students have to turn in to verify their status.  On it, they have to include the ages of family members.  His head is about to explode.

“I don’t know how old my family is.”

“Um…okay,” the front desk crew says trying hard not to ‘side-eye’ each like Michelle here:

“BUT,” he says, “I do know what year they were born in.”

“Ok,” one of us says and we go back to work.

“My dad was born in 1968.  How old is that?”

Computer says, what?!  Boy, come on.  He just stared at me until I answered, “43.”

“Cool!” and he scribbles it down followed by this question: “How about 1995?”

I provided the ages to his family members, all the while quite surprised that I had to do this in the first place.  Aren’t these kids supposed to be “running the country” someday, like every person on campus tells them from day one of matriculation?

Jennifer Connelly help us.

I guess what this amounts to is that these kids do incredibly well at one thing (like biology or literature or talking about themselves) so much so that all of the other subjects just kind of don’t get as...developed?  Like me and monitoring when to say no to a fourth helping.

Jam(s) of the Week: Robyn

Like anybody with a pulse, I like to think I have pretty good taste in music.  Beginning now, I'll put up a jam of the week to give you, fair readers, something to whistle to while you "work."  I wouldn't categorize myself as a music snob at all (this is proven by the fact that I. Can't. Wait. for the new Britney Spears album).  Simply put, I like anything that will fit into the daily dance parties I stage in my bedroom (with the curtains pulled, mind you...nobody needs to see that).

In deciding who to highlight first, only one name came to mind:  Robyn.

Most of you are asking, "Who?" Chances are, if you aren't fashionable gay man and his gal pal, you probably don't know who she is.  Robyn, see, broke into the mainstream with "Show Me Love" back in 1998.

Ding, ding...now you know who we are talking about.  But this ain't no pop princess, see...she is so much more than that- and, frankly who Lady Gaga wishes she could be.

Last month, I went to her concert at the House of Blues Boston along with the entire gay population of Boston and the surrounding 'burbs.  It was like a gay explosion.  Truth be told, I've never seen a fan base like this and have neh-ver seen a performer knock it out of the ball park with each song.  For serious, when the last few songs from her album dropped on YouTube, I practically wet myself.  (too much?)

I could go on and on and on and on (and on) about her, so let's have the jams speak for themselves.  I should note that I'm not aware of any other artist that will make you want to dance and sing along to songs about heartbreak, but bada-bing! she does it:





If you need something on the "lighter" side, here ya goooooo:



So, enjoy and embrace your inner dance hall queen.

On Fiber

As a youngin’, I thought fiber was just that “thing” old people ate because they couldn’t do their business and I was not an old person who ate food in order to do my business.  That was just a nice surprise.  I only knew of fiber because a grandmother at one time ordered me to eat prunes in order to “cleans myself.”  I argued with her, stating that I take enough showers, thank you very much.

Like any self-respecting adolescent (HA), anything that remotely alluded to doing “my business” was off limits in discussion.  I avoided anything that I knew had fiber in it for years.  Instead, I just ate my weight in cheese.  Repeatedly.

Recently, however, I’ve been on a bit of a health food and exercise kick (with the exception of frequent burritos).  Now, this isn’t meant to change my life or fulfill me with newfound organic energy, blah blah blah.

I just want to look good without clothes on, okay?  Fine.  O-kay.

In all of these books whose covers have guys without their shirts on, I am told to up my fiber.  Much to my chagrin, I began eating prunes, which, thanks to a traumatizing episode of “Rugrats,” I have always avoided.  I don’t understand why people get all orgasmic over certain foods, because prunes are probably the least sexy and exotic of anything ever in the history of the world.

Mr. Vest can’t deal with something so unsexy, so I sought my fiber elsewhere.  Almonds are sexy because you can look menacing while eating one.  Say someone gives you lip and all you have to do is pop one in your mouth, crunch, and those scrubs will Let.  You.  Be.  I often used this technique with my former students.

“Mr. Vest I don’t want to do this work right now!”

“Oh?” CRUNCH.

“Ok, Mr. Vest, I’ll do it,”

“That’s what I thought.”  CRUNCH.

That second “crunch” was probably unneeded, but I wasmakingapointleavemealone.

Anygay, I’m upped my fiber and haven’t thought much of it.  You know how you just follow instructions without even realizing why you are doing it in the first place?  This was one of those cases.

Until I saw this commercial for some woman’s health bar that explained to me how fiber worked.  OH!  So you eat less but it fills you up more and then you get it out of your system!  Advertising rocks!  Fiber rocks!  Six-pack abs, here I come!

Now, I don’t feel embarrassed when I buy the cereal with extra fiber.  “Yes, cashier, I AM taking care of my body and I DO feel good.  Do you have a handsome son that is looking for love?”

On Spring Break

Ah, Spring Break.  This week has been crazy:  massive house parties, streaking across a crowded beach, back massages galore, AND I got arrested and made "friends" with a butch guy named Stone. 

ORRRRRRRRR I'm at my work study job.  Answering phone calls.  Typing on this stupid (editor's note: amazing) blog.

In college, I spent my breaks either spending way too much money in a foreign land in an attempt to feel cultured...or I did service trips.  The service trips were actually the most fun.  I mean, who knew West Virginia could be so joyous?!  No one?  Okay fine, moving on.

The concept of a "Spring Break" seems kind of silly now (for someone at the deathly age of 27).  Even when I was 22, I felt like I just couldn't keep up with it anymore.  I mean, do the kids have to play their music so loud?

As a teacher, it was the time of the year where I just needed to sleep and recollect.  This year, I find myself formatting resumes and getting increasingly nervous about finding a job after graduation.  PARTY! 

Though, the weather is creeping up to almost 70 degrees today in good 'ol Cambridge.  I love it when the weather gets marginally high in this city, because people freak the F out.  Nobody is wearing clothes right now.  I put on my sandals this morning and felt completely on top of the world.

My feet are bare and I can accomplish anything as long as I put my mind on it.  I mean, who needs body shots?

On Fridays

This video is everywhere (stop complaining), but if you haven't seen it, watch it first before you continue:



Yes, it's bad...but it is wonderfully bad.  I would wager that there is so much more that is right than is wrong with it.  First- you really have to give this girl props.  She's really into her days of the week and document ing when they happen using prepositional phrases.  Secondly, she is ballsy enough to stand on a bench and sing over her friends at someone else's party.  She's so excited about her Friday that she forgets to use verbs, people.  That's pure.

My only issue- yes, the only one- is why is confused on where to sit in her friend's car.  Front seat?  Back seat?  Girl, there is only one seat available, so sit dowwwn.  Why is she confused?  Because it's "Fried Egg?"

People always complain about how awkward it is to see 25 or 30 year olds play teenage characters.  Well, this  is why that happens.  Real teenagers are gangly, embarrassingly uncool and need haircuts.  The children in this video can't even convincingly pump their fists in the air and shout, "Yeah."  That's something you learn to do sophomore year of college at some party where you end up throwing up after one too many White Russians (the drink?  the people?  You decide.).

I do wish she had focused on Wednesday at some point in this video.  Though, skipping sad Monday and shameful, shameful Tuesday was a good idea. 

On Crossing the Street

Last weekend, I attended a friend's birthday party in a nearby neighborhood.  The evening was a gas, complete with enchiladas, good friends (one of which who mistook fluff for sour cream), and En Vogue.

A few beverages were imbibed (Lime-aid, I swear) and people danced their pretty little faces off.  Taking into account that I am getting incredibly old (read:  27), by the time 12:30am came around I was ready to hit the hay. I left with two school friends of mine who eventually flagged down a taxi.  Instead of going with them, I decided to simply walk home because that's what a real man does.  He walks.

They obliged and I began in the direction of my apartment.  I mapped out how far it was on my phone and gulped when I realized it was two miles away.  Curse my manliness.

It was a warmer night than usual, so there was a bit of spring in my step.  Several meters ahead of me, I noticed a gentleman who continuously looked back in my direction.  I didn't think much of it, thinking he was probably trying to hail a cab.

I was wrong.

The frequency of his head turning sped up.  His glances began to take the form of studied looks.  Concern began to arise within me, because I was convinced he was about to rob me.  A game plan began to shoot through my head, which mainly involved me screaming and running in the opposite direction.

I could have crossed the street, but Iwasscaredoutofmymindpeopleshutup.

Eventually, he ducked into what I thought was a street.  As I inched closer, I realized that this was not a street, but a very creepy parking lot for a mechanics business.  I got my keys out, ready to strike (because a key would cause a lot of damage, apparently).

Then, I passed the lot.

And there was the guy.

Sitting with his pants down in full view and barking at me to come "help him out."

Um...I mean, really, what did this guy expect me to do?  Say, "Oh yes!  I thought you'd never ask!" and recreate a scene from "Queer as Folk?"  My standards aren't that high, but come on....

Instead of giving this gentleman what he wanted, I shouted, "NO!" and ran up my street. arms failing in all directions.

To quote En Vogue-and really, shouldn't we all?-

                                           "Never gonna get it" 

Lesson learned:  Always take a cab.

On Learning When to Not Step In

FLASHBACK, PEOPLE!

In my first year of teaching, I learned a valuable lesson:  Never try to break up a fight between students.  Especially if they are girls.

If you recall, my first teaching assignment was at a school where "Lean of Me II: Electric Whatthef*ck" would have taken place.  It was designed by someone whose portfolio consisted of multiple prisons and thought that having a school without windows was a great idea.  It was a real f'in beauty, this place.

I think because it lacked windows, it upped the crazy within some of the students.  That's why I totally swear by vitamin D.  Fights occurred often, but my students rarely got involved.  They were the youngest in the school and would have been complete morons to try to start something with older students.

Oh, but there are always exceptions to rules, aren't they?

Baby D (that was the nickname she gave herself and would refuse to answer me if I didn't refer to her by it) really, really, really hated A-Swag (this girl totally didn't understand why people called her "Ass Wag," but hellooooo No Child Left Behind).  It seems that A-Swag "disrespected" Baby D because she beat her in Pokemon and bragged about it to the other 8th graders....  Yep.

Tensions grew between the two for weeks until Baby D vowed one day she was going to "beat Ass Wag's ass down."  I grew concerned, because I didn't want any of my kids to get themselves hurt.  We didn't get along, per se, but I still cared very much about them.

The day was nearly over and Baby D did not make her move, so I was a bit relieved.  Of course, I shouldn't have put my guard down.  During my prep period (read:  the 40 minutes a day I spent crying in the library), I heard a huge commotion in a stairwell.

I raced over to a crowd of about 30 students shouting and cheering on Baby D and A-Swag.  The two were pummeling each other.  I had never seen anything like it.

The whole shebang kind of looked like this:

(Note: These people were fighting over tacos, so I totally support whoever started it.  You don't just skip someone in line when they are craving tacos.  Ever)

Hair was pulled, nails dug into skip.  I mean, this was brutal.

I decided to put on my Superman face and get between the two to break it up.  I put my arms out to shield their attacks from each other, but did not take into account that this probably would not make them stop.  At all.  Instead, I spent the next ten or so seconds getting my head beat in by these girls who didn't even realize I was there.  My head was probably knocked around six or seven times and, when the two girls were finally subdued by their friends, I fell to the ground.

In front of 30 middle schoolers...who all began laughing hysterically.  Yeah...clearly, I was the coolest teacher they ever had.

When Baby D realized what had happened, she apologized profusely but added, "Mr. Vest, you really shouldn't get in between two girls when they have to settle something."

"Duly noted, D-----"

"Excuse me?"

"Baby D...."

"Mmmhmm...that's what I thought you said."

If there had been a window close by, I would have jumped out of it.

On Libraries

I understand that some people are only able to “get things done” in a library setting.  They love the absolute silence, the camaraderie they feel as they steal glances at the other people holed up along with them, and feeling self-important because they are in a library.

I’m totally not that person.  I like being around chit-chat, music, coffee and scones.  Most of the time, I complete most of my readings and assignments at this rad café near my apartment that is populated by every type of lesbian you could ever imagine.  But, that’s for a different post.

When I do need to spend some quality time in a library, I need to get as far away from my fellow students as possible.  It’s not that I don’t enjoy their company- it’s quite the opposite, everyone is great.

I just think the education school’s library is ass ugly.  It’s gray, block-y and misshapen….and don’t get me started on the lack of quality snacks in the vending machines.  No Reese’s Pieces?  Un-ac-cep-ta-ble.

I’ve never truly had luck with college libraries.  My undergraduate school, just across the river, had an equally hideous library- one that I spent most of my first two years of college at because I thought I had to be there.  That’s what television had taught me about higher education, thankyouverymuch “Felicity” (GOD Ben where have you been all of my life?).

It was only until my third year of college where I began to veer away from it and do all of my assignments at a faux-trendy coffee shop across the street.  Perhaps that move lent itself to my GPA steadily decreasing over those years…or the fact that I finally came out (I KNOW) and began kissing people again.

That stuff distracts you.

Flash forward to present day.  The university I currently attend is known for some fabulous facilities because it is as old as dirt and I think it’s absurd that one of their libraries is so unattractive.

Which leads me to the law library whenever I can.  I mean- they have Latin written on their walls, cleaner bathrooms, and free coffee.  FREE.  COFFEE.  The added bonus is that, because I am in the education school and am surrounded by a cadre of harried law students, I am the most relaxed, calm person there.

The students around me have stacks of heavy law books, highlighted out the wazoo, and wouldn’t dare make a sound because they’ve seen “The Paper Chase” one too many times.  Meanwhile, I’m reading about “Sesame Street” and trolling around EW.com to see what Tina Fey is up to that day.  Note:  being awesome.

I take a bit of thrill in this, especially considering the fact that law students tend to not be the least friendly of graduate students here.  But they’ll also make $100,000 more than me when they are done so I GUESS it balances out.  Isn’t life fair?

Other Ed school students- who have also escaped the traps of their assigned library- have admitted to feeling the same way.  I think it helps balance out the crazy we see with our own classmates and makes us realize that we have it pretty good.

Even though some of our buildings won’t win any awards for being visually stimulating (in a positive sense), we all think it’s pretty cool that we are where we are.

Free coffee can do that to people. 

On Burritos

I don't know what it is about being in an academic setting that makes one crave burritos, but for the love of god- it's become a problem...and when I say "problem" I mean nothing of the sort.  Around campus, there are at least five places to get one...and three more on the way home.  I get weak in the knees over them and often find myself choosing them over nachos.

NACHOS- the food of the gods and Mr. Vest!  How could it be that another food could usurp the crown?

There is a Boston institution, Anna's Taqueria, that is mere steps from my apartment.  For years they never took credit cards, which was a blessing in disguise.  If I didn't have cash on me, I couldn't reason to walk ALL THE WAY to an ATM and would just make cous-cous and call it a day (my recipe for cous-cous burritos is f'in killer, by the by).

BUT, those bastards decided to join the new millennium and begin taking debit cards.  So, now it's like there is no reason to not go there three to four times a week (except to curb my expanding waistline).  A few of the cooks at this location said to me once, "You know, there are other burrito places in this neighborhood."  I wanted to say, "I know but Felipe's is Monday, Wednesday, Saturday...and Boca Grande is every other Tuesday...so you guys should be glad that I can even FIT you into my schedule."

Instead, I asked for extra guacamole.

In terms of maintaining my weight (and if I'm doing my math concerning caloric intake correctly), I find that my burrito-eating is justifiable.  I mean, I live like a whole mile from campus, so the walk home should burn up not only the calories of one burrito, but also the one I bought and ate along the way.  Right?  Bob from "The Biggest Loser," what do you think?


You think I shouldn't eat that many burritos and instead think about exercising more?  Shut up.

Shut up and kiss me.

Again.

And never put a shirt on.

Except if it's flannel.

Ok, back to burritos.

God, I'm hungry.

Zoom-a Zoom-a Zoom-a Zon't

A large part of my graduate program consists of people getting into circles and talking about children's television. In other words: heaven. You know, I thought it was strange (even for me and that says a heck of a lot) that I still look forward to new episodes of "Arthur" but I have find that there are many, many people like me in this world. And they are all just as fabulously, fabulously good-looking.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I spend way too much time YouTube-ing clips and theme songs from old TV shows (when I'm not looking at clips of corgis barking at iPads). Which brings me to "Zoom."

For those of you who don't know this awesomeness, "Zoom" was a PBS show where a bunch of kids hung out in a room, played games and danced awkwardly. In other words, activities that I tend to do on a typical Saturday night. Alone.

What is important to note is that the "Zoom" most of us know premiered in 1999 BUT it started way, way back in 1972. I was aware of this fact when it premiered and remember an exchanged with a family member where I complained that the new version couldn't hold a candle to the old one. They asked how I could possibly know that, considering the show premiered 11 years before I was born. Instead of talking it out with them, I stamped my foot and whined that "No one understands me!"

I was 16.

As a young lad I dreamed of being a Zoomer. I wanted to sing the annoyingly catchy theme song. I wanted to speak in Ubbi-Dubbi. I wanted to sit with the rest of the cast and talk about big issues, like what our favorite flavor of ice cream was. You know- important stuff.

I mean, look at the following video:


LOOK AT HOW MUCH FUN THESE KIDS ARE HAVING!

Thoughts:
1) Jon's dancing in the beginning is spastically-awesome.
2) I want Joe's hair
2) Kenny looks like he's about to slap you.
3) That last bit of choreography where they are beckoning you to join them? CREEPY. I'm going to use it in a club.

If they revived this show again, I'm going to the casting call. Who's with me?

That's MISTER Broccoli Rob to you

When I decided to enter my graduate program, I had one goal in mind: somehow get a puppet involved. I'm not going to bore you with the details of my puppet fascination. For that, you're just going to have to go into the March 2010 archives and read a series of five posts about PUPPET CAMP. The NYT said it was "fun and frothy" and my sister said it was "cute and creepy." I said, "Thank you SO much" to the NYT and smacked my sister.

Anygay, one course I took involved creating a website for kids to celebrate and encourage healthy eating and exercise habits. We decided that an educational element was lacking and decided to create a character to "speak" to the kids. Naturally, I jumped at the chance to make a puppet and after lots of sweat, burnt fingers from a glue gun, Broccoli Rob was born.

Over the course of two videos, Broccoli Rob taught kids to make a healthy snack and use a dance party as an excuse to exercise. The snack we made was "Fire Ants on a Log" made with craisins instead of plain old, boring ass raisins. People said, "Wow! That's clever!" and I nod as if was somehow my idea when in actuality I couldn't find the raisins in the supermarket and I was too scared to ask someone where they were.

Shaw's is intimidating.

My classmate provided the perfect high-pitched voice and I had the chance to interact with "him" in the videos. See, I always wanted to be the person interacting with a puppet because those freakin' celebrities on "Sesame Street" make it look so fun. Though, I found it to be an awkward experience because whenever the puppeteer flubbed a line I would hit the puppet out of frustration.

This tells me I should avoid having children around for a while. Or talking pieces of broccoli.

Anyway, BRob was a hit and everyone danced and everyone sang and somewhere a person bought Noxema because a Drew Barrymore commercial told me that happens every 15 seconds or something.

Broccoli Rob took on a life on his own and I began to kind of resent his attention. I found that my friends were more interested in the life of this inanimate thing than with that was happening in my life. Granted, most of my life consists of watching reruns of "The New Adventures of Old Christine" and thinking about getting a haircut, but it's nice to be asked.

Pal: "How is Broccoli Rob doing these days?"

Me: "He's in a closet because he's a puppet but you know, I'm fine, so thanks...."

He did make one more appearance at a friend's birthday party as he helped bring out the cake and sang "Defying Gravity" with everyone (because that's totally normal). Sometimes I catch his eye from the closet while I sit at my desk and do "work" (read: look at YouTube clips of "Zoom") as if he's plotting something. Who said puppets were creepy?

BACK

Yes, yes...rest your sweet heads. Mr. Vest is back.

I could give you any number of reasons why it has taken me several months to start adding new posts, but blah, blah, blah, I was busy, blah, blah. Blah.

But, here are some choices for you because people like saying, "I choose my choice."

Mr. Vest. I missed you. Where were you?

A) I kind of ran out of stuff to talk about.

B) Anderson Cooper finally got a chance to return my phone call and the two of us have never stopped giving one another back massages.

C) Writing about graduate school is about as much fun as talking about graduate school.

D) I was in the john.

Responses:

Option A- PLEASE, I never stop talking.

Option B- Not true. I finally got back to returning his call. I can't be a kept man.

Option C- See, the thing about graduate school is...oh, I'm sorry, did you drift off? Shut up.

Option D- You know...out of all of these, this is the most correct.

In actuality, life has revved up to the nth degree and it's been a gas. In my first semester, I met a lot of awesome people, played with puppets, and ate a burrito a day (except Sundays, because of God). Now, I am knee deep in my final semester and the future is looming.

I have been schooled on a number of subjects to which I will write at length, but as of now- I'm here. You're here. Let's get our groove back.

And dear God leave comments. Positive reinforcement is key.