i am dork, hear me roar
I've been gone most of the day at a College Bowl tournament. Yes, College Bowl, as in myself and Elizabeth and Calvin (both poets) comprised a Workshop team which competed against other Iowa teams in answering trivia questions about Brunei, alpha particles, and Darva Conger.
I won an Iowa T-shirt. Our team made it to the final match in the tournament (yes, there were NCAA-style brackets and everything), beating other departments, fraternities, and a team named Devo. The event didn't really have any spectators and the other teams, having been beaten, decided they could go home early; so the final match was kind of anticlimatic since it was just us, the other team, the moderators and lots of empty chairs. We lost, narrowly, and I think the entire thing was videotaped on a digital camera and they're actually going to post statistics and things, to which I will duly link because I am, yes, a dork. The best part about the whole business was the machine we used to buzz our answers, which had a whole light rig and a complicated algorithm for determining who was allowed to buzz when. It was called "The Judge."
The movie thing, which I really only want to see for the Bjork/Yorke duet, happens tonight. My money's on Traffic, which I haven't actually seen, because people like Issue Movies even if they haven't actually seen them, and I refuse to believe that we live in a society which could heap such accolades on Gladiator.
I scored a 35% on the Gay-O-Meter (thanks Chelsey). "Loosen up, mate," the site advises me. "Women like a man who has some softer edges."
In the arena of personality tests, we've been running Workshop folk through the Media Matcher. We're heavy on the Trent Reznors and William Burroughses; there's also been at least one Salvador Dalí and a Howard Stern.
