I Do Not Heart Hypocrites

I had a run-in with one, yesterday. Actually, two run-ins. (Run-ins? Runs-ins? Runs-in? I think it's runs-in.)


I had two runs-in with hypocrites yesterday, and both of them reminded me just how much I dislike hypocrisy. The funny thing is, I'm a bit of a hypocrite myself, and I'm fairly certain that the reason I hate hypocrites so much is that I'm one. They say that we hate most what we see in ourselves--the whole opposites attract bit.


Anyway, I'm only going to talk about one run-in, because...well, I won't reveal my real reason for not talking about the other one. Let's say that the other encounter was conducted entirely in an obscure German dialect, and translating it would be too hard.


So a professor comes down to A/V last night--one with whom I have a history...well, perhaps I should talk about the history a bit.


Some profs adopt me as their own special buddy. They act all friendly and respectful and genial, and then they sorta beguile me to do A/V stuff for them, and then they think that I'm their personal A/V assistant. In short, they use me like a five-dollar something-or-other. And I am a spineless fool, so I don't tell them "NO!" at all, really. This professor of whom I speak is one with whom I have this history; she considers me her "inside man", the one who can do her huge favors and stuff.


She comes down to A/V last night, asking if we have extension cords. I don't know what we've got available, so I tell her that I don't know what we've got available. Then she says, "Oh, you've got the stuff I need. I was down here snooping around earlier, and you've got the extension cords." Then she opens the Forbidden Door and walks right back to where the extension cords are stored and shows them to me.


Just thinking about it grinds my gears.


It's events like this that make me yearn with an undescribable longing for my graduation.


The Forbidden Door, by the way, is the door back into the Computer Support office. It's kind of funny. Only us initiates are supposed to go back there, and we've plastered signs ALL OVER, signs like "DO NOT ENTER: IT Personnel ONLY please" or "Please Keep Door Closed" or "Please Ring Bell For Service" or "There is a dragon in here, and he will claw your face off".


And people still go back there. Like my hypocrite professor-friend, who was "down here snooping around earlier". It's like they can't read!


Well, that's enough anger and hatred. My good friend Drew Barnes turned me on to this awesome guitarist Django Reinhardt. He was a gypsy, and he only had two operational fingers. Now, most guitarists will tell you that you kinda need most of your fingers to work if you want to rock out on the guitar, but not Django. He managed to make it work with this:

Django had it goin' on. And here's a sample of his work--one of his best-known compositions, "Minor Swing":





I don't know about you, imaginary adoring fans, but I feel pretty small after listening to that. Can I get a "Holy Crap"?


Long live dynamic genius!