Monday, October 27, 2008

Now, this is not very interesting.

Sherlock Holmes doesn't know how many planets are in our solar system, but he knows the minute difference between different cigarette ashes. Hmm.
And he's famous for his deductive reasoning, and most of us are not. Now, he's also fictional, but that is beside the point.
College (and school before college) teaches some very useless information. Or, at least information that will become so completely unuseful after college that it seems kind of... irresponsible to crowd our brains with it.
(Because yeah, we can store as many bits of knowledge as we want, I'm not arguing for limited memory storage but recall DOES get harder. That's about as fact-y as psych gets...)
I guess what I mean by all that babble is:
Scientific Calculator v Graphing Calculator v Calculator you get as a free gift from some finance based business. I know difference! I didn't think that was weird. But after going home and requesting to know where in the hell my scientific calculator had been stored and being met with blank stares and then three (yes, three) graphing calculators, I'm beginning to realize that it's not really standard. Standard knowledge, I mean.
And why would it be for a non-math profession? (And why on earth would one turn down a graphing calculator in favor of one that doesn't do as much? Precalculus tests- Also, why would someone spend a quarter on something when they could just plug it into their big shiny machine...)
So I think I'm going to try to forget it. Because this is not something that I need to know.

EDIT:: 4/28/09 "Also, why would someone spend a quarter on something when they could just plug it into their big shiny machine..." I just read that again. It didn't make any sense. At all.

Conclusion: I appear to have meant "Who would someone waste a quarter in college (10 weeks) on a class to teach them something that can be done by a calculator." Which does make sense.

Sunday, October 26, 2008


Saying your very first word aloud at 5 in the evening is such a weird feeling. Maybe that's why I almost make an effort not to go out into public on Sundays, just to have that jolt of oddness in my life every week.
I'm pretty sure that I developed the Sunday outfit: badly fitting jeans and this one old green shirt, because it's the one thing that transitions seamlessly from couch to grocery store and looks great with unwashed or brushed hair.
As I get older and refine this weekly ritual more the only things I can think that I'd like to change are, having a sunnier kitchen and living room to curl up in, and have an inside radio that picks up NPR without my having to work too hard at it.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Funny little habit.

I've developed a habit, and it's gotten much stronger now that I on my own. I think I should preface this with a bit about my parents. They were never into being proper. They taught me right and wrong as best they could and when to say thank you and to keep my elbows off the table, but I took an interest in learning when to say "May I," and "whom" all by myself. I could have gone my entire life saying "Can I have that cookie," and it would not have bothered them at all.
I still refuse to put a napkin in my lap, which irks them slightly, but that is another story.
Back to the habit.
Now that I live nearly alone (with a mostly absent roommate with her own room) I find myself giving myself instructions.
"Now, you know you have to get up early in the morning. Not just early enough to get to class, mind you, but also to wash your hair. No excuses, it must be washed."
"Oh, I suppose you may listen to your ipod if it helps you fall asleep, but you know you really must stop relying on things like that. You're getting a bit old for security blankets you know."
It's as though I have an alternate personality that chimes in with good motherly advice, in a vaguely trans-Atlantic accent, that my mother would never actually give.
How strange.
I wonder if other people have imaginary nannies on their shoulders telling them to eat more broccoli instead of another piece of chocolate. Or maybe they just call it a conscience and don't feel the need to personify it with it's own specific accent.
"But you must stop dragging this whole blog-posting out just so you don't have to go to bed! Lights off! I mean it!"