That Thing I Said... Yeah, Screw That!

Poe Hall Sign

So, I've been trying to come up with themes to reflect the overall trends of each week. While I'm sure that by now I'm exhibiting a clear vacillation in my attitude, if I had to come up with a theme for this week it would be "Let's shit all over Ashe's hopes and dreams!" In psychological research, there is a term called "regression toward the mean" which basically means that even though participants in a study may occasionally exhibit unusually high or low scores on a given examination, during repeated re-tests the participants will typically regress in performance toward their natural average. This week I got grades back on several tests, and I wasn't happy with the results. I made an 86 (B) on the Ergonomics test (a drop from 94 on the first test), a 73 (C) on the Biology test (a drastic drop from 94 on the first test), and an 80 (B) on the Psych Research test (a slight uptick from the 78 of the first test).

I honestly don't see why my grades dropped so much this time. I can't say that I did anything drastically different from the first tests. I take notes, I read the textbooks, I do whatever homework is assigned to me. Admittedly, both my Ergonomics and Biology professors gave smaller curves on these tests than on the first ones, but that wasn't enough to account for a 10-20 point drop in test grades! Some of the material on genetics really threw me for a loop on the Biology test, so that certainly didn't help. I'm just terrified that these test grades may fall into the category of regression toward the mean! And, on top of all that, we had speakers in my Orientation to Psych seminar today talking about graduate school who repeatedly emphasized the importance of a good GPA and standardized test scores in order to gain acceptance. Apparently, it's almost not worth it to even apply if you don't have at least a 3.5 GPA in addition to high test scores.

Information Overload

I'm not sure if it's because I'm obsessive compulsive or not, but I tend to have a voracious curiosity. As an occasional consequence I find myself getting obsessed over a few topics to the point where I start to have headaches from trying to absorb so much information in a small amount of time. The topics often change, but my obsession stays the same.

For instance, over the last week or two I have been obsessed over environmental news so I've been reading every article I can on World Changing and Good, as well as the various cross posted articles that they link. That doesn't seem so bad, until you add it to the fact that I already spend seven hours a day watching/listening to podcasts and streams about technology from CNET, politics from The Young Turks, and news from Brian Williams, Keith Olbermann, and Rachel Maddow!

There simply aren't enough hours in the day for me to take in the amount of information I'd like to accumulate. Thankfully, since the podcasts/streams don't run on Saturday and Sunday, I can spend weekends catching up on my various YouTube subscriptions and the newly posted talks on TED.

Part of the problem comes from the fact that I want to know a lot about a lot of subjects. Most people seem satisfied to know a lot about a little, or a little about a lot. Nope, not me. I want to know as much information as I can possibly acquire. That said, I don't actually want to DO anything with the knowledge... I just want to know it!

This used to annoy the hell out of Ex. She was of the view that if you see problems in the world you should make an effort to help make things better. It's an admirable position, to be sure. Unfortunately, for her, I like to tell people how messed up the world is, and then tell them how it should be changed. I remember, on our second date, Ex asked me what I was doing to change the world. I looked at her like she was crazy and responded, "Why the hell would I want to do something like that?"

On reflection, I suppose Ex is more noble and respectable in that regard than I am. My main pleasure from accumulating knowledge seems to come from using it to intimidate others with my intellect. That probably speaks volumes to my insecurity, but there it is. Part of me WOULD actually like to do something with all this information I've gathered, but it's hard to find the start of the yellow brick road when all you can see in front of you is the land of Oz.

Thankfully (or perhaps aggravatingly; we'll have to wait and see), I'll be taking a forced vacation from all this data acquisition next weekend when I head to Hickory, NC for three days to visit my grandmother, Mame. Even though it's a suburb of Charlotte, Hickory is somehow the land that technology forgot. Cell phone coverage sucks there and Internet access is slow almost to the point of futility. There's nothing to do there but talk to Mame and play with my aunt's chihuahua.

I can already sense the feeling of withdrawal...

Have fun and keep living life... or some approximation thereof.

Just Another Day

Today is Mother's Day. It isn't a day that I typically make a big deal about. After all, it is largely just a marketing holiday. As I've already mentioned I am not close to my own biological mother, my grandmother having long ago taken over the responsibility of caring for me. And seeing as I do not currently own, nor have ready access to, ovaries of my own, Mother's Day seems especially superfluous.

That's not to say that I don't have any positive memories of my mother, but all of them are more focused on me and the part of my mother could have just as easily been replaced by my grandmother, my aunt, Gertrude Stein, German Chancellor Angela Merkel, actor LeVar Burton, or a Krispy Kreme doughnut! In fact, one of my fondest memories, which doesn't even involve my mother at all, is of me walking around a mall carrying a cheap stuffed dog with a fireman's uniform and helmet which I had named Sgt. Pepper after The Beatles album. I was four.

Where others have fond memories of lessons passed down by loving moms, my life lessons came from my grandmother, teachers, or the confluence of hours spent in front of a TV while babysitting myself. I learned about life not so much because I was taught but because I was naturally curious and asked lots of questions and looked for lots of answers.

Most of my memories which are unique to my mother involve me being smarter than her. One time she got a wooden cuckoo clock as a gift, but was horribly distressed to find that the clock had to be assembled from a kit in a box. Well, since there were instructions, I took it upon myself to build the damn thing because I felt sorry for my mother's laziness. I was eight.

And while working for AT&T my mother earned company stock each year in the form of actual paper certificates (yeah, they actually used to transfer shares of stock that way before the Internet). One day she needed money for debts and sold her stock. I had to inform her that she should have gotten a loan using the paper stock as collateral so she could have kept the stock which would have been more valuable later in life. She explained that she had asked a stock broker about "stock options" and he didn't mention the possibility of a loan. Of course not, I told her, a loan is a loan, it isn't a "stock option". I was ten.

Please don't mistake me. I don't say these things to elicit sympathy. Instead, with the exception of feeding me and keeping me from living beneath a bridge, I'm trying to explain that my mother's contribution to my life was hardly worthy of celebration. I do sometimes envy those who had close, supportive relationships with their mothers. It's hard not to want to find a woman who can counteract the negative impression of women programmed into me by having to live with my mother. It takes effort to learn how to effectively let go of the years of disappointment and just enjoy someone for who they are. But, still I try.

So, for all of you, I hope you enjoy your Mother's Day with fond admiration. For me, though, it's just another day.

Have fun and keep living life... or some approximation thereof.

The Giving of Thanks

In the off chance that you missed the interminable cavalcade of parades, Peanuts specials, Christmas music formatted radio stations, garland streamed shopping malls adorned with "95% Off" sales signs, and the smell of pine, cinnamon, poultry, and electricity induced house fires, we've officially entered the annual holiday season. As is requisite for the last several years, I indulged in Thanksgiving dinner with my uncle and his girlfriend. It should be noted that my uncle is the only Republican in my family (not including my aunt's husband, though he is only related by marriage, not blood, so he doesn't really count). Thankfully, he doesn't vote (neither does my aunt's husband, interestingly). It should also be noted that, like me, he has an annoying tendency to believe he is right about certain things and that thinking in a way other than he does is, by sheer force of logic, wrong!

It should come as no surprise, then, that I usually find myself keeping my mouth shut around dinner every year. My uncle tries to be peaceful, and so do I; his girlfriend acts as a pleasant referee, typically taking my side, if not always on the issues, at least in the understanding that my uncle's way isn't typically the only way.

This year I had to sit through a lecture about how Chris, my friend from algebra class, and I didn't do a thorough enough job when we replaced the spark plugs on my car (I didn't even mention to him about the oil in the cylinders, or the cross threaded plug). My uncle can't even commend me for taking initiative on my car, something he has chronically lectured me about for the last dozen years whenever I am forced to run to him for help when my car dies on the side of the road. But that wasn't the worst part. No, I had to sit through a lecture about how Obama is the Antichrist, and how my uncle can't believe that so many people were brainwashed into voting for a black, one term senator with "no experience"! He asked if I had voted for Obama, to which I replied, "Of course! I even contributed $250 to his campaign, and got a campaign t-shirt!" I went on to inform him that Lincoln was a one term Illinois senator before becoming President, and look how he turned out! I'll save you from my uncle's decidedly non-PC response, but when I've said that I'm not the most racially sensitive person in the world, it would be fair to say that my uncle makes me seem like one time NAACP President Kweisi Mfume (I've ALWAYS loved that guy's name, for some reason).

One thing we don't do for Thanksgiving is announce what we're thankful for this year. Chances are good we'd be thankful for things which were diametrically opposed, anyway. But, as I've listened to NPR and watched news clips online, I've been barraged by messages of thanks for everything from having a job, to having a family, to having legs! That last one came from a little girl who was skating at Rockefeller Center in New York.

My grandmother is always encouraging me to be more thankful for things. She says that it helps you to see what you have instead of fretting over the things that you don't. So, aside from having an opportunity to go to college, having a roof over my head, food in my stomach (most of the time), a car that gets me where I need to go (most of the time), and medications which keep me from attempting suicide every other Thursday, what do I have to be thankful for? I don't know... But I guess having legs seems like a good place to start!

Have fun, and keep living life... or some approximation thereof.

Sick Days

I've been getting sick for the last few days. My throat was sore at first, then I started getting congested. Now my nose is running and I'm coughing up phlegm as if I were being paid by the pint! Add to that the periodic sneezing that erupts with so much force that my whole body feels weak for five minutes and you can guess I'm not feeling all that peppy.

On the bright side, I finally got around to doing my Abnormal Psych paper on the safety and efficacy of SSRI-based antidepressants. I made a 90 on it, an A, even with the 10 point deduction for it being over a week late. I also made an 88, a B, on my last psych test despite not reading the book!

I wish I had a working TV. I'm afraid of missing the election results this Tuesday night. Hopefully, I'll be able to find live video coverage online somewhere. I'm still all a tizzy about the prospect that North Carolina may go blue this time. The Real Clear Politics average right now is Obama by 2.5, with poll data ranging from a tie to as much as a 6 point lead for Obama.

I don't talk alot about my grandmother, but I was just thinking about things she used to do for me when I wasn't feeling well as a kid. I remember the familiar smells of Vicks Vaporub and Resinol that permeated sick days in her home. If you couldn't be cured by one, the other would never be far away. Toothaches were held at bay with the pungent, acidic, and somewhat alcoholic taste of Anbesol and the feel of a hot, baked in the oven, wash cloth pressed against my cheek. Spells of vomiting were always met with sips of Coke and Captain's Wafers. I miss Captain's Wafers. It's hard to find them in stores these days. There's something very comforting about those old home remedies that just gets lost in today's "there's a pill for that" mentality to sickness. Maybe I don't want to get better in six hours by taking Cure-Tex Pharmaceuticals "Healz-All Gel Capsules, Now in Minty Green Flavor". Maybe I'd like to ride out the cold for just a little while longer with a salve, a Coke, a puke bucket, and a pile of warm wash cloths. Screw you modern health care system!

One good thing about colds, though, is you just don't want to eat a whole lot. Food doesn't smell or taste as good when you're congested, and swallowing can be a real chore when your throat seems so swollen that you think someone must have installed a rusty sliding door that food has to open and close in order to go down. At any rate, I can now fit into a pair of 36" pants I couldn't button before.

I was trying to come up with some nifty lesson to all this, but I don't guess life ALWAYS has to have a point to it. Although, if I had to pick one thing that I've learned from this experience it would be that I find it annoying how completely out of touch I am with my body until something goes wrong with it. But, then, that's how I am with my car, and it's still alive... sort of.

Have fun, and keep living life... And bring me some more Kleenex while you're at it!

I'm Only Happy When It Rains

Okay, maybe that's not completely true. I'm happy at plenty of other times, but good luck finding a song about rain that doesn't sound like a total downer!

It rained pretty much all day. And it wasn't just rain, it was a COLD rain with a steady breeze just to punctuate how cold and rainy it was. It was the first rain of the fall and I was so not prepared for it. It was in the upper 80s for highs the days and weeks before, but today only got up to 65. I didn't bring a jacket or an umbrella, so I stood for a few minutes inside a building with all the other shmoes who were caught off guard by the rain, as well.

For a moment I realized how strange it is that people will wait inside, or under an overhang, waiting for rain to die down enough to walk outside, as though rain were some sort of toxic waste that must be avoided as much as possible. I remember back when I was a little kid, maybe 5 years old or less, I used to LOVE to stand under the edge of the overhang on my grandmother's front porch. The porch was small and had four or five steps leading down to the yard. I would stand in just the right spot so that all the runoff from the roof would pour down on me and get me even wetter than if I had only been standing in the yard. I would laugh and splash around while my grandmother would try to get me to come back into the house. Eventually, I always did, and Mame, although I still called her May May back then (alot of kids from the South have odd names for their grandmothers, like Me Ma, Mammie, Ma May), would fuss at me for getting the floor wet while she dried me with some almost threadbare towel.

After my girlfriend left, one of the things I tried to do to move my life in a better direction was to try and relive some of the childhood experiences that I used to love so much, or some things which I never really did but probably should have. I climbed small trees, picked up a frog and looked at it up close, played with Matchbox cars, and splashed around in the rain, stomping through puddles just to get my pants soaking wet. If you haven't done any of these things in a long time, or ever, I HIGHLY recommend it. There's something so comforting, and yet exhilarating at the same time, about doing things as an adult that you used to love as a child. There's a bible verse somewhere in 1 Corinthians 13 that basically goes, "When I was a child, I thought and acted like a child, but now I have put away childish things." Now, 1 Corinthians 13 is all about love, which is probably necessary for us to really be happy. But, in retrospect, it seems like bad advice to suggest that we must put away childish things. I can tell you from experience, there is NOTHING that makes you feel as happy as taking the time to just jump up and down in a puddle in the rain while you get completely soaked and you just don't give a damn!

Have fun, and keep living life... or some approximation thereof!