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Ever since I stopped taking English classes, it seems that my unused analytical abilities have decided to seep into other areas of my life. As a result, on any given night the margins of my homework assignments are scrawled with the odd poetic observation or life metaphor. A few nights ago, for example, I thought that spilling my coffee over my agenda pad (which caused all the ink to run) could be considered a metaphor for my work ethic junior year (so consumed with caffeine that I was unable to actually function) or any general break down- when what's keeping you going is preventing you from actually "going" anywhere. When I went to use Wite Out in my lab notebook, I thought about how Wite Out related to perfection- when applied it is even more perfectlty white (and incredibly hypnotizing...Wite Out nails anyone?) than the paper it is covering. The fact that it is too good (or in this case, too white) to be true only brings more attention to the fact that it is a phony covering for a blaring error.

More recently, I desperatly needed a study break but had already exhausted all that facebook and the blogosphere had to offer. It was then I decided to revisit an old friend. Yes folks, for the first time in ages, I played TextTwist.

Once I got over the immidiate rush of senior year nostalgia, I let my mind enter the franticly paced yet, in many ways quite monotonous mode required to play this game successfully. (for those of you not in the loop- TextTwist is an online game inwhich you are given a scrambled six letter word and given 2 minutes to rearrange it into every possible other word you can think of, but none shorter than 3 letters) Obviously I was incredibly rusty, but one thing hadn't changed: I almost always got the six letter word first. When it comes to figuring out the dozens of little three letter word combinations I'm hopeless, but I've never had a problem getting the six letter word almost instantaneously. It was then that I realized that the way I play TextTwist actually relates quite well to the way I play life- rarely concerned with details, I look at the bigger picture. I may cause myself a lot of small setbacks, but I never really fret too much, because I know I always get where I need to be in the end. (Though that attitude mixed with the freedom of college academics is probably not the best way to go about things, in case you were wondering. Perhaps I am a little too laid back?)

I don't really have a larger frame inwhich to analyze this (unless I factor in the Nexusyness of getting an out of the blue phone call from the person who introduced me to the game a few days later) or anything further to derive (though I'm sure it exists) But I guess I have learned one other thing: stop illegibly scribbling on your margins and buy a friggen note book.

Crazy Bitch

So today I don't really have any blog worthy thoughts, but I do have the most fantastic story I have heard in ages, made even more fantastic by the fact that it proves that fantastic things like this actually happen:

So my friend was hanging out at her boyfriend's house when all of a sudden, a horrible blizzard struck up, and her parents forbade her to drive home. When they tried to come and get her, the snow was so bad they couldn't even get out of the driveway. Her boyfriends parents were also unable to get home, and the two ended up being left alone in his house...for three days.

Two words: eighteen times.

Don't tell me you've never thought about that....

CERN, You Broke My Heart

So despite my recent infatuation with the physical sciences, my own laziness and the dreaded phrases "this material is not in the book" and "will be on the exam" have turned a once steamy, somewhat secretive affair into outright domestic abuse. And as if that weren't reason enough to give up on this whole relationship all together (in addition to familial disapproval for such unorthodox behavior), I'm starting to wonder what drew me to Organic Chemistry in the first place. That is, I started to wonder, once I met Elementary Particle Physics...

I used to think that Chem could satisfy my needs- lord knows we bother enough with positive and negative psi charges (Psi= greek letter denoting the wave function of an electron) to throw me for a spin (haha...God that was lame. No wonder Chem is hating on me) and I thought that Quantum Chemistry would be enough- all the concepts, no math. But then I got curious. Too curious. I was just browsing the science library, that's all, it's not my fault I did some searching and HAPPENNED upon Quarks and Gluons: A Century Of Elementary Particle Physics. It's not my fault that it was so light to carry and to the point and plainly written, making it what I read in my free time. It's not my fault I want to start taking notes. And then there was the fantasy. You know, they say they're perfectly harmless and healthy, everyone has them. Mine was no different: Me, my JYA, parlaying the Francais in Sweeden at CERN. Nothing wrong with that...

That is, until my poor little heart strings were crushed: "positions open to undergraduates having completed at least 3 years of study with a concentration in Engineering, Physics, or Computer Science." Is this it? Has it really come to this? Will Quantum Chemistry, even though it did give me such joy, still really be able to sate my urges with its orbitals and wave functions, while I know that within the nucleus a dozen other types of unheardof infintesimal particles bounce around at the will of forces that we still just barely understand? In Short: Should I go all out and spend 2 precious years attempting to reconquor my fear (and hatred) of intro Physics, or should I just quit this whole thing while I'm ahead? I could deal with two lovers easily enough...but three? I'm not that good.

What's My Age Again?

In two days, I'm gonna be 18. But when this oncoming milestone first hit me at the start of the week, I was surprised to find that in lieu of being excited, I actually felt a definite sense of regret.

You see, it is a commonly held to be true that at 18 your criminal record is swiped, because you are now a responsible adult who has learned better and no longer liable for your foolish actions as a child. Like it says in this fabulous piece of wisdom (which I actually gleaned from my math text book, of all places) "In Sequences (as often in life) a few indiscretions early on can be overlooked when dealing with the sequence as a whole" But what did I do with my get out of jail free time?* Nothing. Now it hasn't been a total shit show- there was the quasi food fight in 7th grade, the poem/fight the man incident, trying to find every possible dresscode loophole in the book, and probably a few other things I'm forgetting. But seriously, there I was with 18 perfectly good years (I've been well aware of this and intent on using it for as long as I can remember) to do something awesome and not have to deal with the legal implications, and what did I really accomplish? Zilch.

Normally I wouldn't even care about getting arrested for a minor infraction (If it didn't make my parents look bad) but these days with people able to access your math grades in 3rd grade with the click of a mouse you can never be too careful, even if some things are meant to be swiped after a few years. I also doubt everyone else on the ACLU team has a clean record (Cuz seriously, it's the ACLU) but this is my career we're talking about here, plus getting kicked out of college would blow.

So here I am. Two days left of "But I'm young and stupid!" (at least in the eyes of the law and my parents) and I'm thinking: Hmm...If you get arrested so close to/on your 18th birthday, does it still count?

Clearly I'm ready for adulthood.




*I would also like to inform you that there is actually an association of policman that distribute real "get out of jail free cards" for minor infractions and you can get one if you know a cop very well. Who knew?

Pwning the Cyclops

One life-changing day in Juicy's sophomore year of highschool, she realized that she could arrive a little late to class and hand in a better quality paper than had she arrived on time. She figured this was at no cost to her except for a lateness report that would probably never come back to haunt her on her report card. This worked well, until Juicy's professor was grading her, remembered the day she showed up to class 15 minutes late, and knocked what should have been a perfect 100 to a 99. "The Man" (via my advisor) spent the rest of highschool trying to knock this attiude out of me. They tried to teach me that teachers actually took it offensivley when I was late to class (even for just five minutes, really that is such bull...) and that I could not live my life leaving things off to the last minute.

They clearly failed.

If bragging about my genius discovery sophomore year cost me my perfect score, then I have a few words for Neptune in hopes of giving me a much needed kick in the ass:

It seems everytime I think I've really dug myself into an academic hole in college, things turn out just fine. As time progresses, the scare tactics wear off, and I don't see any bad results. Now, for example, I haven't gone to monday classes for at least a month, but I have never gotten better grades. That paper I thought was BS that I wrote at 5am? A-. The Astro HW I didn't do the reading for? even better. Math? same. Honestly, the last time I did this well academically was middle school. Eventually, limits get pushed and it becomes easier and easier to get by on doing even less. Whereas in highschool the system probably would have found some way to guilt me into working for them, college has no such process. I nolonger "feel bad" about any of this, so long as it doesn't hurt my grade. (Though it was a little embarassing when my gov professor emailed me to ask me where I'd been all week, and I didn't really have a quality answer.And she might factor in attendance after all. Note to self- go to class) I know that this is supposed to be where finals come in, and that anyone else in college would tell me that I am clearly disillusioning myself, and soon will be confronted with a test worth half my grade that I did little-to-no reading for and have learned my lesson to late. But here's the catch: The final in the class I have done minimal reading for and skipped several times is take home. This means I have a day or two to do the test while using my books, notes, and possibly the internet, just solong as I don't ask anyone else about it. Same for the math midterm I have coming up. Seriously, how am I supposed to know when to buckle down and learn stuff when, for at least half of my major exams, I don't really have to?!?

And then there was today. Today I watched Sex and the City for three hours. THREE HOURS in the middle of the week. Since when is this possible? Where's my frantic rush to get stuff done? Where's the energy-drink-inspired sense of an impending heart attack at any moment? This cannot be right. I know that it has been postulated that everything in the universe tends towards entropy (and by that I mean the opposite of energy) but I am starting to scare myself. I could have read for pleasure, I could have filled out a variety of forms I need to get done at some point, I could have cashed a check or done laundry, I could have done multiple things I enjoy doing that are productive and even non-academic. But no- I just sat there for THREE HOURS. Shame. What will I ever amount to in life if, when I do have free time, I don't do anything with it?


Oh- and as I promised, I must shout out my roomie who has apparently decided to stalk me and read every post since August. My first impression when I heard that was to ask "where do you find that kind of time?" but then I remembered, we're in college.