The Airing of Grievances

So I may have lucked out when it came to holy tires...but that was pretty much it. Let's look at all the ways this vacation has thus far epically failed:

1. Times I intended to visit my friends over break: 4-5. Times I actually will only if my luck improves: 1-2. Fucking snow.

2. Number of times I had to go to the tire place to sort out their fucktard tire job: 4. Hours spent going back and forth in the car on Christmas Eve because of this: 5+.

4. The Most Awful Tire-Changing Experience Ever: After waiting for over an hour to get my snow tires on, I'm hyped to go when I see that they forgot to give me my old tires back (retards), and my tire light is on. While I'm in the car waiting for them to fix the light issue, one of the mechanics starts hitting me up for my digits while his friends are (supposedly) fixing my tire pressure. After I blatantly but kindly crush any hopes he had of getting it on with me, I just want to get out of that place as soon as possible, but I then realize that I came into the garage at an obnoxious angle, and allow one of the other guys to back my car out for me. Great, now they all think I'm a bitchy prude, and a tool who can't even drive her own fucking car out of a tight spot.

I then had to return to the tire place twice after this.

5. This Year's Christmas Darwin Awards are some of the most worthy in ages. They include: a neon yellow J-Crew knit sweater, and a 2.5 foot-long wall sculpture (in aluminum) of Serotonin. (I may be a chemsexual and all, but that's just taking it too far). Expect a poll soon so as to determine which exactly is more hideous.

6. Things I remembered to bring home for vacation: The condo keys. Things I forgot: my passport.

7. Number of different responses I got, all from supposedly reliable sources, in regards to if/how I would still be able to travel: 3.

8. All I needed in the end: My driver's license. What I managed to lose between boarding the plane and landing: My driver's license. Fuck.



Let's hope this was enough for one "break"...

The Great Miracle of the Christmas Snow Tires

Christmas is supposed to be about miracles. I'm not sure how much I actually adhere to that whole "immaculate conception" story (uh huh...yeah...right. Good one Mary, no really, totally clever!), but I'm still a spiritual person, so from now on I've decided to dedicate one post each Christmas to celebrating a great miracle that has occured that year. This year, we will celebrate the Great Miracle of the Christmas Snow Tires:

So long story short, I was foolish enough to have allowed myself to both live in New England and own a car that doesn't have Four Wheel drive. This hadn't been a problem until yesterday, when a freakish blizzard hit and the 'rents made it pretty clear that I wasn't driving until Mother Nature was done PMSing. My freedom jeapordized, I quickly entered mild panic (and uber bitch) mode. Once things cleared up a bit the next day (thank God), I immidiatley got about getting a set of snow tires to at least fend of the worst of it, and gleam what little liberty I could.

A set of snow tires, that is, that were out of stock throughout the entire state. Unless I bought them personally off the internet, the dealer said, I would have to wait who knows how long to get Baby pimped for the season. This was clearly unacceptable. After contacting a local franchise of the dealer's supplier chain itself, I also had no luck. According to the computer, they said, the tires were out of stock everywhere in the state and might not even be availabe for over a month.

I don't know why I decided to google the franchise again after it had clearly jusy failed me on a whole civil level, but I did. I randomly picked another nearby town's franchise from a list of about ten, and called up. Yup, guess who had the tires. Two in stock, two to be ordered... and in by tomorrow. I also saved $100.

So have a juicy Christmas, and remember what we've learned here today: Either there is a Jesus and he loves you and wants you to be happy, or that computers downright suck.




PS: Randall Munroe, I love you, but really now what the FUCK do you have against Chemists?

Bad Life Decisions

Based on the title of this post and the time of year, you might think I'm referring to just throwing my last exam (which I only need a 65 on to still get a B+ in the class) and deciding to go get my drankity on with my friends who were free and doing so about 12 hours ago. Sadly, no. I am talking about the life decision that was made by whoever determined the last, oh, THIRD of my Logic 100 curriculum.

I can honestly assure you that attending lecture, attending section, and reading the book, will make absolutley no difference regarding how well you master the subject of Logic. Why? Because once you get past a certain amount of "oh, that's cool, learnable, and relevant" they pretty much run out of things to teach you. Due to this, they spend the last third of the semester talking about weird infinite numbers and playing dumb mindgames. I assure you that the last third of this class is instructive in no way, shape, or form, nor is it useful in anysense of the world. (The first bit? Sure, but they really should have just quit while they were ahead.)

The final exam does not really review anything you've been taught, it is simply a test to see how far you can stretch the limits of your imagination based on ABSOLUTLEY ARBITRARY rules, a diet consisting mainly of ESPRESSO, SUGARY CRACK BROWNIES, and BREAKFAST FOODS, about 5 HOURS OF SLEEP to last you TWO WHOLE DAYS, AND AFTER DEVOTING THE PAST 12 HOURS STRAIGHT TODAY ALONE TO THIS USELESS, IRRELEVANT, STUPID, ADVANCED PLACEMENT IQ TEST THAT SHOULDN'T EVEN GRADE YOU ON MATHEMATICAL ACCURACY BECAUSE SO LONG AS YOU ACTUALLY FINISH IT YOU'VE ALREADY MADE INFINITE LENGTHS YOUR BITCH ABOUT TEN TIMES OVER!!!!!!!


Aside from that, for someone who's been awake for almost 30 hours straight I'm feeling awfully normal and chipper...Care for some tea?

Collegiate Cooking

The Goal: Bailey's Pudding

Tools at Hand: a 2oz shot glass, a graduated Nalgene, cheap silverware, the tray that came with your refrigerator, and the set of heart-shaped mixing bowls you just had to have.


Go.

Useless

bi⋅month⋅ly  [bahy-muhnth-lee]
–adjective

1.
occurring every two months.
2.
occurring twice a month

Irkings Continued: Probability

In the study of cosmology, where actual data is scarce and one has to rely strongly on mathematical theory and probability, I find myself getting incteasingly frustrated by the approach so many people take with probability. This is actually a problem I've had with the subject ever since I first encountered it in my junior year math class. (ironically, this was the best I ever did on any type of math in that class by far- so hopefully this is not simply the product of my own stupidity)

So here's my super secret beleif: Probability is bullshit.

Really, it is. I can never say so in class because I will immidiatley be bombarded by people demanding an explanation, which I would then have to give orally and therefore deeply fail. But here's how it works:

If there are five marbles in a bag, each a different color, then the probabality of getting one marble of one color blindly is 20 percent. if you repeat this process, the more you do it the more the actual results will come to resemble what probablity dictates. So yes, probability can explain what has happenned in the past or over a large series of attempts, but it can tell us absolutley nothing about what will happen, and essentially breaks down when it comes to anything really important.

In life, very important decisions are rarely remade enough times to reveal their statistical nature. If you have 1 bullet, 100 or so square inches of skin it could hit on someone, and zero skillz, probability tells you that you will eventually hit the target you want at least once for every 100 or so times you fire. But you don't have 100 shots- you have one. As that bullet sails through the air, the chances are 1/100 that it will hit the target you want. Here's the common mistake: most people assume that since it is so unlikely, it won't happen. But what if it did? It still could, infact, hit the spot right on target. And once it does, where is your precious probability now? Since you only had one bullet and one try, it's completley irrelevant. If there was a different universe for each possible outcome, we could have been living in the one where it hits all along and not have even known it.

Now we can expand this thinking to greater things, namely probablity itself. Back to the marbles- there is a small chance that no matter how many times you grab into the bag blindly, you will pick out the same marble. But what if you did keep trying again and again, and kept on getting the same marble. It could absolutley happen. We might simply be unknowingly living in that specific universe of possibility, and in that indefinite phase before the next marble is taken out of the bag, no one is any wiser.

And here's another issue I have with statistics even if we ignore the latter- Birth Control. They say the pill is 99.9% effective, but what does that really mean? Does that mean that for every 1000 women who use the pill in their lifetime, only one will still get pregnant? Or does it mean that for every day a woman takes the pill, there is a 1/1000 chance that this is the day it won't work? Or, even worse, does it mean that for every 1000 individual times she has intercourse while using the pill, one of every thousand is unprotected? They're all very different actual numbers. Ponder it.

"Marriage is Soul-Killing Bondage"

The reason for my hermitage on this freezing Friday evening is a big reasearch paper due tuesday. Luckily, however, I am writing it on undoubtedly THE most BADASS woman of the century (19th or 20th, take your pick): Emma Goldman. And get this:






Familiar looking?

Wait, There's English on the MCAT?

It has not so recently come to my attention that I blog a shit ton more than everyone else here, but I never quite figured out why. I am aware that about 1/3 of my posts are/have been crappy emotional drivel, but even if you factor out that the ratio of my blogging to any one else on our little island* still stands strong. is it that, despite having a comparable lifestyle to anyone else here and just as little free time, I just think up more things that are blogworthy? Or is my definition of blogworthy just incredibly low?

Answers. Please.



*I say island because almost everyone who reads this blog has their own blog that is linked to it, as well as to the other readers' blogs, but to very few other places. The result of this is a small, intertwined network of blogs that I tend to imagine like a scarcely populated Island in the middle of the great ocean of the Blogosphere. I've actually spent some time clicking the ambigous "next blog" button on the top bar in hopes of finding yet another little colony similar to ours, but to no avail. (If i did have some sucess, it was either in a foreign language, or chronicaling the incredibly uninteresting lives of some group of devout religious families. Obviously not nearly as cool as us.)

Take That, Bitchy English Teacher

My old highschool advisor was interviewing an alum's kid for admission the other day. The alum remarked that the school nolonger had Sunday Chapel, and before my advisor chimed in to tell the story, he said...

"Yeah, I heard some kid wrote an essay and pursuaded the headmaster"


I am an urban legend. My life = complete.

On The Bright Side, I Now Own The Most Pimpin' Bathrobe Ever

It must be said-19 is a pretty insignificant birthday. Right before it there's the epic 18- legal adulthood in most cases, plus cigarettes, porn, and lotto tickets. Right after it there's twenty- no longer a teenager by any definition, and an age that starts with a two, signalling a whole two decades of existance. But what is 19 good for? Well, it's a prime number, and you can drink in some parts of Canada. Now everyone loves Canada, but is anyone really bothered about it? no.

It's Not Over Until You've Peed In The Woods

Ladies and gentlemen, let me show you just how committed I am to this country:


October 31st, 2008 (3 Buisness days until Election Day)

4:15 pm- Juicy finishes up researching and finalizes her ballot.

4:25 pm- Juicy arrives at the campus post office, finding it closed and lacking stamps.

4:30 pm- The time the campus post office was supposed to remain open till (grunt)

4:35- Juicy, deeply fearing her ballot might not reach the homestate in time for election day, thus further enabling a victory of the evil Sarah Palin (that's pronounced PAY-lin by the way. No, really, if she can tell me whether or not I can keep my own baby I can tell her how to pronounce her own last name) starts walking downtown.

4:40 pm- Juicy catches a bus taking her to the central post office in her town. (hopefully open later)

4:45-past 5pm - Time spent by local post office employee chatting it up with a customer after he had processed her package in under a fifth of that time. Not to be a bitch and break up the earlybird lovefest over there, but seriously...at least get a room that's not federally owned.

4:50 Time juicy, thanks to another more efficient post office worker, gets to the counter and purchases stamps.

4:52 pm- Juicy votes (for the first time, ever!), just making the last wave of outgoing mail.

Fucking Women's College. Correction: Not Fucking Anyone Because of Women's College.

NB: The women's college I go to is in close proximity to another (incredibly inferior) one. Let's call my school VW (Vagina World) and that school WIWVW (Wishes It Was Vagina World).



Juicy: "Wait, I thought it was WIWVW to bed and VW to wed?"


Friend: "Oh No, it's VW to bed WIWVW to wed."


Juicy: "Really?" [This has since been confirmed by the internet]


Friend: "Oh yeah, we're the FUN ones. Do you see the Harvard Squash team going to WIWVW to get body parts signed there? No."


Juicy: "Good point..."




A Little History:

Apparently, the expression has its origins back in the 50s as a saying used by Harvard boys to tell us apart: that VW girls were more likely to go skinny dipping and match you shot for shot while WIWVW girls wore collared shirts, played tennis, and were the kind of girls you could take home to mom. Having reflected on the origins of this stereotype for about, oh, half a minute, I am now totally OK with this....(Still working on the whole 'Militant Lesbian' thing though)




Indeed, Efforts must be doubled.

Irkings

1. Steampunk. Really now, it's uber specific and kind of ridiculous...And no, you can't go around adding "punk" to anything just because you want to feel badass. It just doesn't work like that.

2. xkcd. Obviously an awesome comic drafted by God himself, but seems to be going a little downhill latley. Then again, I suppose there is only a limited number of truly hillarious science/technology comics one can craft. (Maybe I should send him some good chem ones? It is one thing he hasn't done a lot of...)


3. Shia LaBeouf's barely-there, landing strip of a moustache. Like facial hair is going to make us forget that you are and will always be that lovable little boy from Even Stevens on the Disney Channel. Ironically enough, this so obvious attempt at machismo actually gives us a far more realistic look at Middle School. Really, how old are we now?


4. Autumn. People flock from all over to see our pretty autumn leaves change colors. What they don't realize, however, is that they are actually flocking to observe a slow, mass death. Really, autumn is the one season inwhich you are surrounded by death. Not winter, as one might think, because in Winter everything is already dead. All is snowy, and white, and surreal like the afterlife. But autumn is just the pure act and essence of dying with no before and no after. Ponder it.


5. You. Yes, I really mean you (yourself specifically). For almost two weeks you allowed this poor little blog to sit and wallow in cinematic, Bridget-Jones-esque self-pity, when in actuality sitemeter was broken. Thought it be funny did you? Only funny when someone gets hurt? Well shame on you! Worthless Mango Addict you are, but it won't get to me. At least now I see how it really is...

Hello Seattle, I'm Listening...

To contine with the theme of the former post, here's a several minute clip that essentially sums up the state of my personal life (and apparently, this blog) at the moment. Enjoy.

Confession

Ok, Mango Addicts (what few are left, at least), I have a confession to make....I've been spying on you. Ever since a few months ago, I got a nifty little tool called "sitemeter." Not to creep you out or anything, just because I was curious. So please don't be too alarmed when I tell you that I know every hit this site gets, the IP address it comes from, the town/state/province it comes from, what linked them here in the first place, and how long they stayed. Really, it's not so big a deal and in no way deteriorates upon your personal safety. Since we are a small blog, we really cherish every little hit this site gets. Even the random ones from bizzare countries because someone was googling "mango flavored marajuana" or "mango morning after" or some other similarly silly combination of words. (not that that's bad, remember what your preK teacher taught you? There is no such thing as a stupid google search)



So why let this little indiscretion slip now? Well, for the past few months this site has had a steady influx of daily, or at least every-couple-days-ly hits. infact, the number (much to our delight here at MFA) seemed to be rising. That is, until this week. Observe:









For the first time since ever, this blog has been just sitting alone in cyberspace for an entire week. OK, Where did everyone go? Was there some seven-day long party in Blogosphere that I wasn't invited to? Was the makeover really that abhorring? I don't care what you say, I'm sorry but there is no way you're simply that cool or that busy.



Hopefully this is but an irregular, circumstantial glitch in the way the world should be. (That, or everyone is just counting on atom feeders to check this blog for them...bums). But I fear it may not be. Indeed, this may be (*grimace*) the beginning of the (*shudder*) end of blog culture; and dare I say, our entire little section of the Blogosphere.



We don't know what the future holds at this point, but let me just say this one thing: Regardless, we had a damn good run.

It Could Be Worse, You Could live in NJ...

So here it is...the long awaited and much needed make-over. (Because this blog truly was 'just about as yellow as it gets'). Thank the people at blogger for finally developing a template tool for those of us who lack both the skill and patience to perfect their hex codes. Enjoy.























It's Happenning....December 2008.

Can I Get That In Pink?

So I was procrastinating my homework (as usual) and came across an AOL article (slideshow, really. Go watered-down American media!) of unusual and award winning homes. It was then when I saw this baby:

This is Jayne Mansfield's "Pink Palace" and the official inspiration for my future residence. You can now see why I felt an immidiate, intimate, dare I say Nexusy connection with the building:

It was truly, as Jayne described it, "a heart-shaped house with a heart-shaped pool." To decorate the house, Jayne wrote to over a thousand individual furniture dealers asking for free samples, and offering in return the right to brag that their wares were in her "outlandish mansion." (Something I so would do, and Nexusy connection #2) I was just wondering how much I would have to make a year in some obnoxious oh-so-not-for-puiblic-interest lawfirm to attempt to buy this baby when learned (to the sound of my heart breaking, and a slight sigh of relief for my future serving the public good) that it was demolished....on my 13th birthday (Nexusy connection #3). And if all this does not go to show that I am clearly the reincarnation of Mrs. Jayne Mansfield herself, here is a picture of her:

(Nexusy connections 4 and 5) Perhaps anatomy and personal taste are somehow obscurly linked?

Oh, and Juicy fact: Her daughter plays Olivia Benson on Law&Order (Nexusy connection#6)

Glimpsing The Future

Today on the weekly pilgrimage to Target, I was in the checkout line and noticed the woman ahead of me. She was buying around 30 (yes, I counted, 30) composition/ spiral notebooks, three large packets of Bic pens, and cat food for her six (yes, she said so, six) cats.

Nothing else.

That's pride.

Popeye = Lies

Everyday, people live their lives by a series of assumptions and "facts" that society has engrained into them over the years. "Eight hours of sleep is better for you than four," for example, and the ever famous "There are some things in life that you just need to do, whether you like it or not."

But the following is a potent reminder that just about any of these facts can be completely wrong. Never hesitate to question the authority, you might just be right after all.


Everyday, parents force spinach down the throats of disugusted, unhappy children at mealtime. When the children complain, the parent says "But honey, you need to eat spinach because it's good for you. You need all that iron to grow into a healthy grown-up!" and continues to force the vile substance down the child's throat. This leaves the child feeling violated, and the parent feeling guilty, but knowing that they are doing what is right for their child.

Or are they? Children, the time has come to rise against your elders. They are incorrect, and you need suffer no longer. Next time you are forced to swallow mouthful after mouthful of abhorrent green abomination, retalliate with the truth. Retaliate with this:

"Actually, the kind of Iron in spinach is inorganic, and it's physically impossible for our bodies to absorb any more than a mere tenth of it, even with a huge amount of Vitamin C to aid the absorption process. That's the same Iron content as most other vegetables, and even less than others."

If you're parents haven't already had their minds blown with the sheer power of that statement (and their child's excellent knowledge of college level Biochemistry which clearly exceeds their own), and in return say something like "You should still eat your Spinach because of all the other healthy vitamins and minerals in it!" then tell them this:

"It is true that Spinach will give you around half of your daily dose of a few types of B vitamins, which is impressive compared to some other vegetables (broccoli especially. I should note here that broccolli only contains trace amounts of any vitamin or mineral and could easily be susbtituted for a tastier necessity.) but there are far more efficient ways to get it. Carrots actually contain double the B vitamins of spinach, along with other nutrients, and taste far better when served caramelized with sugar. To make spinach an even less admirable sounding option, one should add that spinach actually contains over %400 of your daily dose of Vitamin K. Think that sounds healthy? Wrong. Vitamin K is fat soluble, not water soluble. This means that if you exceed the daily dose then your body cannot easily excrete the rest, so it becomes stored in the body's fatty tissue. Regularly exceeding the reccomended dosage by 2-3 times the normal amount (which spinach clearly does) can actually lead to health problems later in life."


What's that? Did I just say that Spinach could be considered less healthy than other vegetables? Why yes, yes I did. Now go on, children, take that which I have given you and set out into the world to spread the glories of truth and freedom from the oppression of misinformed parents everywhere.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Did you like what you just read? Excellent. Because in a few weeks, the Mango is going Pro : ).

The End Of An Era

For those of you who read my blog frequently, you might be wondering what became of the Miracle that is The Most Holy Hannukah Shampoo. And the truth is, in the true fashion of holy relics past, we may never know.


For those of you not so informed, here is the story: In April of 2007, JV was sent on an excursion to the grocery store to procure for me some daily necessities that I myself could not get ahold of. Not much attention was paid to these products at first (snack foods, beverages, hair and body care) but as time continued I observed a strange phennomenon. While the food was eaten up, the conditioner and body wash was used up, and the shower puff slowly disintegrated, the shampoo remained. An epic 3/4 of a year later, the shampoo was still fully intact. As of that moment, we realized that this was no ordinary shampoo- but a holy relic that, despite already lasting longer than any hair care product I have ever used so much of on such a regular basis, still had magical powers of longevity. It was then when we first wondered just how long this shampoo would last, and for how long we would witness this great miracle: The Miracle of the Hannukah Shampoo.



And as I said, following in the footsteps of great holy relics before it, we may never really know. For any of those hoping, in years to come, to form a gang of theologians, archaologists, explorers, and anthropolgists in order to quest for the lost Grail of the millenium (or for those simply curious), here is what scripture tells us:




"The Shampoo lasted, for certain, for a most incredible and holy six months after it was first recognized in all its true glory. That's one year and four months of miraculous existance. After that the shampoo was left almost unused for five weeks due to a necessary migration, but still performed its miraculous powers in the rare instances when it was ecalled upon. Once the migratory period had ended, it is very possible that the Shampoo could have continued in faithful miraculous service, as it did for at least a week after the Great Returning. But we will never know. We will never know because the Shampoo was betrayed. And yes ladies and gentleman, I, Juicy, am the cursed betrayor. While packing for another Great Migration, I questioned my faith. I packed not only the Most Holy Hannukah Shampoo, but another bottle, fearing the magic might cease soon. While unpacking my mother, as much the Eve of our time as I the Judas, asked of me "Why on earth did you pack two containers of shampoo, one of which looks to be nearly empty?" and my most unholy, lazy self was not willing to affirm my faith. I felt ridiculous attempting to preach the Word, as I should have done. Instead I replied in indifference and in lies ("I dunno") and the Most Holy Shampoo has not been seen since..."





Perhaps it lives on? Perhaps somewhere in the holy nooks and crannies of my room it continues in secret hiding, waiting for the great Ressurection, for the day when it will once again grace our lives with its holy existance? After all, it was never seen in my garbage can. But maybe it does not? Maybe it was disposed of far before I realized just what a great, cosmological crime I had comitted? And if it was never disposed of in such a shameful, disrespectful manner, how long would it have lasted? As you can see, from here on my friends, it is truly, more than ever, a question of Faith.


But for now, let us take a moment to celebrate this Most Holy Relic and its miraculous run, which lasted, even at its least, almost a year and a half. And of course, let us pray that some day I can be forgiven for my most abominable sin. And as those who cursed against the powers above in the Old Testament were marked with a mark of sin, I too have been marked. Indeed, because of this mark, I shall never again know the joys of the Miraculous Hannukah Shampoo, as I myself must now start on new type of cleansing... *



*... cleansing for color treated hair :D