uMac iDon't

I have been busy with school and have, because of this, neglected my blog.  My apologies go out to all three of you, my avid readers.  The truth is, I have had nothing about which to blog, that is, until now. 

I have been made aware of Apple's new shiny thing, you know, the one that is named as if it is some sort of high-tech feminine product.  I look at my old trusty PDA.  It is funny, a few years ago a couple of the kids I strength coached made fun of the fact that I had a separate PDA and phone.  It was too old school for them.  After all, my clie at that point was about 2 years old.  To convert from real years into tech years, I am told you have to use this complicated formula:  Ytech = Yreal x 1googolplex. 

This ridiculous age of my technical device was reflected by its features.  After all, my clie only can connect to any wireless network to surf the web, act an mp3 player, download new applications, read e-books, take photos, has graffiti for super-fast writing (in proper text form), keeps a schedule, and feeds small children.  Those middle-schoolers were on to something those 3 years ago.  In this day and age, who really surfs the internet, keeps a schedule, or listens to portable music?

Now there is all this talk about this iPad.  It pretty much has the same functionality of my old clie, but with the panache of  a celebrity on the red carpet.  Suddenly a device separate from one's phone is back in vogue, except only when that device is far more bulky and has an irritating interface.  Steve Jobs, you have once again earned your paycheck--selling overpriced shiny things to the masses, while making them think they are part of some sort of fringe movement.  My hat goes off to you.

I still use my clie.  It does everything one would need in a portable device, even if it isn't over-priced enough for the mass consumer. 

I sweat alone. Yeah, with nobody else.

The Lory apartments, where I am a resident, consist of two buildings--Lory north and Lory south.  These two buildings are said to house over 100 students.  Why, then, is it the case that the 3 times that I have used the sauna in the basement of Lory north I have not come across 1 person?  Is it because I am the king of the sauna?  I'd like to think this is the case.

Still, 3 sauna visits, at 30 minutes per visit, equals 1.5 hours down there.  You would think I would come across one of those 100 people.  As I have not, I have come to the conclusion that not one Finnish person lives in the Lory apartments.  This means two things: One, I will not get to impress anyone with my ability to say "Santa-Clause" in Finnish; and, two, I am indeed king of the Lory sauna.

Long live the king.

Snowshoe 2-3-4 and Ski 2-3-4. Good.

 

It's not easy being the obstreperous one

An abridged list of places where Dave has gotten free food since moving:

1) An aerobics room on campus -- There was a burrito welcome dinner for new and transfer students.

2) A church -- I got a loaf of bread for attending a church for the first time.

3) Chipotle -- Went in looking for coffee, left with a free burrito. 

4) The International House -- Tacos were served during this "fiesta" thrown for those residents of the Lory apartments (where I live) and of the International House (where international students live).

I realize that I have spent most nights sitting in the chapter chair, sipping wine from my rocks glass, reading . . . alone.  I look back at my posts.  Most of them rave about avocados -- friggin' avocados!  Who blogs about avocados?  People who spend most nights sitting in a chapter chair, sipping wine from their rocks glass, reading alone, that's who! Realizing this, I have attended a few events in the hope of meeting people.

First, I attended a dinner welcoming new and transfer students.  At this event I had the pleasure of sitting across from a kid who liked to concatenate ". . . that reminds me of this time that I was at a strip club . . ." to my table's conversation.  To be honest, it seemed to me that his apparent age would not have allowed him to have any strip club stories.  Perhaps he confused his pediatrician's office for a strip club.  Needless to say, I left that event prematurely or, rather, maturely.

I also attended a church for the first time (since the move).  The problem with me and churches is my judgmental, 14 years of Christian education enabled, learned pretense.  There was a battle in my head that went something like this:

Me: "Ugh, topical preaching?  Really?  What, are we in 3rd grade Sunday school again?"
 

I: "C'mon, they seem to be a good Bible believing church.  Give it a chance, so the pastor hasn't learned the power of good exegetical preaching yet."
 

Me: ". . . and white bread? Wouldn't Jesus want this temple to only ingest whole wheat?"
 

I: "OK Me, now that is just petty."

 

 I then attended CSU's "CRU" meeting.  Afterward everyone went to Coldstone Creamery.  Despite the fact that I try to not eat added sugar, I went in the hope of meeting people or, at minimum, a person.  To not be left out in the consumption part of this ice-cream fellowship, I went next door to Chipotle, praying that they had coffee.  When I came back to Coldstone with my free burrito, I realized how old I was compared to everyone else there. While I will most likely attend "CRU" again, the cause for future deep conversion will probably be lost.

Finally (tonight), I went to an event for apartment residents.  In line for food I met Ahmad.  While still in line he indicated that he would be my friend.  I tried to not get too excited, this was my best lead to date.  I sat with him to eat.  It just so happens that he was sitting across from a group of Christians -- Christians who apparently go to a church with exegetical preaching; Christians who invited me to go see "The Book of Eli" with them (yes, Mike, two movies in the same year!); Christians who would later come to my apartment and finally use all those coasters I lovingly made from old CDs and cardboard.  While Ahmad may be Muslim, he was totally used by Jesus.  Sorry Ahmad.

We all sat around my underused coffee table and sipped wine from rocks glasses and coffee mugs.  We even shared a couple of avocados!  (OK, so I even blog about avocados now that I have met people.  We all know that I have some serious problems.)

Wait, now I remember why I don't want friends . . . 

Ugh, do I really have to go out tomorrow for more wine and avocados?

Do you snowshoe with your mouth open?

I will propose two related theories:

1) The amount of one's introspection is a constant.  This constant varies from person to person, but never changes for the individual (Note: having introspection does not also imply the use of that introspection.  One may be aware that they suck, but choose to not act on this knowledge).

2) As an observer cannot infer anther's amount of introspection based on their personal growth (see "Note" above), there must be some other indicator.  The best indicator, then, is how much one chews with their mouth open.  
i.e. Self-awareness = k/(open-mouth chewing)

There are toys we have that we never use, no matter how much we mean to.  I was determined that this should not be the case in regards to the sweet snowshoes Rob hooked me up with before I moved.  So--with no prior snowshoeing experience--I drove to Rocky Mountain National Park, found a hill that was very steep and snowy,  and I snowshoed the crap out of it.  Oh yes, it was as if the mountain was my Lolita and I was its Humbert Humbert.  Sure, the mountain may have experimented with other trekkers, but none as awesome as I.  RMNP, light of my life, fire of my lungs. This is why I moved out here.

While I may be a bit of a music junky while driving (Joe Satriani), cooking (Muse/Foo Fighters), or mathematicing (Bela Fleck and the Flecktones/Morphine); I never bring music with me skiing or hiking. Somehow I feel it gets in the way.  It is nice to be alone with God's creation and reflect in the quietness.

Finally, at the top!  Now I'll just put my skis on and . . . wait, I knew I forgot something.

Roads? Where we're going we don't need roads . . . but you might want to bring your ti-86

King Nebuchadnezzer dreamed of a statue.  It had a gold head, silver mid-bits, a belly and thighs of bronze, iron legs, and clay feet.  Whoever designed this statue must have, at every stage, said to himself, "Wow, this is turning out better than I expected!  Maybe I should upgrade my medium."  . . . or, maybe, it just meant King N's kingdom was in store for some crappier times.

"Hey Dave," you might say as we enjoy our ice cream cones, "Your overall pretense makes me think you have it all together.  You, obviously, are not worried about finishing school.  Man, this is one mighty fine hypothetical frozen treat."  I am, however, not immune to the nervousness everyone gets when beginning something new.  I ask myself:  Was I not just a big fish in a little pond?  Will third and fourth year math classes be much harder than I expect? 

After all, I did just bomb a basic algebra competency quiz at my tutoring interview.  It was if I was just given a driving lesson in a car with a manual transmission and had no problem putting the car into first gear, but could not quite understand how to operate the turn signal.  "Good!," my instructor would exclaim as I eased on the gas through the clutch's sweet-spot (with minimal instruction, of course), ". . . now make this next left."  I honk the horn; he shakes his head no.  I turn on the wipers; he shakes his head no.  I flick the turn signal clockwise; he snaps his clipboard in half. 

I wonder, "What if I'm just not cut out for this mathematics racket?"  Then, as I'm using the self checkout at the supermarket, I realize an employee is coming over to help me.  Apparently I cannot look up the sku for my avocados, without the help of a King Soopers employee.  I, who once worked at a grocery store, cannot read the large "4225" on the sticker of each avocado and put it into the computer (there were six avocados in all-- 6 avocados x 1 "4225" = 6 "4225"s).  It was then I realized, academia and I deserve each other.  I was meant for this. 

After all, there are academics and then there are people who are actually useful.  Now I wonder how I am supposed to get one of these avocados open.  Maybe it would help if I drew a force diagram.

Those Who Can't Do

When CD's came out people forgot how to use record players.  When Al Gore gave us the internet, he unwittingly damned the bound encyclopedia industry.  After Jesus came, people forgot how to properly burn a turtle-dove (or is it two turtle-doves?) over stone.  With the calculator, we no longer needed to deal with those pesky mathematical details.

I was smart enough in high-school to be stupid and take neither a fourth year of math nor a fourth year of science.  Being interested in only that which pertained to art, I then forgot what I had learned in those subjects the three years I did take them.  With a blank mind I was free to absorb more art facts; I was free to retain more self-taught philosophy; I was free to bomb my math placement test when I finally returned to college.  I placed into math 103, "Intermediate Algebra."  This bored me; so, I walked right up to the dean of the mathematics department and said, "Dean of the mathematics department, I do not want to take these silly classes.  My mom tells me I'm a smart boy.  Please wave all prerequisites such as, but not limited to, college algebra, geometry, and trigonometry.  Thank you for your time."

Tomorrow I have an interview for a math tutoring position.  If I am given this job I will tutor kids from k-12 in mathematics .  The question occurs to me, "do I know any mathematics on the k-12 level?"  Unless 2nd graders have a habit of struggling with integrating functions involving the inverse tangent, I believe the answer is no.   No, I do not remember polynomial long division (or regular long division for that matter), how to complete the square (OK, so I can probably do that if I squint enough), or how to properly use one of those factorials (the "!," if you forget). 

I will now have to spend my night cramming all the math in my brain that I once tried so hard to forget.  I think my interviewer mentioned something about a quiz.  I sure hope, but very much doubt, that there is a definite integral on it -- otherwise I might just embarrass myself.

Wait a minute . . .  I think I'm starting to get it!