Why do I Bother?

I consider myself a very logical person. Frequently this trait is the cause of much hilarity among my friends. While I was growing up, my mom would often tell me that I was "applying logic where it doesn't belong." Now she just gives me a pitiful look; apparently there are some habits I will never out grow.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the Darwin Awards. I have yet to come close to understanding what these poor, poor people were thinking. I have come to the conclusion that I need to ask myself one question. "Why do I bother?" Here are a few examples:

The graduate student across the hall from me is one of the lecturers for the Freshman Chemistry labs. She as 9 sections, with 300 students (at last count) and 4 TAs. She is also the TA for the Chem 1010 online course, and is in charge of AMES (college chemistry for high school students). And she is supposed to do research...when? In all 2 hours of her free time, no doubt. I'm sorry...you're right, I hyperbolize. She won't have that much free time.

In St. George, man robbed a bank. After getting the money, he went to visit family and then walked the streets. The police found him standing on the corner near his house, waiting for them.

One of Dr. Eyring's undergraduate students got his BS in Chemistry, and continued on to medical school. He became a pathologist. Ten years later, he decided that he didn't like the amount of paperwork, and became a potato farmer. (There was some mention of not liking to cut up dead babies, but I'm sure that's not important here.) That lasted for a few years before he got disgusted with the pay, and he went to law school. Now he is a lawyer, who specializes in malpractice suits.

Back in the day, if a St. Georgian wanted a pet they would drive out to the Arizona strip and grab a tortoise. If it ran away, no big deal--you go get another one. If it got too big, no big deal--leave the fence open, it runs away, and we know how to fix that. This practice has caused the BLM to 'reserve' large areas of land, in southern Utah, for the tortoise. A tortoise that wasn't in Utah before we brought it there.

Have you ever watched the "sidewalking" segment of the Tonight Show? Every single time I do, I wonder how these people have survived for so long. Shouldn't they have forgotten how to breath long before now? I like to think that he screens them by asking "Would you ever vote for Ron Paul?"

I'm sure that by now you see my frustration. What is this world coming to? How am I supposed to be able to find a place in it? I...who's favorite part of Geometry and Trigonometry was the proofs...have a place in all this insanity? Am I the only one who feels completely and utterly lost among a sea of idiots?!

At this point of my rant, I would like to thank my family and friends. These wonderful people who provide a levy against the tides of insanity; the absolute gems who help me understand the insanity that leaks through. I owe every bit of sanity that I possess today to them. Some days all I want is for them to come collect it, so I can finally fit in.

Would You Call?

Dealing with tech support these past few months has reminded me, and probably them, of just why I hate dealing with them. As a pick-me-up I like to look up the stupid things that people call tech support for. I do this for several reasons.

1. I don't feel quite as stupid when the reason I called for turns out to be stupid.
2. It make me feel better when they don't understand what I am saying.
3. I don't get as frustrated when they can't find a way to fix my problem.

I make no claims to superior computer skills. I once called tech support to have them help me find where the experiment I just ran was saved, because it certainly wasn't where I told it to wait for me. While he was asking for help, I started to randomly search folders--and found it. For this reason (and others we don't need to get into), I frequently classify myself as computer illiterate. However I do know:

1. How to turn the computer on
2. How to use a mouse and
   
3. What a screen saver is.
   

Considering that these are the problems people call in for, don't you wonder about all of the problems that don't get called in? Recently an e-mail was forwarded to me describing this very same situation. I can't give it the justice it deserves, so I will refer you to the original story. Truly, I laughed until I cried!

Waldo Lives!

I love Where's Waldo. As a kid I would spend hours looking for Waldo, Wanda, their dog, and the Wizard. Once that was done, I would look for the key, bone, scroll, and other assorted items requested by the back pages. I spy follows a similar theme, and is equally loved. There is nothing better than a Where's Waldo or I spy book on a rainy day.

On the way to Smiths, Nick and I found a yard dedicated to this cause! Let me tell you, the challenge of a 3-D environment was very much appreciated.

We searched for ten minutes until we found Waldo. Along the way, we found all the beach balls. After finding Waldo, we continued home. However, we had to come back. This yard had to be blogged about!

Taking pictures gave us the chance to find all the straw hats, the bucket wearing sunglasses, and the flip flops. I wasn't able to find the smiley face, unless that was Waldo--he was smiling. And counting to 12 was enough of a deterrent to keep me from looking for the bats.

I don't know who should be commended more...the guy who thought up the idea...the guys who strung up all the toys...or the neighbors who are saint enough not to demand that it get cleaned up. In any case, I totally enjoyed the experiment. Oh...I just found the smiley face!

**Disclaimer**

If this is your yard and you would like the pics removed just let me know. No one was home on the Saturday afternoon that we walked by, otherwise I would have asked for permission.

Reclaiming Your Youth

So...I was telling a friend about my colorful knee, and she said that I should blog about it. I'm not sure why...but the TGA isn't behaving, so here I am.

Let me start off by saying that playground equipment is fun. It is almost as fun now (the odd proportions detract from the enjoyment) as it was when I was a kid. There should be a market out there for an adult sized playground, complete...with tamed monkey bars. The kind that the kids have bite!

When Nick and I go to play on the equipment, we like to go at night. There are less little kids then. Little kids tend to get in the way and/or pick up bad habits when adults are playing. Plus, it isn't as much fun if you have to be watching out for those younger than you. Anyway...I digress...at night there also isn't much light to see by. Hence, my poor knee.

One of my favorite ways to get onto said equipment is to run up the stout slide. Every playground has one...and if it doesn't, keep moving. In this case, it was yellow. I was running toward the slide, jumped, and missed. My foot hooked the bottom of the slide, and it was considerate enough to catch my fall. As a result both knees ached and I had a goose egg forming on my shin, right at my sock line.

Never one to be deterred by defeat, I peeled myself off the slide and quickly ran up it. I then had to promptly sit down. Once I was positive that I wasn't going to cry, that would break my cool facade, we preceded to enjoy the playground. It was fun. A cargo net, several slides, monkey bars, and a fireman's pole! Nick beat me at a game of tic-tac-toe. We swung on the swings...well, I only lasted 30 seconds before getting sick. When we got bored of this playground equipment, we moved to the lighted one. It had tunnels! I dominated at tic-tac-toe. Nick was such a gentleman, he let me go first each time. Bad move if you want to win, the first player can always win. ... Something tells me that I won't get to go first three time in a row anymore. Ah, well...it was fun while it lasted.


I feel like I should apologise to all those gangly teens, near teens, and recent teens who were hoping to grow out of it. Like most good curses, it becomes less frequent but never completely goes away. However, as a consolation prize, you can have a kick-a$$ tic-tac-toe game!

Drum Circles

I once went to a drum circle at WSU. It was interesting. One kid sang the theme song for M*A*S*H, and countless others recited poetry that they wrote. When it turned into a beat poetry fest I left. I really can't stand that stuff.

I mention this because every Sunday Liberty park has a drum circle. These are usually (like most drum circles, I assume) a hippie fests. Frequently there are tie-dyed works on display, the marijuana leaf being prominently displayed. And Grandma and Grandpa hippie are usually there. They, of course, are all decked out in long hair, tie-died tank tops, and flip-flops. No, I didn't forget the pants, but it looks like they did. Luckily they are long tank tops.

Anyway, Nick and I walked around the park last night (it is now Monday). Since it was after dark, we were mildly surprised to hear the drums. We listened for a while, smelled "funny" cigarette smoke, and decided to leave. However, they started fire dancing. We walked back through the "regular" cigarette smoke to watch, luckily the "funny" was all smoked out (hence the fire dancing, I assume). They had some there that were clearly beginners, and others that were truly amazing. It was a mesmerizing sight! My favorite was the gal with a hula hoop. I think it had six fires around it, and was really cool!

P.S. This isn't the best video out there, but it does have the hula hoop!