Math, Joy of Man's Desiring (Sporadically)

Another déjà vu I experienced recently was actually the opposite of a déjà vu.  It was a not yet vu.  Sorry vu.  You may remember this post, in which I lamented math, maybe calling it a cruel hussy, maybe not.  Either way, math seems to never be on my side. ...until now.

Everyone has had experiences with tests.  If you haven’t, why not?  Is it because:  

a.) I speak for the trees

b.) I tested out of tests

c.) World peace

d.)  All of the above

Guess what.  There was no right answer.  You see, that was a test.  Now relate to me.  

In the ancient post, I whined about not getting my way.  Then I hypothesized about getting my way.  Kameron, I thought to myself in the third person, you’re a moderate looking guy.  If you guess on a bunch of questions on a test, you’re bound to get maybe some right.  More often than not, statistics and my third person prove to be incorrect.  However, more often than not is not not. Therefore, despite my moderate looks, if I guess on a bunch of questions on a test, every so often, I’m bound to get definitely some right.  And maybe even more.  Like, a bunch of them right.  Or even (foreshadowingly) all of them.  

On any given test, there are easier questions and harder questions.  These can also be viewed as questions I am sure/mostly sure about and ones that I am severely unsure about.  Generally, I will go through and do all of the ones I’m mostly sure about and come back to those that I’m unsure about.  Sometimes, I will predict my grade in the middle of taking my test.  This I do by figuring out how many I’m sure of, subtracting a few on account of dumb, and adding one or two on account of dumb luck.  Usually I’m wrong and should have spent that time actually thinking about the questions.  Usually I’m wrong in the direction that I wouldn’t like to be.

On a test I took a few weeks ago, I had finished the fer shore answers and calculated my speculative multiple choice grade.  Being satisfied, I ‘educatedly’ guessed on the remaining questions and turned in my test.  I moseyed on downstairs to check my score on the monitors.  It refreshed once.  Not yet.  Refreshed twice.  Not yet.  Third time’s the charm, and what a charming charm it was.  My number popped up.  My score popped up.  My eyebrows popped up.  My jaw popped down.  The sides of my mouth popped up.  100%.  I got a perfect score.  And to express my perfect score were the words “Perfect Score!” off to the side of my perfect score.  Never before had I achieved such a perfect score.  I couldn’t believe it.  I scrolled my eyeballs down the number list again to make sure I was claiming the right one.  I was.  I checked again.  Still yes, which is good because I quickly became attached and would have stolen it and stealing is bad.  I felt giddy.  Usually I feel ungiddy when I leave the testing center.  I just wanted... to sing....

So this is your math lesson for the day:  For all of the tests you have horribly bad guessing on, you will have one good one in your entire 9 year college career.  It doesn’t make sense according to math, but hey.  You’ve been in college for 9 years.  You’re bad at math so it’s bad at you.  I, for one, will take what I can get in most anything except diseases.

*;( pt. 2

This month, I've been reliving a lot of past experiences. This is an opportunity that a lot of people would kill for. If they were to actually kill someone for the chance to live an experience over again, that decision would likely become one of the experiences they would like to relive. Nostalgia and regret are not strong justifications for murder.

If you have followed my blog for a while, wow. Okay. You may also remember this little ditty. If not, there once was a ditty. I was walking on campus, made eye contact with a dude, and in that moment a snowflake hit one of my eyes, creating a wink. I winked at a dude. This was not my greatest moment or even in my top 10. It being less than positive, one would hope it doesn't even approach the top 10. But, notwithstanding its ranking, this was an experience I got to live over again.

Here's a little ditty. The other day, I was walking on campus with some friends. It was a cloudy and cold day, being that it was still winter. Despite these factors, it wasn't very snowy. A light snow had fallen earlier that week, but it was no longer fresh. I'll tell you what was fresh, though. This dude walking towards us. He was a dapper looking fellow, dressed in a fly suit. He was a bit older, but sauntered towards us with some spring in his step. As he drew near, I made eye contact, as is my custom. But unbeknownst to me was a snowflake, also looking to make eye contact. Physically. Drift on down it did. From where? No one knows. To where? My eye.  

My eye recoiled in horror, writhing and hissing, shrieking and moaning. My eyelids clenched down on the snowflake, crushing it ‘neath their wrath. My eye opened again, victorious in the wake of its enemy's demise. But all that fly guy saw was a wink.

We both kept walking, moving on physically, but perhaps not emotionally. I don't know what my wink meant to that man. It might have changed his perspective on everything. He didn't know it was an accident. All he knows is how it made him feel, which was either good or weird or any other emotion.  But we shared a moment.  And that’s not something he can change or deny.  I have forever become a part of this man’s history, and he mine.  That probably means annual Christmas cards will be exchanged.  But even if not, you’re welcome for the wink.  It wasn’t intentional, but I think we’re both glad it happened.  Ish.

Requited

Love is interesting.  Whether you consider it an emotion, a lifestyle, a decision... the promises of love are many and diverse.  This is backed up by science (!) and the heartfelt testimonials of anyone who finds themselves entrenched in the bliss of a meaningful relationship.

But just as real and diverse are the effects of a life devoid of love.  Countless praises are sung to the wonderment of a life enamored, only to turn into the deepest of sorrows when it’s lost.  Is it really worth the risk?  How can something so fleeting be real?  Or, to be more accurate, why invest so much in something so inevitably short-lived?  I don’t know.  Maybe that’s just how I’m seeing it at the moment...  I get this way around Valentine’s Day.

Have you ever experienced this?  Have you ever missed someone every second you’re not with them, only to catch a glimpse and wonder if they were ever really there in the first place?  Have you ever wondered why... why they can’t just come back and give you that one chance?  Things could be good.  Things could be great.  They couldn’t be worse than they are now.  Why not?  Why not me?  Why lots of things.  Did I do something wrong?  In what ways am I not what you need?  I can change those.  Should I have to change those?  Should you change?  Should I want you to change?  Nothing’s fitting.  Why do I still want this?  Threats, fears, indignation... Maybe it’d be better if you just left.  But then you did.  Threats, fears, indignation... Now reality.  Turns out it isn’t better.  Turns out I was wrong.  About a lot of things.  Turns out I want you here.  Please don’t ask why.  Neither of us wants the answer.  I wouldn’t say I need you.  But only because needs are fickle.  I think we both know what I’m trying to say.  Or at least I like to think you do.  I like to think a lot of things about you.  Maybe that’s the problem.  I wish it were our problem.  But maybe you wouldn’t know.  Maybe you don’t care.  Maybe that’s the problem.  Maybe I’m the problem.  Either way, there’s a problem.  And I don’t know how to fix it so I’ll wait.  Wait and hope.  Hope that someday you will care, and care enough.  How much is enough? At all is probably a good start.  Let’s start there.  Let’s start over.  Let’s start something; something fleeting.  Until then, I’ll be here.  Happy, but not.  Moving on, but not.  Until one day when I know you’ll come back, and I’ll invest hope anew.  Things will be different then.  I’ll be happy, and you’ll stay because you’re happy, and I won’t take you for granted.  No.  Not this time.  Never again...



















 





Baseball, I’m so glad you’re back.  

Sorry.  The baseball off season is always hard for me.  I get emotional.  Hormones, probably, or emotional issues.  It was a long, lonely-cold winter without you.  As a famous twittist once said about the off season, “There’s nothing like a freshly stoked Hot Stove to keep you warm on those cold winter nights.”  Except maybe a woman.  But said famous tweeter wouldn’t know about those, let alone write a blog post about them...  But even better than the Hot Stove is the oven itself.  Whatever that means.  All I know is that baseball is back.  Is it any wonder that Spring Training always begins right around Valentine’s Day?  Nay.  Nary a wonder.  It’s the most romantic I ever feel.  Baseball.  I love you, babe.  Don’t ever leave me again.  Or else.

GooO0OooOOO0ooOOOLgolgolgolgolgolgolgols

At the beginning of each year, people resolve themselves.  What to varies from person to person, as does what for.  I, 4 1, have never been very adept at the whole process.  Making resolutions requires resolution, and I am resolutely bad at resolving.  

That being said, I do love the idea of New Year’s Resolutions.  Few endeavors are more beneficial to us than those that will help us to master ourselves.  Believing as I do, how, then, might I, bridge the gap between irresolvitude and self-mastery?  I believe that with the proper amount and type of motivation, most people can be motivated to do most things.  My motivation?  People yelling at me.

But not just any people—not for the cause at hand, anyway.  A puny energetic man with a high-pitched voice.  That’s right.  ...Well depending on what you guessed.  It could’ve been wrong.  Like if you thought Oompa-Loompa, in which case, get off my blog.  No, sir/madam, I’m talking the respiratorily-gifted individuals who call soccer games en español [CC] (HD).  If you’ve never had the pleasure of experiencing their excitement at a circle crossing a line, culture yourself:

Vim & vigor, in droves & spades. Imagine if you had someone cheering for you like that.  That’s why I’m starting a New Year’s Revolution:  I’m going to hire one-ish of these dudes to help me fulfill my New Year’s Resolutions.  First, I’ll inform him as to what said resolutions are.  Negative first, I’ll come up with some.  Second, I’ll tell him to watch my every move.  Every.  One of them.  Third, he’ll comment on my moves.  Movular commentary. It’ll be kind of nice with regular stuff, acting as background noise—like traffic or refrigerators or a babbling brook.  But it’ll be a babbling man.  The exciting will begin when I start approaching one of my goals.  His speech will get faster, my pulse will get faster.  His volume will increase, my adrenaline will increase.  And on and on aND On UNTIL I COMPLETE MY GOL AND GOOOOOOOOOLGOLGOLGOLGOLGOL GOL GOL GOL GOL GOL GOL GOL GOLGOOOOOOOOOOOOOLOLOLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL GOOOL GOL GOL GOL GOL (gigantic breath) KAMERONHAHECHOLOIMPOSIBLEENCOMPLETARUNGOoooOOooOOL! ¡¡¡¡QUE ILU-SIÓN!!!!

Que ilusión indeed, little man.  Ilución of grandeur.  Because I just completed a golazo.  I couldn’t have done it without you.  Well.  I probably could have.  I just wouldn’t have done it without you.  You’re the meaning in my life; you’re the inspiration.  Cue emotional celebration scene.

 

 
Never before have I been so excited about positive change.  At this rate, I’m going to complete all of my goals posthaste and need a completely fresh new year so I can make fresh new goals.  Good thing the Chinese live in a completely different dimension than we do.  I believe their new year is coming up right quick here.  I’ll just borrow theirs and have it back to them by the end of the year.  The Gregorian year.  The everyone except for China year.  And I should be able to do all of this without getting caught in some weird time continuum or aging excessively quickly.  In fact I’ll make it a goal of mine.  … Man.  Time flies when you’re followed around by a little screaming man.

Optimism Pt. 2

Lately, here, it has been cold.  Like really cold.  Add to that the second worst air quality in the nation and freezing rain and Provo hasn’t been a delightful place to be.  Unless you're into those sorts of things, in which case I’ll trade you lives.
  
But after hearing about them literally constantly for the entirety of this new year, and after much study and consideration, I have concluded that complaining is not the best course of action.  This has been hard, though.  Especially after today when my right sock got wet.  I was le misérable.  So I started thinking of ways that I might make peace with mine enemy, and I came up with one:  I decided to find people/weather more (les[s]) misérables than myself/my own.  Turns out:  not hard to do → 

Unaware that umbrellas are for water from above

A Venitian gondola ride, almost

Unlike those boats, these people are not boats

Water indicators

Not a joy ride.

The ocean, as a weather condition

Frozen humidity

Enormous hail/baseball plug

Being stuck in ice is not a warm idea

Willingly living in ice is not a warm idea

Hurricanes are not nice weather

Lightning all over your city is not nice weather

Acid rain exfoliates, but not like you’d expect

Even houses run away from giant tornadoes

Rainbow tornadoes may look friendly, but nope

Lightning tornadoes in rush hour traffic

Fire tornadoes that blow up buildings

Even with all of those suns, space is not warm, and throws meteors at you

Raining lava is probably not ideal

Mobile electric volcanic ash

Electronic magma

I would imagine the Apocalypse will have some pretty crummy weather, whether it come in the form of subterranean explosions, nuclear explosions and radiation poisoning, fire and brimstone rain, or raining planets.

Hell, where the forecast appears ominous

I also found this:

Lemonade

Oh, internet.  You know just how to make a man feel special.  This little experiment has made me feel better about things.  Were my sock dry, I'd probably feel really good right now.  Next time someone asks me how I feel about the weather, I'll say, "Well, no electronic magma," or, "It's not raining planets," or, "I still have all of my skin."  And then I'll remember that the weather is great, comparatively.  Keep cool, everybody.  Shouldn’t be too hard in this weather.

Wrap Artist

Christmas is a time when we are wont to think of others.  By its very nature, the tradition of gift giving takes our minds off of ourselves and directs them outwardly.  What might (other entity) need?  What might benefit (other entity)?  What might be most useful to (other entity) at this stage of (its) (hypothetical) life? Relationships can be built and strengthened when one gives in to giving.

But I wonder if there might be a bit of disparity in the wide world of gifts. Does the simple act of giving a gift make what was given a good or thoughtful gift?  Does there exist such a thing as a bad gift when pure intentions are involved? If so, are there certain characteristics of the gift that might change its identity or quality as a gift?  Who knew gift giving could wax so philosophical? I’ll gift you an example and present you with the opportunity to decide for yourself.

I’m frighteningly bad at wrapping presents.  Like to the point where sometimes the recipients are afraid to establish physical proximity with the gifts they have received.  Are they still considered thoughtful even though they induce fright?  Would you consider something that brought you anxiety a thoughtful thing, even if that weren’t the intent with which it was given?  If sufficient thought preceded the giving of the gift, would not said thought anticipate said anxiety? Do these look thoughtful to you, hmm?

World's most hideous collage. Would you graciously receive something that looked so vile? All of these are fairly normally-shaped items. Well they were before they were wrapped, at least. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me. Generally I hold my own when it comes to crafty things, whatever that means.  Maybe it’s too complicated, even though I’ve had it simply explained to me a million times.  Maybe it’s apathy, though I don’t care enough to find out.  It's probably apathy. The wrapping always gets destroyed quickly and mercilessly for its insolence in presenting impediment from the enclosed giftage.  The wrapping in and of itself is only ever really appreciated as it adds to the beautiful scene of presents tidily prepared and organized under the tree as Christmas approaches.  But my presents never really make it under the tree far enough in advance to be appreciated in such a scene, therefore negating the need for them to be aesthetically appreciateable in nature.  Therefore again, despite the horrifying appearance of my gifts-from-the-heart, it shouldn’t matter that I don’t know how to perform the simple of task of coating an item in an extremely ductile and pliant substance. Just open the danged thing and let's establish a danged relationship.

Hopefully I’ve helped to convince you not to judge a book by its cover, to judge not that ye be not judged, to accept the beauty within, etc.  Otherwise I’ve just exposed a huge personal flaw to the whole internet and will spend the rest of my Christmases alone.  

Geri(atric) Christmas

When one is young, Christmas tends to be extremely exciting:  the weeks-long anticipation leading up to the holiday, trying to sleep on Christmas Eve, waking up butt early to get a crack at those presents, and then playing with said presents for at least (insert attention span here).  When one is old, Christmas tends to be geriatric:  the not knowing it’s almost Christmas until it’s almost Christmas, the trying to stay awake for more than an hour at a time any given day, the panic of not knowing who you are when you wake up, and the miserable experience of gathering and opening presents because of arthritis pains.  Everywhere.  Oh, how do I know anything about this you ask?  Geri(atric) Christmas.

The first thing that clued me in to the fact that I was slipping into old saggy Christmas was my old sagginess.  The second thing that clued me in was my Christmas list.  Generally I don’t have one, but I thought I’d be a bit more prepared this year.  I thought and thought and wrote and wrote and this is what I came up with:

• Knee braces
• A candle warmer
• A food processor
• A wife

If you can find anything young or spry about that, I’d be glad to hear it.  My first mistake was thinking in terms of things that would be most useful at this current time in my life.  Boring/lame.  Boringlame.  The wife idea is 1.) not for Christmas  2.) hot, but old.  How many examples exist of old dudes who are just after some sweet young thing?  Add one to the list.  My reasoning behind wanting a food processor was that I needed it for making refined foreign cuisine that requires special preparation to be authentic, but it’s really probably because I have trouble with solid foods anymore.  My other mistake was even knowing what a candle warmer is.  

Maybe next year I’ll ask for a fountain of youth.  Or a time machine.  I think they probably have one of those by now.  But it depends.  I considered planning ahead and adding adult diapers to the list.  But it depends.