Oy! Kids These Days!

You all know that I'm back in college. Again. For the second time. Soon to be in graduate school in some official capacity. Anyhow...

I am scavenging various and sundry requirements that have cropped up in the sfiahefieuhf years since I graduated the first time and one or two prerequisites that I do not yet have and in the mean time marvelling at how things have changed. For one thing...all my profs speak English. Clearly. Distinctly. Sometimes this fact alone makes me dissolve in hysterical fits of giggles. It's a luxury. A luxury I say!

Today, I was sitting in the hall...again...because now they lock everything up tight for our protection. We are so much safer sitting in large packs in the hallway should some rampaging half- (or fully-) crazed student barge in and try to shoot us all. Now we are fairly lined up like a shooting gallery with no doors to protect us. I'm off topic here, but since you aren't supposed to carry concealed on campus, well...I digress.

Where was I? I was sitting in the hall with the others marked for death. And they were discussing various professors they were going to have for next semester. Horrifying people those professors! One of them used TWO TEXTBOOKS! Another actually expected that you memorize all the metabolic reactions verbatim for the biochemistry section...of ...something. I lost interest at that point because I took not one, but two classes entitled Metabolism (I and II) where it was nothing but memorization of reactions and energy consumed or generated and the byproducts, etc. yada, yada, yada and had to keep track of the electrons much less the molecules...and I started to giggle. It was ok because they sort of expect this of me. Several of us study together and they often like to hear horror stories of the dark ages of the late eighties and early nineties before state mandates forced requirements on professors, etc.

Seriously, though. My first irrational professor really didn't speak English. At. All. Dr. Chen. The man most likely to be found napping in his office. His only coherent question was asked the first day. It was: "What is a function?" After many clear and logical answers including one read from the text, we found that the answer he required was: "An apple." There you have it. A function is an apple. And later he gifted us with the information that, "An apple is a machine." Right. This was Calc-based Physics I. I made a 57. Highest grade in the class. It took me no less that four or five hours a day of studying (one fax machine and a family physicist) to accomplish that. It ended up being the only A. Thanks be to God that they curved "back then." More about apples than you ever cared to know and then some. The tests were a bitch.

Botany, of all things, ate my lunch and gave me a life-long hatred of anything that manages to sprout from the dirt. I've since gotten over it, but it's been a tough row to hoe so-to-speak. It was a required biology credit when I was in the Biology/Chemistry dual major program at OBU and the instructor, Dr. Hurley, used it as a weed-out class. Pun most definitely intended. Part of my difficulty with the class was my problem. I couldn't stand the arrogance of the good doctor. Inevitably, at student-faculty outings we seemed to get paired up for croquet (this was a small Bible-belt University...and I am not, how to say this, croquet-capable). Football, basketball, frisbee, or anything else, but no-go on the croquet. We lost outright, much to his chagrin, and I believe it spilled over into the class. The pinnacle of the course was the plant collection. It required 1000 different plant samples. 25 families had to be represented and just to make it interesting 25 of your samples had to be unique from the rest of the class. The class size was 15. Big enough to make life difficult. Just prior to that semester, the good doctor broke his ankle when he slipped on some ice on the loading dock out back and so we also had to push him in his wheelchair to and fro throughout the following semester as he healed. Most of the students had a head start on the collection, but I came into it when I got the syllabus. Late bloomer. Uggghhhh. Long story short, we all worked our asses off and did unspeakable things including mouth pipetting salmonella (yes, I did that and acquired immunity along the way--go figure). Hours of work was spent driving all over Oklahoma, Texas, Arkansas, Missouri, and Louisiana looking for plant samples and in the end every single student was awarded a C. Yes, a C. One of the two C's I have ever "earned?" Whatever.

Then I transferred to University of Houston and the Biochemistry and Biophysics programs. Same song, different verse.

Biochem I and II weren't so bad once I figured out that the instructors were actually pulling from about three texts. So after acquiring all three and reading and studying all three I was golden. A's all around.

Biophysics was another story. It was like a no rules collegiate course. Three texts were recommended. That meant "buy them or else!" The first came in two volumes, the second came in three volumes, the third came in a three-inch (mercifully) single text. All of them were almost unintelligible to an undergraduate given the level of mathematics required to understand much of what was being discussed. I can understand them now that my mathematics education has caught up, but then, I was in Calc III...so... The instructor, Horace Gray (really the name should have flagged me off), had a fondness for Schrodinger's wave equation and used it in its entirety whenever possible. Ditto for other long and pretty much unsolvable equations. He also liked to invent words like "sereptation" to describe the movement of DNA molecules through a packed chromatography column...and the like. But he wouldn't define them as such. You just had to get the gist of things. My Chem prof from OBU and my father had long ago indoctrinated me in the ways of solving problems using dimensional analysis. If the units on both sides of the equation work out, you're golden. That saved my cookies in this class.

Taking tests in Dr. Gray's class was a campus-wide phenomenon. ANYTHING was allowed. He would reserve a room from  7:30 am until, well...until the janitors locked up the building and afterward. We were allowed to bring any and all resources (computers, calculators, texts, notes, other people's notes, other tests, etc. no limits) We could collaborate with other students and even collaborate as a class, but I soon found out that wasn't always a good idea. There was NO time limit. If his office building was locked, we could turn it in the next day. Do you know why? BECAUSE IT DIDN'T MATTER. Those were the hardest damned tests I'd ever taken. Ever. We'd bring coolers full of drinks and food and spend all day and into the night working on them. We'd skip what classes we had to skip (our other profs knew what was up and excused it), we'd miss work, we'd neglect everything just to work on those damned things in hopes of some inspiration or finding some little tidbit of knowledge in a source we'd brought with us. They were murder. In the end we knew it was every man for himself. I made a B in Biophysics I and a C in Biophysics II. Together with my C in Botany, those were my only non-A's in my collegiate history. Apparently I set a record for the highest grades in those classes.

One day I ran into him in the elevator. He greeted me by saying, "You made the highest grades ever in my biophysics classes! Anyone in their right mind would hire you on the spot!" If I had even an inkling of the presence of mind I have now, I'd have asked for a letter of recommendation to that effect. But I was shocked and mumbled a thank you and was rather mystified that he even knew my name much less my grades given his general absent-mindedness and tendency to wear the same outfit day after day. Teal-colored Sans-a-belt pants and matching plaid short-sleeved shirt. Ghastly.

So, to today's students who get a list of things they should know at the beginning of every topic and notes on PowerPoint that correspond to their one or two textbook(s) from their professor who speaks clear and understandable English and have available to them free tutors at a learning center that also offers a writing center to help them with papers and other written assignments, I say...COUNT YOUR FRICKIN' LUCKY STARS!

Scat

When The Bottom Falls Out

Because, let's face it, it often does.

No, this is not an essay on life...though it could be...and may still be...we'll see...but more an essay on what generally happens to me when I am moving swiftly through an already cram-packed day and suddenly get ambushed by...by what? Fate, I guess?

I have a little Thanksgiving "thing" to go to tomorrow evening and was out looking for a little something to spice up the little black dress. So, I was in Wal-Mart. Yes. I go to Wal-Mart to spice up the little black dress. Get over it. Think what you will. Mostly just think how much better it is that I'm doing my shopping at Wal-Mart instead of, say, Ann Taylor where I could definitely do some damage. Lasting, permanent damage. Or Chico's. Aiieesh!! There were days long ago when I darkened those doors but I cannot now think why I ever did that other than perhaps because I could.

I digress.

The flipside benefit to shopping at Wal-Mart for wardrobe items is that you can also get your unhealthy Dr.Pepper fix there, too. So...

I got my little wardrobe agenda item crossed off and proceeded to the Dr.Pepper aisle where I picked up a 24-pack (there are quite a few D.P. drinkers at my house) by the handle and began to walk back to my cart when, promptly and quite spectacularly, the bottom fell out of the cardboard container like a reverse Jack-in-the-box.

Cans and cans and cans and endless cans of Dr.Pepper were liberated and went bouncing and erupting hither and yon about the soft drink aisle. I stood there stunned and mute holding what remained of the cardboard case while my mouth hung a bit askew.

There were not one, but three employees on the aisle already and all three leapt into action exclaiming all sorts of things at once--things one ought not to exclaim at work, perhaps--and pushing me around as they gathered cans and tried to aim the still-spurting ones away from the remaining customers and other items on the racks.

Spectacular. I. Mean. Awesome.

One of them probably realized that I was useless and, so, stuffed a new, healthy 24-pack into my arms and said, "Just go."

So I just went...

What a rush!!!! I should have done that YEARS AGO!!!! And maybe dropped them from a building!

It was even better than that tube of Desitin I stepped on that one time. A lot messier, though. My black shoes are going to need some work. They're leather and can't exactly be tossed in the washing machine...or can they?

And I'm not sure that there won't be a picture of me up in the soft drink aisle at Wal-Mart for the next ten years. So be it. I take my thrills where I can get them these days.

No, I am not taking this as a universal message to slow down. Pfft. I am, perhaps, suggesting that some things might fare better if they were NOT made from post-consumer products. Stone me, green people, go ahead...just sayin'. Recycled cardboard is all fine and good if the physics works out, but so far...hmmmm....

In real life, though, the bottom does fall out. Doesn't it? I would be lying if I said that the bottom hasn't fallen out in several areas over the last couple months. And when it fell out, it wasn't nearly so therapeutic as watching the explosion of 24 cans of Dr.Pepper. Nevertheless, the end result was the same. Pick up a new pack (to the extent that's possible) and "Just go." Go anywhere. Just don't sit here wallowing in it. Go. And go now.

Buddy, my dad, always has trouble executing plans. He finds formulating them to be easy. For me, it's just the opposite. I have trouble figuring out what the plan(s) should be, but once I have plans in place, I am the executioner--so-to-speak. I've been floundering for the last three plus weeks over what my plans should be. I had one over-arching plan and things seemed to be clicking with regard to that plan. Then the plan floundered and I knew I should continue with it, but it didn't seem sufficient on its own given a deadline further off in the distant future and I knew I needed something to do in the mean time to fill in the gaps. Then, slowly, other things started to fall apart and meaningful chunks of life were chipped away. That sucked. The bottom fell out. With a tad bit of fizzy eruptions here and there on my part.

Finally, someone came along and stuffed a 24-pack in my arms and said, "Just go." Once again, that person was Attrition. Sometimes I can't equate the encouragement and support he offers me with the wardrobe, friendship, and general professionalism consults I offer him. I guess rides to and from the airport may one day pay some of my debt of gratitude to him. I hope so. Something. Anything. Anything to demonstrate to him that there are little moments of time when he's the air in my lungs after weeks in outer space with no gear. I don't always understand him or the way he chooses to react to me, but in little bits I get to see the man he's become and the brother he's always been. He doesn't always have my back. He has his reasons. But he's always there with an idea about how to go on from here.

No matter where here may be.

Scat

Two Paths Diverged In A Wood...

...and I definitely took the geekier one.

Once again, I have not disappeared. Nor am I dead, ill, resigned from blogging, extinct, wiped out, or dispossessed of my mind. Well, possibly the latter at times, but not at the moment.

I was in a funk. Trying to find my way. Things were cloudy. I needed a plan. And now I have one. Well, two. No, I am not going to go into the two-plan theory of Scatness right at this very second. It would take way too long and there are still details to work out. Suffice it to say that Scat has once again regained her...um, center? Whatever. Scat without a plan is not a Scat you want to behold or even be near. Scat totally derailed is even worse. But, the train is now back on the tracks and there are not one, but two plans in effect for the future of said Scat and she is greatly pleased. Rather than have plan A and plan B, I am proceeding with two plan A's. Yes. I am. Generally, whichever succeeds first wins. They are both equally pleasing and, in the long run, profitable. Yay. Great amounts of work will be involved (as usual), and there will be more school (big surprise), but it will be concurrent with work (yay).

In general, there is quite a bit of turnover happening family-wide, so I am not the only one with a new plan and new things, places, and ideas to get used to. There is a considerable amount of bumping into one another going on and quite a bit of who's going to ferry who to the airport when sorts of conversations happening, but such is our slice of life at the moment. No one who has known us for very long is surprised in the least. Most notably, Attrition and myself are doing a total turn-around in our day-to-day lives and this is, yes, causing some angst, but also causing some...joy! Out with the old, so-to-speak. And there was definitely some old to be had out with. And we are laying waste...to...that.

But for today, a total and complete display of geekiness.

There used to be a day when you had to buy an expensive contraption to adapt your camera (a special one at that) to fit to your microscope in order to get pictures of what you could see when you look through the eyepiece, but no more! Viola! Smartphones! Well smartphones, an understanding of focal lengths and a certain amount of steadying oneself and breatholding reveals things like this:

Transitional epithelial lining of the bladder! (Yes, inspiring subject matter, but we are, after all, studying the urinary system, so bear with me. Had I discovered my new-found talent during the chapter on blood or lymphatics this might have been more stimulating and less...weird).

Endothelial cells centrifuged from a sample of urine...yes MY URINE...are you grossed out NOW??

A bacterial crypt found in the sediment centrifuged from my urine...evidence of an attempted past infection.

Calcium oxalate crystals (more sediment from someone else's urine..even grosser, I suppose).

That really, really dark, black thing in the center is a tyrosine crystal (again, my urine sediment).

A mucosal thread (my sediment).

A section of kidney (not mine LOL) showing glomerular capsules (the white circles). The white circles are the Bowman's capsules and the red mass in the center is the glomerulus. This is where your kidney does it's filtration, well, in the capsules and the tubules surrounding them.

And all this done with my handy dandy iPhone.

Thus endeth the geek tour for the day.

Sleep well!

Scat

Geishas

Twice a week I sit through three hours of anatomy and physiology. Anymore, it's pretty rare to take a college course with a professor who's first language is English. So you get used to hearing word like "remumber" (remember) and "yunnery" (pronounced like nunnery...but it really should be "urinary"). My first language is English and I sign American Sign Language and Signed Exact English. There are several versions of the English language that I've acquired simply by virtue of the fact that I've been in more college classes than are healthy for the normal individual that are taught with heavy accents.

Today I finally got in trouble. Over geishas.

To be fair, I was tired. Very tired. Not long ago, our topics for term papers were assigned. And, rather irrationally, our rough drafts were due just today. The real deal isn't due for another month, but the rough draft (which, too me, is pretty much the final minus the remaining edits and a bit of tweaking) was due today. Subtract out the weekends when I was with the boys and the time working and trying to pass the two classes I'm taking and I basically didn't sleep in order to write the silly paper.

So I was a little punchy. Perhaps slap-happy, even. When this little Indian woman turns from her PowerPoint presentation and says...

"Now dere are laws that govern behayour when tings are geishas."

Into my mind popped an image of a geisha girl.

Out of my mind popped all possible rational thought. And I'm certain there was a big smile on my face because she stopped the entire class to ask me if something was funny...oops. Did I chuckle? Out loud?

"Is there something funny?" She pointed at me. "Perhaps something you two were discussing?"

She pointed at the girl in front of me who I've never so much as spoken a single word to. Ever. I've never even seen the other side of her ponytail from here. We looked at each other then, but still had nothing to say. Frankly, I was still stuck on the geishas...

Gaseous...!! Geishas = gaseous!

I'm not always this slow, but yes, every class is this entertaining...

Scat