So, this morning I was sitting at the table, eating my oatmeal, and reading my Discovery News app on my iPhone. Typical morning. Discovery News is much better than real news, because it's only related to science and technology. Why would I want to know about politics and people when I could read about the dinosaur skeleton found in Washington, the fact that male sea squids are bisexual, or that the relationship between galaxies and black holes is still confusing to scientists? If you don't have this app, I recommend you download it.
So this morning, I see a new story. Apparently, scientists have found that neutrinos can travel faster than the speed of light.
My first question was this: who is paying someone to spend six months blasting subatomic particles in a 70 km tunnel under Europe and measure their speeds to the nanosecond? I guess some rich Europeans. Secondly, how accurate can that machinery be to see that a particle that is so small that we originally didn't believe it even had mass? And then be measured to ridiculous specifications of speed?
Anyways, apparently this messes up Einstein's Theory of Special Relativity. Not that it's completely wrong now, just that he said the speed of light in a vacuum was the fasting anything could ever move. And now we have these tricky neutrinos making him wrong. I wish I had taken some science besides Astronomy and Physics and Technology for Future Presidents in college. The first class was wonderful, but not in depth, and the second wasn't really physics. It was more of a seventh grade science class. Now, I am unfortunately a college graduate with no idea of relativity of theories of Einstein, and when I try to read the Wikipedia article it is most unfortunately over my head.
What's going to happen to the science of our time? We always thought of Einstein as a genius, but will future generations think of him as an interesting guy who was wrong? Like Ptolemy? Or just an interesting guy who discovered something useful, with a few kinks, that led us to more important discoveries? More like Galileo or Newton. I'm more familiar with famous mathematicians than scientists. But what will future children be learning? What have I learned about the universe that is false? What exactly is relativity??
It is too early in the morning for me to be pondering all of this. It's making my head spin.
On another note, according to my news app, Neil Armstrong thinks it's disgraceful that we aren't going to the moon or local space anymore. News flash, Armstrong: we went there, didn't find anything helpful or interesting, and are currently just putting billions of taxpayers dollars into an industry that honestly isn't promoting the bettering of humanity. All the space program did, at this point, was give select few individuals the opportunity to hang out in a gravity free environment and chill out on the moon. We weren't learning anything, we weren't accomplishing anything, and we already stuck the US flag on the moon and stole a bunch of rocks. What else do we need? Besides, we're now planning on visiting asteroids and Mars instead. At least that's new and exciting. Another app, however, said that extended time in space causes serious eye troubles.
I'm mostly interested in the articles about space. I definitely don't want to go to space; I'd be too claustrophobic.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Monday, July 4, 2011
Far Too Long.
It's been quite some time since I posted. It's honestly been quite some time since I've had time to do anything. This summer, I'm working two jobs. I get up at 6 and leave around 7. I teach from 8-1, then have a break where I either go to the gym or plan my lessons for the next day. At 2:45 I arrive at my other job, a customer service representative answering phones all day for a company that does photographs of graduations and marathons. At 9, I drive home and arrive at my apartment about 9:20. I have about 40 minutes left to myself before I need to go to sleep in order to be fully rested for the next day. Fridays I only work one job, and I have to work some Saturdays and Sundays. However, July 4th I was lucky enough to not work either job.
I want to talk about my jobs today. I've been working at the customer service job since May. It's an interesting place--there are 60 of us in cubicles in a room. I have no idea who anyone is save the 6 or so people who sit around me. For a month, until the second job started, I worked the morning shift. My three coworkers became some sort of friends to me. Meaning that we all stand up and tell the other three whenever we have an extremely awful or wonderful customer on the phone. I even hung out with one of these people outside of work once. And plan to again, she's awesome! Every morning, before the phones start, I would have her tell me about this guy with whom she's getting closer and developing a relationship. We don't have much time to talk about it during the day. Any conversation is disjointed and broken. As soon as a phone rings, the speaker has to finish the last sentence before the phone reaches the fourth ring and the supervisors ask you why you aren't answering your phone. Anyways, summer school started three weeks ago and I changed to the evening shift. At first, I felt lonely and resentful. I was surrounded by a new group of strangers, two of whom were incredibly good friends outside of work. However, the necessity to be sociable overcame me holding on to some idea that I didn't want to talk to more strangers, and I began standing up to tell them the same ridiculous stories. Thus, I know a total of 6 people: The three people surrounding my cubicle in the morning shift and the three in the evening shift.
At 9 pm, I walk outside to my car. The sun has set, but the sky isn't dark yet. There's still some light to the west. I pull onto the interstate, roll down the windows, and blast music from my iPhone to try not to feel sad about the days that I'm seemingly wasting. Money is a necessity, I tell myself. I need money for grad school. I need money for the wedding. But I still can't shake that feeling that I'm wasting my time. I feel emotionally drained and lonely. The summertime was always a time of fun for me, especially the evenings. As a child, twilight is the time of day that I remember playing outside with Dustin, not noticing the gradual setting of the sun until it was too dark to see ourselves on the trampoline or throwing the football or whatever other activity we had partaken in that day. The past four years, my summers were spent in Deland, and I spent evenings with friends, mainly Jordan (one of my bridesmaids.) Now, I spend evenings answering emails and phones for minimum wage, and drive home looking at a sky that forces me to recall fun, sociable times. I make it home barely in time for sleep, only to wake up the next morning and leave my house at a time after sunrise that reminds me of camps and mission trips and adventures. I keep reminding myself that two jobs are only for six weeks, but I have this gnawing feeling inside of me that life is slowly changing for good, and the times of recreation and socializing and fun are over with forever. With my B.S. Degree, I earned myself a certain amount of adulthood, and with that achievement I must sacrifice other elements of my life.
I think if I didn't have Mike always ready to talk to me, and Leah just 50 yards away, I might go crazy with loneliness. As it is, I'll just cling on to my work ethic to make it through the next 3 weeks and see where I end up then.
I want to talk about my jobs today. I've been working at the customer service job since May. It's an interesting place--there are 60 of us in cubicles in a room. I have no idea who anyone is save the 6 or so people who sit around me. For a month, until the second job started, I worked the morning shift. My three coworkers became some sort of friends to me. Meaning that we all stand up and tell the other three whenever we have an extremely awful or wonderful customer on the phone. I even hung out with one of these people outside of work once. And plan to again, she's awesome! Every morning, before the phones start, I would have her tell me about this guy with whom she's getting closer and developing a relationship. We don't have much time to talk about it during the day. Any conversation is disjointed and broken. As soon as a phone rings, the speaker has to finish the last sentence before the phone reaches the fourth ring and the supervisors ask you why you aren't answering your phone. Anyways, summer school started three weeks ago and I changed to the evening shift. At first, I felt lonely and resentful. I was surrounded by a new group of strangers, two of whom were incredibly good friends outside of work. However, the necessity to be sociable overcame me holding on to some idea that I didn't want to talk to more strangers, and I began standing up to tell them the same ridiculous stories. Thus, I know a total of 6 people: The three people surrounding my cubicle in the morning shift and the three in the evening shift.
At 9 pm, I walk outside to my car. The sun has set, but the sky isn't dark yet. There's still some light to the west. I pull onto the interstate, roll down the windows, and blast music from my iPhone to try not to feel sad about the days that I'm seemingly wasting. Money is a necessity, I tell myself. I need money for grad school. I need money for the wedding. But I still can't shake that feeling that I'm wasting my time. I feel emotionally drained and lonely. The summertime was always a time of fun for me, especially the evenings. As a child, twilight is the time of day that I remember playing outside with Dustin, not noticing the gradual setting of the sun until it was too dark to see ourselves on the trampoline or throwing the football or whatever other activity we had partaken in that day. The past four years, my summers were spent in Deland, and I spent evenings with friends, mainly Jordan (one of my bridesmaids.) Now, I spend evenings answering emails and phones for minimum wage, and drive home looking at a sky that forces me to recall fun, sociable times. I make it home barely in time for sleep, only to wake up the next morning and leave my house at a time after sunrise that reminds me of camps and mission trips and adventures. I keep reminding myself that two jobs are only for six weeks, but I have this gnawing feeling inside of me that life is slowly changing for good, and the times of recreation and socializing and fun are over with forever. With my B.S. Degree, I earned myself a certain amount of adulthood, and with that achievement I must sacrifice other elements of my life.
I think if I didn't have Mike always ready to talk to me, and Leah just 50 yards away, I might go crazy with loneliness. As it is, I'll just cling on to my work ethic to make it through the next 3 weeks and see where I end up then.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Antsy.
The most noticeable change from being a World of Warcraft shut-in who never saw the outside, slept during normal hours, or lived a regular life is a particular antsiness that I now feel on a regular basis.
When it is still sunny out and I am inside on my computer, I feel guilty and scared, as if I know I should be doing something else. I assume its from a year of repressed guilt when I spent hours of sunlight and perfect time wasted sitting in front of a computer screen in a tiny bedroom with the blinds closed, concealed in a tiny, pixelated world. There were days that I appreciated the beauty of the graphics of different zones, the colors of the ground or the changes in the weather, all inside of an imaginary world that can be reduced to 0s and 1s. All while a real world of weather, seasons, and colors was beckoning me to join it, but I shunned it. Just now, I went outside to put my laundry in the machine, which is in the outdoor closet. It was lovely; summer evenings always remind me of childhood frolicking. I have had a long day at work, and will have a tiring day tomorrow. I know that resting isn't abnormal in these circumstances, but I still can't shake the feeling that I'm wasting myself.
I also can't sleep in past 9:30 anymore. Again, this is leftover guilt from days of going to bed past sunrise and waking up after sunset (usually during the winter months of shortened days.) I don't like staying up past 2, and if I do, I'm still up by 9:30, even if it takes copious amounts of caffeine and headaches to make it until an acceptable bedtime. I never used to like sleeping in past 11; it made me feel like I was wasting the day. The morning is such a beautiful time when the world is new. The sunlight feels fresher and crisper, and everything is wet and green. By evening, the sun feels sweeter and more familiar and the world is golden. Both are wonderful, and I'd prefer appreciate both. Somehow, the calming evening can't be appreciated without the fresh morning. If I'm not, I'd better have a decent excuse for being awake in the middle of the night, like helping my mother on the paper route (which is still another blog to come.) Being awake at 3 in the morning helping Mom throw papers to the rest of the world has a silent depth to it. The whole world is asleep, but we are awake with purpose and meaning, outside in a slow, quiet world. It's relaxing and unsettling all at once.
The only time of day that I don't like is the afternoon. It's too bright and hot. The sun seems frustrated, like a tyrant trying to peer into the lives and souls of all of us. The afternoon is the one time of day that I'm okay with hiding myself away from the glaring view of the overly bright, baked world.
This blog has taken an unexpected turn. My inability to write along a single train of thought is probably why my papers never scored very well in school.
When it is still sunny out and I am inside on my computer, I feel guilty and scared, as if I know I should be doing something else. I assume its from a year of repressed guilt when I spent hours of sunlight and perfect time wasted sitting in front of a computer screen in a tiny bedroom with the blinds closed, concealed in a tiny, pixelated world. There were days that I appreciated the beauty of the graphics of different zones, the colors of the ground or the changes in the weather, all inside of an imaginary world that can be reduced to 0s and 1s. All while a real world of weather, seasons, and colors was beckoning me to join it, but I shunned it. Just now, I went outside to put my laundry in the machine, which is in the outdoor closet. It was lovely; summer evenings always remind me of childhood frolicking. I have had a long day at work, and will have a tiring day tomorrow. I know that resting isn't abnormal in these circumstances, but I still can't shake the feeling that I'm wasting myself.
I also can't sleep in past 9:30 anymore. Again, this is leftover guilt from days of going to bed past sunrise and waking up after sunset (usually during the winter months of shortened days.) I don't like staying up past 2, and if I do, I'm still up by 9:30, even if it takes copious amounts of caffeine and headaches to make it until an acceptable bedtime. I never used to like sleeping in past 11; it made me feel like I was wasting the day. The morning is such a beautiful time when the world is new. The sunlight feels fresher and crisper, and everything is wet and green. By evening, the sun feels sweeter and more familiar and the world is golden. Both are wonderful, and I'd prefer appreciate both. Somehow, the calming evening can't be appreciated without the fresh morning. If I'm not, I'd better have a decent excuse for being awake in the middle of the night, like helping my mother on the paper route (which is still another blog to come.) Being awake at 3 in the morning helping Mom throw papers to the rest of the world has a silent depth to it. The whole world is asleep, but we are awake with purpose and meaning, outside in a slow, quiet world. It's relaxing and unsettling all at once.
The only time of day that I don't like is the afternoon. It's too bright and hot. The sun seems frustrated, like a tyrant trying to peer into the lives and souls of all of us. The afternoon is the one time of day that I'm okay with hiding myself away from the glaring view of the overly bright, baked world.
This blog has taken an unexpected turn. My inability to write along a single train of thought is probably why my papers never scored very well in school.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Pets.
When I was little, and I mean back before memories have any substance and most things I recall are from frequent re-tellings rather than the original experience, I wanted a pet. Many kids want a pet. Girls usually want cats and occasionally ponies, and boys want dogs or something like that. Anyways, my family decided that we would get a dog. I was absolutely terrified of any dogs. The sight of one sent me into frequent hysterics. I had also recently been bitten by a cat and wasn't too fond of them either. I was a rather jumpy kid.
My parents decided not to bring me to the dog search until they had narrowed the contestants down to a few finalists. The summer after first grade, when I was six, they brought me to the pound to see this little, white, fluffy thing. I was terrified of him, but figured I might as well live with him as much as any other dog. We were fairly certain we wanted this guy, but on our way out of the pound, Dustin saw a puppy who was black and brown, mostly resembling a beagle, and adorable in every way. Rex became our new family dog.
On the way home, we had him in the back of the van in a pet carrier. Dustin, Trish and I were gathered around the cage peering at him thoughtfully. The dog let out a half-bark half-whimper noise. I jumped backwards and burst into tears, screaming, "He barked at me!" The next few weeks were no different--I commonly had to jump on the nearest table, counter, or other accessible furniture to escape the reach of this tiny, friendly little puppy. Thankfully, Dad finally convinced me that, even if he did bite me for fun, his teeth in no way hurt. And I was never again afraid of Rex.
Rex used to sleep on Dustin's bed every night. As Dustin got older and bigger, he would tell us stories of how Rex would lie spread out from the head to the foot of Dustin's bed, and Dustin would cram himself between Rex and the wall. We also laughed at Rex the time he ran into the sliding glass door after Mom had cleaned it. It was less funny when I repeated the act a few weeks later. Dustin and I, as kids, also tried to teach Rex to sit. He actually did learn to sit, but it's the only trick he ever learned, and only when you hold up a piece of food he wants.
Once he got bitten by a snake, and we thought he wouldn't make it. The vet said that we could pay a couple thousand for an anti-venom or give him some Benedryl and water and hope he lasted the night. We didn't have a few thousand dollars lying around, so we went with the latter and decided to see how he fared. Dad told us the next morning how he had gone to check on Rex in the middle of the night and Rex looked terrible. Dad thought we had lost him for a minute, but he was just sleeping and in pain. To be nice, Dad went to the fridge to bring Rex a piece of bologna. It took a few seconds to open the package, but he took a piece and shut the fridge door--only to see Rex standing there expectantly. Not even snakes could keep that dog from food.
Rex was diagnosed with bone cancer earlier today, and my parents made the choice to put him down. He was in pain, and there was nothing that could be done to help him. He was 15 years old. It's going to be strange; we moved into that house 17 years ago, and got Rex two years after that. The majority of the time I spent there, Rex was there. He was the first pet I ever had, and certainly the only one that I've ever loved so much.
I'm going to miss him.
My parents decided not to bring me to the dog search until they had narrowed the contestants down to a few finalists. The summer after first grade, when I was six, they brought me to the pound to see this little, white, fluffy thing. I was terrified of him, but figured I might as well live with him as much as any other dog. We were fairly certain we wanted this guy, but on our way out of the pound, Dustin saw a puppy who was black and brown, mostly resembling a beagle, and adorable in every way. Rex became our new family dog.
On the way home, we had him in the back of the van in a pet carrier. Dustin, Trish and I were gathered around the cage peering at him thoughtfully. The dog let out a half-bark half-whimper noise. I jumped backwards and burst into tears, screaming, "He barked at me!" The next few weeks were no different--I commonly had to jump on the nearest table, counter, or other accessible furniture to escape the reach of this tiny, friendly little puppy. Thankfully, Dad finally convinced me that, even if he did bite me for fun, his teeth in no way hurt. And I was never again afraid of Rex.
Rex used to sleep on Dustin's bed every night. As Dustin got older and bigger, he would tell us stories of how Rex would lie spread out from the head to the foot of Dustin's bed, and Dustin would cram himself between Rex and the wall. We also laughed at Rex the time he ran into the sliding glass door after Mom had cleaned it. It was less funny when I repeated the act a few weeks later. Dustin and I, as kids, also tried to teach Rex to sit. He actually did learn to sit, but it's the only trick he ever learned, and only when you hold up a piece of food he wants.
Once he got bitten by a snake, and we thought he wouldn't make it. The vet said that we could pay a couple thousand for an anti-venom or give him some Benedryl and water and hope he lasted the night. We didn't have a few thousand dollars lying around, so we went with the latter and decided to see how he fared. Dad told us the next morning how he had gone to check on Rex in the middle of the night and Rex looked terrible. Dad thought we had lost him for a minute, but he was just sleeping and in pain. To be nice, Dad went to the fridge to bring Rex a piece of bologna. It took a few seconds to open the package, but he took a piece and shut the fridge door--only to see Rex standing there expectantly. Not even snakes could keep that dog from food.
Rex was diagnosed with bone cancer earlier today, and my parents made the choice to put him down. He was in pain, and there was nothing that could be done to help him. He was 15 years old. It's going to be strange; we moved into that house 17 years ago, and got Rex two years after that. The majority of the time I spent there, Rex was there. He was the first pet I ever had, and certainly the only one that I've ever loved so much.
I'm going to miss him.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Adult.
Yesterday, I looked in the mirror and noticed I was an adult.
I was a kid and a teenager for a good 18-20 years of my life. I've just turned 22. In the past few years, I still frequently refer to myself as a "girl" or some other term that implies that I'm an adolescent of some sorts. But yesterday, I looked in a mirror and saw a full-grown adult looking back. I'm no longer that awkward, teenage girl trying to figure herself out, wondering how my features will change as I grow. I am done and grown.
I sometimes wish I could meet myself as a child just to let myself see what I'll look like. When I was a child, I remember after seeing pictures of my parents as kids, I wondered what I'd look like when I grew up. I wonder if I'd be happy or sad with the results.
I need to sleep more on this vacation. Things aren't making sense properly. I'm in Virginia with Mike for spring break. Maybe I'm noticing my adulthood because I'm meeting his childhood friends for the first time, and I'm not meeting them as a student or a kid. We are all adults with jobs (or a math teaching internship for me) and I'm not viewed as a child by them. Strange.
I was a kid and a teenager for a good 18-20 years of my life. I've just turned 22. In the past few years, I still frequently refer to myself as a "girl" or some other term that implies that I'm an adolescent of some sorts. But yesterday, I looked in a mirror and saw a full-grown adult looking back. I'm no longer that awkward, teenage girl trying to figure herself out, wondering how my features will change as I grow. I am done and grown.
I sometimes wish I could meet myself as a child just to let myself see what I'll look like. When I was a child, I remember after seeing pictures of my parents as kids, I wondered what I'd look like when I grew up. I wonder if I'd be happy or sad with the results.
I need to sleep more on this vacation. Things aren't making sense properly. I'm in Virginia with Mike for spring break. Maybe I'm noticing my adulthood because I'm meeting his childhood friends for the first time, and I'm not meeting them as a student or a kid. We are all adults with jobs (or a math teaching internship for me) and I'm not viewed as a child by them. Strange.
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