An Appreciation for College Freshman

I just love Freshman. I loved them when I was a freshman, and now that I'm in my final semester in Provo I still love them. I love their dining plans and their ability to stress out about everything. This post is sponsored by an experience I had today in my Comms 101 class- a class filled with first semesterites. We were learning about huge corporations and the teacher showed  a brief clip of 30 Rock where Tracy Jordan (Tracy Morgan) introduces a product idea to Jackie D (Alec Baldwin). When it was done our teacher told us 30 Rock was a really funny show and educational due to its many references to the media industry. The frosh in front of me- whose computer I could see very well and whose Facebook wall I enjoyed reading when the lecture was dry- wrote in her notes, in red mind you, "Watch 30 Rock." She acted like it was an assignment upon which her entire semester grade would be based; one in which failure was not an option. I just chuckled inside at the thought of her going home and watching 30 Rock with a pad of paper and pen on her lap.

The Paradoxical Life of a Singlet in Provo

I am a singlet living in Provo, UT; It comes with a lot of baggage. If you aren't Mormon you probably won't understand most of this post, but bear with me and don't think we're too weird.
Two weeks ago we had a two hour meeting in Church called "That's the Way it Is," which is the code word for "Bishop's Semesterly Chastity Talk." For two hours the single men learned about he evils of pornography and were made to feel like we would be destroyed if we tried any funny business on a first date.
Then last Sunday we had another two hour meeting, this time on dating. We were encouraged heavily to ask girls out and kiss them.  How do you figure? Did they expect us to just disregard everything we learned the previous week? My head is spinning like a gelid ice cube on a skating rink. I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't. It's no wonder there are so many singlets in Provo.

How Did That One Get Past the Editor?

The front page article in the BYU newspaper on Friday was: Swimmer Surprises Herself, Coaches.
Like a fresh dollup of minty toothpaste, this conjured many ideas in my head, such as the following:
Was she playing hide-and-seek and forgot she was the one hiding?
Was she playing peek-a-boo and forgot that is was her face behind the mysterious hands?
Did she throw herself a surprise birthday party?

And how did she surprise her coaches?
Was she hiding in the dirty towel hamper, and jumped out at them? When was the last time you used the word 'hamper'? Should that last quotation mark go on the inside or the outside of the question mark?
Did she surprise her coaches in a good way? A bad way? Perhaps after a semester of idolatry she surprised them with a visit to the gym?

With my interest at his absolute peak, ready to fling itself off the precipice of perplexity, I turned to lucky page 13 to read the article. But alas, I didn't get very far due to the title on that page: Freshman Swimmer Rises to the Top.
Does this imply she was at the bottom? Was she diving for aquatic rings? Had she drowned, and the lifeguards brought her to surface level? Was the surprise that she survived?
I will probably never read the article, and yet it still conquered my curiosity and bombinated my head with pregnant preguntas.  I'm not quite sure that last sentence made sense, but then again I don't speak Spanish. That, my friends, is a sign of truly fantastic journalism. Live on Daily Universe, Live on.

The BYU Health Clinic

As many of you don't know, I separated my shoulder a few weeks ago in a football game. Luckily, we were able to locate it amid the corporal rubble on top of me, and re-attach it. As an obstinate male, I resisted going to the doctor or taking any medicine for as long as I could. But then it continued to hurt like Hades and I could barely tie my shoes (well, that's not really a result of the injury), pull my car door shut, or put on my shirt. The straw that broke the caramel's back and drove me to the physician's quarters was when I tried to move the fridge by myself and utterly failed. Forget the caramel, it was my back that was broken. So I made an appointment with the BYU Health Center.

H1N1 Vaccination

Today I found myself with a plethora of time, and nothing to do but get shot. Ergo, I took advantage of the wonderful resources of a university- free H1N1 vaccinations for pregnant women! I had to stuff a pillow in my stomach, talk in a really high voice, and wear an all encompassing scarf/hat but I pulled it off. The only time anyone suspected anything was when I accidently checked myself as 'male.' I told them it was an abbreviation for 'female' and they seemed alright with that answer.
 The inocculation comes in two forms (at least that they were willing to admit): a nasal spray and a shot. The EMT took one look at me and knew a shot would probably weaken my entire body for weeks- perhaps even crippling my cheek bones- and suggested the nasal spray. When I went to get my inhalation the nurse who administered to me was no older than twelve years of age. I think it may have been Take Your Daughter to Work Day, and she was the daughter. When she told me to tilt my head back so that she could shove an object up my nose I didn't know if it was going to be a crayon or the spray. I tried hard to get in a different queue (even though it meant waiting longer) but she signaled for me to join her and her barbies.  I was worried she was going to accidently stick the nasal spray into my mouth or eye or ear or some other bodily cavity, like my belly button. My belly button does not go all the way though, and hence is not a cavity. I don't know how that got past the editor.
The spray felt like she had taken one of those small cooking torches made for toasting marshmallows and made it implode in my nose.That's a fatuous lie. It didn't hurt at all. I am brave. She gave me a sucker afterwards and said that since I was the only full grown student she had ever seen cry during the nasal spray, I could have two. I took cherry and green apple for Christmas and to fill my mind with good thoughts. The whole experience was innoxious, though I did find the pig pen in the corner a little tasteless.

Blood Mathematics

Yesterday I went to my teacher's office hours to receive assistance on my futile mathematics homework. When I walked into his office I needed an extra hand to get my junk out my trunk (translation: my homework out of my bag), and unfortunately I had left my robotic arm at home. Of all the days... Needing more limbs, I put my paper in my mouth while I occupied both my arms with other activities (juggling, doing the Macarena, high-fiving my teacher). When I pulled the paper out of my grill (translation: my mouth) it scathed my chops and gave me a wicked papercut right on my upper labrum (translation: lip). The timing was infalliable- as my teacher looked up to see what my query was, I began curdling blood from the mouth. With silent communication (not sign language, just a definitive look) he wondered why I was suddenly bleeding from the mouth, and if it was a sign of leprosy, Swine flu, foot and mouth disease, or some other degenerative disease like rabies or vampire-ism. I ventured to cover it up, but I could feel the blood coming as a squirrel runs to a nut. I just sucked it up and proceeded to ask my question (which, ironically, was on the red blood cell counts in squirrels)! My professor offered me an ace bandage, which I took as a sign that he wanted me to stop talking. I declined, and proceeded to drip blood all over his computer keyboard, granola bars, and class notes. We are now blood brothers, sealed with mathematics. Just like the Brothers Karamazov.

The Great Library Debate

It's high time I had a guest post! I suggested having them long ago and then nothing happened... until now. I have a good friend, Aldous Maximus, who wrote a provocative post that I really enjoyed. With his permission I have posted it below:
I went to the library this week and was once again reminded and entirely split over the magnificent question that entreats me every time I need a book- Should I look for the book myself, or should I ask the librarian for help?
At surface level it appears to be a cursory query, but with necessary explication its truth is unraveled like the tootsie roll at the center of a tootsie pop. To preface, let me say I don't like the idea of relying on others to do things I am fully capable of doing myself. I am selling myself short when I have an opportunity to learn something valuable and instead I just have someone else do it for me. I have come to Earth to learn and experience, something that will be entirely lost if I let others do all the learning for me. There's some strange reason why I feel it's part of my democratic responsibility as a competent American to know how the Dewey Decimal system works and to be able to find my own sources in the library. Knowledge is power, and the acquisition of knowledge is the acquisition of power, be it for righteous or wicked loyalties. Finding information in the library is an ability to acquire intelligence. If I can't figure out how the library works how will I ever be able to become a contributing member of society? Does that sound far fetched? Hardly! I can certainly contribute without ever setting foot in a library, but imagine how much more I can benefit my fellow men and women when I am equipped with an arsenal of self-discovered knowledge that is personally meaningful to me!
Those are my arguments for finding a book myself in the library. Now for the rebuttal.

I Don't Mean to be Sketchy

Yesterday while perambulating home from school in the crepuscular evening, I had a semi-unfortunate exigency happen. (If you don't know all those words, don't fret, neither do I. Just playing, I know them.) I was walking perhaps 30 feet behind a female with a hood on. I have a significnatly bigger stride than her ("One small step for a woman, one leap for a man" -Buzz Aldred or something. Was that offense? Sorry). I was gaining ground on her, and she could tell because my pesky shadow was accosting her- unabridged, and much to my dismay but not my disposal. I started to speed up in an effort to pass her, but then so did she. She never glanced back, but just kept her head straight forward. And then, I kid you not, she glanced back at me with one terrified eye (she had two eyes, but only one was terrified) then increased to a run. I felt terrible. *I started to run after her to let her know I was harmless, but then she just started screaming. Naturally I started screaming too, which didn't seem to help. She tripped, and when I approached her to assist in her prostrated state she kicked me in the face, like a mule! Then she ran off and I found $20 on the ground. Everything before the * was true, everything after it was fradulent. Maybe I will make the Police Beat this week.

Doing Time in the Lab

Something amazing happened today. Not the type of amazing you feel when you start to grow hair on your chin (if you are male), but the type of excitement you feel when you order a hamburger, forgetting to request 'No Mayo,' and the server only adds a little dallup of the white nastiness, as if she had read your mind. Yes, that type of amazing. Here's how it all went down:
I was studying in the front of the computer lab just minding my own business, headphones implanted in my cranium, gluteus maximus situated comfortably in the red velvet chair. At four o'clock sharp, with my senses distracted and my mind focused, abruptly the lights dimmed to closure and the door behind me shut defiantly. Of course my first thought was a 12 year old Swedish vampire girl, and I gave a little yelp. My second thought was a seductress, and I gave a little yelp. My third thought was a tennis player, but that did not elicit a yelp, just an inner chuckle. Turns out, they were all wrong. The lab 'technician' had come to close the lab, and apparently not noticing me, she shut the lights and locked the door.  In a strange mathematical captivity, I excogitated my options.

If I Were the President of BYU-Provo

If I were the President of Brigham Young University-Provo, I would make the following changes:
5.) Rename 'Cosmo.' He is a rapacious feline, don't get me wrong, but his name must be changed. If BYU's mascot was an astronaut or a martian, Cosmo would be fitting. As it stands, Cosmo needs to legally alter his name to something like 'Shipbuilder' or 'Hairy One.' Those are the names that will strike fear in the hearts of his opponents the world over. If people complain, just pretend he got married and now goes by his wife's surname.
4.) Abolish Jamba Juice on campus. People are obsessed with Jamba Juice and it's affecting their health significantly, both physically and mentally. They say to themselves, "I'll just eat this 64oz. fruit smoothie for breakfast. It has enough sugar to make a martyr out of a diabetic or a corpse out of a really big bear, but I'm sure it's healthy because it has wheatgrass in it. Horses eat wheat and grass, and they are big and strong, so it must be equivalent to spinach!" Hence the demise of mental health. I don't like Jamba Juice.
3.) Set up a meals-for-cable program. I would gladly invite a random freshman over for an hour of my non-BYU cable if they fed me at the Cannon Center (we have the Food Network and the Travel Channel!). Heck, I'd pretty much do anything for a meal at the Cannon Center including tutoring, doing the Hokey-Pokey, or feeding fish to alligators, if the situation arose.
2.) Expand the music collection in the music room of the testing center. If I have to listen to the 'Seminary Soundtrack' one more time while taking a test, I'm going to light my exam on fire (with my eyes, nonetheless) and cram it in the antiquated CD player as it musically interprets Nephite coinage. And then I will obfuscate the 'Repeat' button so that when I take a four hour test I don't hear the same CD four times.
1.) Stop all Church meetings taking place in the practice rooms of the Harris Fine Arts Center (and move them elsewhere). I'd rather have Church in a tent, like Isaiah, than on the cement chairs of the windowless HFAC basement. The rooms are soundproof, childproof, windowproof, and surrounded by ominous instrument lockers that give the room a feeling of musical captivity. The podium is a wooden pier that tilts to the side when the speakers get up to talk and the Bishop's office has make-up busts in it that are quite freaky. 
While I am very satisfied with my BYU education, there is always room for improvement. If you went to BYU, what would you change?

Math Dedication

Wrqingod: That was meant to say 'Warning!'but apparently my fingers were not in the standard position. These things happen and there isn't much to be done. "But David! You are using a computer! Just press the backspace key." Yes, yes.... We'll see about that.
The aforementioned purported "Warning!" is still in effect, mind you. This post is going to reveal some nerdiness that is possibly unprecedented to your sparkling eyes. This week I took a midterm exam in my Matrix Analysis class. 70 points were in-class, and the remaining 30 were to be taken home. The latter portion was composed of three questions that permeated my mind like tiedye splotched maladroitly onto a blank shirt. (David, are you implying your mind was blank previous to this test? No Comment.) I wanted to ace the take home portion so I thought long and punctiliously about the three problems, but for hours I could receive no direction. Like a shoe with no foot, I was getting nowhere.