Knives that cut: the kitchen revolution, part 1

This past Christmas I was gifted with a knife. It is a lovely knife. I hand wash it, gaze at it, and lovingly put it away (although, there is no alternative to hand washing seeing that I have no dishwasher, except myself that is). I also inherited a knife block with several unwanted knives that were supposedly "irritating" but to me seem like gifts from above.

Now I can cut onions quickly and only have my eyes water *after* cutting rather than during cutting. Now I can cut tomatoes with out mashing them at the same time. Now I can cut grapefruit with ease and not struggle to cut through the membranes...

Sigh. It is love, truly. My life will never be the same.

the dirty shirt story

Once upon a time there was a shirt. Someone wore the shirt. A man. Who wore big shirts. A blue polo-ish shirt. With stripes.

Point 1 has been established: existence of shirt.

Once there was a book. A foundation analysis book that I ordered (on half.com), paid for, waited for. Point 2: existence of book order (one cannot be certain that the book itself really existed).

Then one day the "book" arrived (yesterday). The package had been torn open, the book removed, replaced by the shirt (folded), and the brown package was resealed (a machine seal!!!) in plastic. I kidd you not. A complicated operation, all in effort to steal my foundation analysis book. Why would someone want this book? It's not as if it's interesting (or useful) to more than 0.001% of the population. And why would they give me a shirt? They got rid of a perfectly good shirt just so that I would receive a package (which, by the way, had the original packing slip in it still). To make it worse, the shirt wasn't even clean--it smells like mildew. And there are white bits of paper all over it. Maybe I'll die of anthrax.

What joy is mine. I paid $40 dollars for a giant dirty shirt. Gee, thanks.

econ: a way of life.

I have done a stupid thing.

Let me rephrase. I have done many stupid things. My latest stupid thing is this: becoming an economist.

I used to think economics was a cop out major. I had no real basis for this belief. I once heard someone describe majoring in economics as "a waste of time," followed by "super easy major." Since I knew no economics majors, that description was never dislodged. (But then, seeing as how I was a physics major when I heard that statement, I was probably a snob and readily believed it. Maybe.) And now it comes to this: I decided to take two economics classes this quarter. I go to class. I sit. And I become very very stupid as the secret of economics is revealed to me, and I understand none of it. Albeit they are graduate level and I have taken none of the prerequisites. But still.

O economists whom I have wronged, I humble myself at your feet.

a prime age

I had high hopes that 2007 would be a prime number. Alas, it is not. The next prime year is 2011. I thought you should know.

Act 3

Setting: Home.

Daddy: Even if you forget most of a book, you still take things from it that you learn.
Me: Yes, but that's not true for all books. I've read lots of stupid books from which I learned nothing, except that they were stupid.
Mom: [Laughs for 5 minutes.] You should put that on your blog.


And so I have. I said a funny thing, apparently, and now I share it with you. I know that since you have read this post, your life will never be the same. Indeed, your breathing pattern may alter and your life will improve in multiple dimensions.

guitar hero II.

My siblings (and their spouses) and I spent at least half of Christmas eve and Christmas day playing Guitar Hero 2 on playstation, which one sib had given to another sib for a Christmas present. It became apparent the longer we played, that, though the spouses gave a valiant effort, the blood relatives were the true heros. Why? Because we all grew up playing string instruments, and thus were naturally brilliant guitar heros. My mother kept saying, "I knew that many years and thousands of dollars in music lessons were not for nothing." So true. In the end, one sister (the other aunt) and I played "Hangar 18" by Megadeth (on the "Hard" setting!) at least 10 times taking turns to see who could make it the farthest before we were booed off the stage...and I must admit I lost. She made it to 72 %, I only made it to 65 %. While other families sung christmas carols and played in the snow, my family played rock music video games. My family is totally awesome.

orchestral torture mechanisms

For many years (11, to be precise) I have harbored a hatred of the song, Canon in D (major), by Pachelbel. I suspect every cellist hates this song. For, every cellist knows that it is the most dismal cello part ever written, comprised of only 8 quarter notes repeated over and over. However, like most things in my life, I forgot about it...until the aforementioned blackbird (who knows me better than I do, AND has a better memory of my life) brought this to my attention: Pachelbel Rant. I should point out that I, too, counted the number of times you repeat the 8 notes, and I think it was around 34 (as opposed to 54 as "Rob" claims). "Rob" also claims that Pachelbel follows you throughout every musical genre, and he is absolutely right. The world is too blind to realize they are actually hearing the same song over and over again. It has even replaced the wedding march to some degree. Grr. Die, Pachelbel, Die. It's unfortunate his death in 1706 had no effect on the worldwide torture of cellists. Oh, and merely for clarification purposes, the song wouldn't be featured in Vh1's best of the 1790's as "Rob" claims because it was written in 1680.