WHAT IS THIS I DON'T EVEN

Zen Buddhism has a long tradition of using koans, or stories and statements that do not make rational sense, in its teachings. The goal of a koan is to break down our faculty of logic and force us to interpret our experience on a more intuitive level. According to Zen teaching, this will bring about enlightenment.

Our modern Western culture has its own equivalent of the Zen koan. It's called the internet.

In my forays into the chaotic realm of teh interwebz, I have stumbled across some things that rival the best koans in their ability to completely and utterly baffle anyone who dares attempt to understand them rationally. Here, I have gathered for you a few of the choicest examples.

Let's start you off with a relatively tame one: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gbx6QUoGpdY. It's a Finnish squirrel. Singing heavy metal. Really.

Keeping in the music vein, here's the infamous Trololo video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xUlw4NT08Ds&feature=related.

Let's up the ante a little bit. Here's a soy sauce superhero with a fish for a head: http://yogatori.com/movies/kikkomaso/kikkomaso_e.htm. Needless to say, this comes from Japan.

What's that you say? Kikkoman wasn't quite mind-warping enough? Alright, then- how about a Pickle Surprise? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gysLH0sCm3c

Returning to Japan for a bit, here's a rather unusual English lesson: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nFs7K_R2di0&feature=related

Here's a site that can provide you with hours and hours of nonstop surrealist fun: http://www.superbad.com/ Click stuff and see what happens!

But I think the best of the best would have to be the Prime Number Shitting Bear: http://alpha61.com/primenumbershittingbear/. It's a bear that excretes prime numbers- does exactly what it says on the tin, really.

Feeling enlightened yet?
-Lukas

If You Catch My Drift

At my school I lead a small band of intrepid intellectuals known as the Linguistics Club, or occasionally the Goof Off and Eat Candy Club, but we don't tell people about that last part.
I don't actually have any notable skill at linguistics. Running the club, however, has allowed me to accumulate some knowledge of the subject. That's why it always used to bother me when someone proclaimed, loudly, that "The Eskimos have seven/four hundred/ninety billion/3.1415926536 words for snow".
Not that this is untrue, in the strictest sense. But let's get a little perspective:
I'll be honest: most linguists do not swing on ropes into the conversations of random bystanders, a habit which, while cool for the scientist involved, would probably get somewhat tiresome for the rest of us before long.
A further point on the subject comes from the column The Straight Dope, which has been "Fighting Ignorance Since 1973 (It's taking longer than we thought)". Writer Cecil Adams points out, "The problem with trying to pin down exactly how many Eskimo words there for snow and/or ice — or for anything, for that matter — is that Eskimo is what's called a "polysynthetic" language, which means you sort of make up words as you go along, by connecting various particles to your basic root word. For example, we may add the suffix -tluk, bad, to kaniktshaq, snow, and come up with kaniktshartluk, bad snow."
This is a problem that plagues anyone attempting to count the words in a given language. We can see a variant in English, which does not have the same polysynthetic properties as Eskimo. Is 'to snow' different from 'snow', 'snows', 'snowing', or 'snowed'? What about 'snowplow'? It's its own word, sure, but it's really just a 'plow for snow'.
(Cecil also mentions that he has been attempting to write a sentence of his own in Eskimo: "When completed, this sentence will proclaim: 'Look at all this freaking snow.' At present it means: 'Observe the snow. It fornicates.'" Lost in translation Cecil, lost in translation.)
Anyway, the gist of the comic and the essay is that although Eskimo dialects do have many words for snow, it is misleading to draw conclusions about their worldview from this fact. "Eskimos have # words for snow!" depicts another culture as strange/foreign based on evidence taken so far out of context that it doesn't even apply.
Yet, although I still have the instinctive need to correct that igloo-thesaurus brigade, I don't find them quite as annoying as I used to-for the simple reason that, however misguided they may be, they are at least thinking about linguistics.
Language is one of the most amazing tools we use in our everyday lives. It is ever-evolving and bizarrely, capable of more nuance than it can describe with its own words. But most people take all this for granted. The grammar, idioms, and slang that we use every day are more intricate than anyone ever imagines. Anything that brings people to contemplate the astonishing power of their own language is a service to humankind.
The Sapir-Whorf hypothesis is the claim that our language directly influences our perception of the world, as well as an idea which could easily fill a blog post of its own, if I didn't suspect you guys were getting bored already. This is at its most basic level what the Eskimo factoid is driving at: "I can't distinguish 47 kinds of snow, can you? Maybe if we spoke Eskimo we would think differently."
Me? I'm not sure I buy the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis. But ultimately, it's just fun to contemplate. Thinking about linguistics helps me appreciate the words I use all the time. And if slandering the Eskimos helps other people do the same, well-it might just be a necessary evil.
-Alison

Autistics Speaking Day

Note: The following is a repost of something I posted as a note on Facebook at about 2:30 AM last night, so the few of you who know me in real life may have already seen it. I thought it was worth posting here so it could reach a (slightly) wider audience.

As some of you may know, today is Autistics Speaking Day. (Or at least, it was when I started writing this; by the time I finish it and you actually read it, Autistics Speaking Day will be yesterday.) I thought I ought to use this opportunity to share my own experiences with you.

First, the big revelation: I am autistic. Specifically, I have PDD-NOS (Pervasive Developmental Disorder Not Otherwise Specified), the most mild condition on the autism spectrum. Some of you may have heard me use the term “Asperger’s syndrome” in reference to my own condition. Asperger’s and PDD-NOS are almost identical (both being mild forms of autism), and Asperger’s is more well-known, so for simplicity’s sake I usually use the term Asperger’s, even though PDD-NOS is my “official” diagnosis.

For those of you who I haven’t previously “come out” to as autistic, this revelation may be a bit of a shock. I certainly don’t fit the stereotypes about autistic people. I can speak fluently. I don’t need help with day-to-day tasks. I’m not withdrawn or antisocial (though I won’t deny that I am rather awkward). I can empathize easily with others. Though I’m skilled in a number of areas, I wouldn’t call myself a savant. But like most stereotypes, the stereotypes about autistic people aren’t necessarily grounded in reality. As many people on the spectrum have pointed out, “if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person.” This is part of the reason I’m writing this note in the first place: to show that there’s more to autism than the media shows. It’s important for me to point out, though, that in no way do I claim to speak for all autists. My experience with autism is uniquely my own, and another person’s may be completely different. In writing this, I am merely adding one more perspective to the many that exist.

To begin with, let’s talk about what autism is and isn’t. In the neurotypical (IE, non-autistic) world, the most common view of autism is that it’s a debilitating disease that leaves people unable to function on their own or cope with reality. This is not true- at least, not entirely. Autism does cause an enormous amount of difficulty for many people, but this is only one side of the story. There are also many positive, even beautiful, aspects of life with autism, that are overlooked in the wider society. What autism really is is an alternate neurological configuration, a unique manifestation of the human condition, with its own struggles and blessing, tragedies and joys.

Now, what exactly does autism involve? There are a number of symptoms that are associated with autism, and not every autist has all of them. However, there are a few basic traits that characterize autism, all of which have influenced my life in one way or another:

Autism involves acute sensitivity- either physical, emotional, or both.

This is probably the most fundamental characteristic of autism- and the one that is most frequently misunderstood. Many people will tell you that autists lack empathy. For many autists- myself included- this couldn’t be further from the truth. Rather than a lack of empathy, we have an overabundance of it. We are often hyper-sensitive to other people’s feelings, and can pick up on them intuitively. For most autists, this causes them to be overwhelmed in social situations. A friend of mine who is also on the spectrum explained it this way: if someone with unusually strong vision walks into a room full of bright lights, they will be temporarily blinded by it. Likewise, if an autist is in a room full of other people, the empathetic input will often be overwhelming to them and cause them to “shut down”- thus appearing to lack empathy. Since I have a very mild case of autism, this overwhelming only happens to me very rarely- usually when I am dealing with intensely angry people. The neural “static” I get from perceiving their anger is more than I can process, and I go into panic mode. In day-to-day interactions, though, I don’t find my empathy overwhelming at all, and am immensely grateful for the ability to intuitively understand others’ emotions.

In addition to this emotional sensitivity, autists are also often very sensitive to physical stimuli. For people with more severe autism- and even many people with mild autism- this translates to a strong aversion to many sensations, and a need to control one’s sensations through “stims,” or repetitive stimulatory actions such as hand flapping or rocking back and forth. This, however, has not been the case for me. (At least, not for the most part. I do have some tics that could be considered stims, such as twitching my fingers and shoulders and rolling or repeatedly blinking my eyes, but I don’t think these are related to my autism; I also have a mold allergy that causes tics or twitchiness.) The “physical sensitivity” trait has almost entirely bypassed me, but it manifests itself in one unique and meaningful way: an extremely heightened aesthetic sense. I often find myself standing utterly transfixed at things that most people find completely commonplace- the way the brilliant orange of a tree’s leaves in autumn contrasts with the blue of the sky behind it, the way light slants and filters through openings in a storm cloud, the burble and chatter of birds calling back and forth, or the subtle flavors in a spoonful of honey. My ability to notice details like this is a profound source of beauty and inspiration in my life.

My physical and emotional sensitivities also overlap in a unique way. Like several other autists (though not all, or even most), I have synesthesia- a condition in which a stimulus in one sense provokes a response in another. In my case, I perceive personalities and emotions as colors (and in some cases, textures as well), which I refer to as “auras.” My strong sense of empathy coupled with this synesthesia causes me to see a vivid cornucopia of colors whenever I am around other people. I don’t see these colors in the literal sense, the way I would if they were painted on a canvas in front of me- it’s more like how you see a color in a particularly strong memory. Although I know it isn’t actually there, I automatically imagine it in intense detail and can perceive it as clearly as I could if it were real. With people I know very well, these colors form incredibly nuanced and beautiful patterns. To me, synesthesia is one of the most interesting and meaningful aspects of my unique perception of the world.

Autism involves difficulties with socialization.

From a very early age, I have been socially awkward. Although I was never able to put a name to it until I found out I was on the spectrum, I have always felt different from other people in some deep and fundamental way. I think I’ve always known, on some subconscious level (perhaps due to my aforementioned sense of empathy), that the way most people perceive the world is different than the way I do. Don’t get me wrong; I get along very well with most people, and have several circles of friends I feel comfortable interacting with. But even among my friends, I almost always feel like an outsider who has been welcomed in, rather than a true insider. It’s extremely rare for me to find someone with whom I have a true sense of kinship and mutual understanding.

Conversation has always been a source of confusion for me. On the one hand, I love deep, meaningful conversation, and can literally talk for hours about ideas and subjects I care about. On the other hand, small talk and social chit-chat- the type of conversation our society seems to value most- have always presented a stumbling block. I feel alienated in many conversations, not because I’m shy or withdrawn, but simply because I never know what to say. I often end up sitting on the sidelines and listening to other people converse, because I can’t figure out how to integrate myself into the conversation. If the conversation turns to a topic I find meaningful, I can contribute fluently, but until then, I’m pretty much lost.

Although I am now able to express myself very easily and comprehensibly, this was not always the case. When I was much younger (during my first few years of elementary school), I often found it difficult to communicate and make myself understood. (This changed for a number of reasons- partially because I simply matured, and partially because of changes in my physiology that made it much easier to deal with my autism symptoms. More on this later.) For example, I often said or did things that made perfect sense in my mind, but didn’t bother to explain the complex string of reasoning that had gotten me there. To anyone watching, it must have looked completely ridiculous. For example, I remember one moment in my first grade class when my teacher mentioned something about how air particles move to fill in any empty space. We were sitting on the floor at the time, and I thought that a good way to demonstrate this would be to have one person get up at a time, and the people remaining on the floor move in to fill the space they had left. Of course, it never once occurred to me to share this idea with anyone; I just decided to try it out myself. As soon as the girl sitting next to me got up, I quickly moved in and took her seat. To the teacher, it must have looked like I was misbehaving, but in my mind, it was obvious that I was modeling the motion of air molecules!

Many autistic people are also very literal thinkers, which leads to difficulties understanding figurative language. For the most part, this has not been the case for me. I have never had any trouble understanding metaphor, idiom, sarcasm, or any other way words can be used non-literally, and I use such figures of speech frequently. I have a huge love of symbolism, allegory, and surrealism in art and literature, and do not rely on literal interpretation in the slightest when it comes to artistic works. However, there is one way in which the “literal mind” manifests itself in me: I am incapable of lying. It’s not just that I have a moral objection to it (though in many cases I do). Even in situations where it would have little or no moral consequence, I still find it absolutely unthinkable to deliberately utter an untruth. It simply clashes with my worldview.

Autism involves a need for patterns and order.

“Patterns” here just refers to any sort of sequential relationship between things. Logic, language, math, science, and music are all examples of patterns. A large part of being autistic consists of noticing patterns in everything and seeking out patterns that help us understand our world. In my case (as well as many others), this amounts to an intense capacity for logic and reasoning, and for tasks that require intense focus. I always try to base my decisions in reason rather than assumption, and carefully analyze most ideas and situations. I am also very good at deductive reasoning and problem-solving. This is not to say, though, that I am coldly logical or that I have no appreciation for emotion or intuition. As I said before, I am highly emotionally sensitive, and I have a deep appreciation for intuitive art methods like surrealism. To me, logic is a method of understanding the world, and emotion is a method of relating to it and giving it meaning. Art and intuition are ways of expressing our perception of the world. All these perceptual methods build on each other, rather than working against each other.

Order, now, this is a more difficult bit. In many ways, I am hardly a paragon of order. As anyone who has talked to me for more than a minute about politics or society knows, I am incredibly anti-authoritarian and nonconformist. I see no reason that any sort of arbitrary rules or coercive authority should be given the ability to dictate our lives, and I strongly advocate breaking out of social constrictions of any kind. Also, I embrace spontaneity much more than most people I know do, regardless of whether they’re autistic or neurotypical. I love doing things without having a fixed plan or knowing what the outcome will be. I don’t mind when things don’t go according to plan, and I willingly embrace change. But that said, there are more subtle ways a need for order manifests itself in my life. I form habits very easily, and find it very difficult to break them. There are many things I do in the same way every time- not out of a conscious preference, but simply because that is how I’ve always done them. For example, I almost never eat dinner before 6:00; I always use the crosswalks at a four-way intersection instead of cutting diagonally across; I always put my left shoe on before my right one, and so forth. When I have to do them a different way, although I know it ought to be fine, it feels intuitively wrong. I think that on a subconscious level, I find such rituals comforting, even while I know on a conscious level that they don’t really matter.

Autism involves intense, obsessive interest in specific topics.

Most autists have some specific areas of interest (generally referred to as “special interests” or “perseverations”) that they pursue in an intense and passionate manner, finding out every detail that they can. This often leads to an encyclopedic level of knowledge in a specific field. This is probably the autism trait that manifests itself most obviously in my life, and is among the ones that I find most meaningful and influential (second only to my strong sense of empathy). While some autists have a very limited and specialized scope in their interests, mine cover a very wide range. As anyone who knows me can attest, I am immensely passionate about all of them. My drive to investigate them on as deep a level as possible has brought me much joy and greatly increased my understanding of the world. My insatiable thirst for new knowledge is a fundamental part of who I am.

But what about cures for autism?

There have been many possible “cures” (or at least causes) for autism suggested in recent years. For the most part, I don’t know enough about them to address them here. However, there is one that I do have personal experience with, and feel is worth mentioning: the GF/CF (Gluten Free/Casein Free) Diet. Many individuals are unable to digest gluten (a protein found in wheat and some other grains) and casein (a protein found in milk). When these proteins are improperly digested, they break down into compounds that can be highly harmful to the digestive, immune, and nervous systems. There is a hypothesis that autism is caused by damage to the nervous system from these compounds.

As a child, I had several issues with my health: I had a weak immune system and was sick much of the time; I had problems with digestion; and I often had very low energy and was depressed or spaced-out. The rest of my family had many of the same issues. When I was about nine years old, we learned that our symptoms matched those of gluten and casein intolerance. When we stopped eating these foods, the improvements were immediate and remarkable. In addition to the aforementioned health problems going away, the socialization and communication difficulties I had had up to that point greatly abated. For this reason, I believed for a long time that my autism had been caused by my gluten and casein intolerance. (At the time, I still subscribed to the prevailing view that autism is entirely a negative thing, a view I clearly no longer hold.) However, I have recently come to realize that the truth is probably more complicated than that. I still have all the autism traits that I described earlier in this note; they just don’t cause me nearly as much difficulty as they used to. For this reason, I now think that my food intolerances were not the underlying cause of my autism, but exacerbated the difficulties of it. The negative effects that the food I was eating had on my physical and neurological health made it much harder for me to cope with my autistic traits. Now that I am no longer eating the problematic foods, I am able to deal with the difficulties of autism much more easily, and take full advantage of its positive aspects. I don’t think the GF/CF diet is a panacea by any means, but it was helpful for me, and can probably be helpful for many people both on and off the spectrum.

Moving away from specific proposed cures, I’d like to conclude by addressing the issue of “curing” autism in general. This is a topic around which there is a lot of controversy. I won’t pretend to speak for anyone else, on or off the spectrum- everyone is entitled to their own opinion. As for my views, I personally don’t feel that autism can or should be cured. As I said earlier, it is a unique manifestation of the human condition, and I feel it should be respected and valued as such. That said, I do acknowledge the suffering that many autistic individuals have had to go through as a result of their condition. I don’t think the solution is to eliminate autism, though, but to advocate as much as possible for the rights of autistic individuals, and provide them with the supports that they need to live functional, fulfilling lives. We also need to eliminate the bias against autists that exists in our society, and learn to see them as valuable human beings. With the right help and the support of an accepting and caring society, all individuals on the spectrum can live up to their full human potential.

-Lukas

Liquid Nitrogen Avalanche

In physics lab today, we were doing experiments with superconductivity, and liquid nitrogen was involved. (Note that unlike my experiences in the summer of 2008, this was a special high temperature superconductor for which liquid nitrogen alone was cold enough). One of my lab partners had put his laptop computer on a desk surface near where I was working with liquid nitrogen, and had numerous times before expressed fear of his laptop getting droplets of liquid nitrogen in it, in case that would be bad for it.

Now, my two lab partners were busy looking at some circuitry, while I was pouring liquid nitrogen into a cup. I decided to move farther from the laptop, which turned out to be a good idea. Suddenly, the cup fell over and a flood of boiling liquid nitrogen, 77 Kelvin, came rampaging out of the cup, along the desk surface, and falling onto the carpeted floor in a loud fwooooooooooooooosshhhh! of vaporizing nitrogen. I said nothing, merely responding to the spill.

My lab partners did not look up from what they were doing, but clearly they heard the long, drawn-out liquid nitrogen avalanche. Eventually they began to laugh. "I hope a certain party is OK," one of them said, chuckling.

I looked over.

"Yes, and it was especially funny since you didn't say anything, but we heard it. I was just thinking No! My computer!"

"Luckily," I replied, laughing, "I thought to move away from your computer when I was doing this."

And so we returned to our work, which involved nothing less than levitating magnets and creating currents that go on in a ring-shaped sample "forever", as long as liquid nitrogen is always on it.

-Philip

And the College Weirdness Continues...

The other day, I went into my dorm's kitchen to cook dinner. Pretty standard state of affairs so far. But when I got there, I discovered, much to my dismay, that the stove was covered with four trays of cookies.

I had no idea what to do. I had to clear off the stove, but I had no idea whose cookies they were, or where I could put them. Then I noticed a paper towel by the cookies, on which someone had scrawled, "Bring to room 216." Fair enough, I thought. I need the stove, and the people in room 216 probably want their cookies. Might as well be a gentleman and deliver their cookies for them.

I bring one of the trays up to room 216 and knock on the door. When someone opens it, I can see that there's a party going on inside, and I recognize the crazy musicians from the room above me. I explain about the cookies- how I needed to clear off the stove and saw the sign on the cookies, so I decided to deliver them. The party-goers look at me in bewilderment. Apparently, none of them know who baked the cookies, or why they were labeled to be sent to that room!

Suddenly, a girl walks by, asking, "Who stole my cookies?" I sheepishly explain that I had seen the sign on them, so I had brought them up here. She tells us that she baked them for the open mic night that was going on in the dorm next to ours, and she had never said for them to go to room 216. I return the cookies, embarrassed.

Who put the sign on the cookies remains a mystery.

-Lukas

Order of Operations

Look, I know the fact that she's my relative shouldn't excuse anything. Believe me, I'm not encouraging nepotism here. I'm just asking for some leniency.

It's true that she breaks all the rules-she's constantly dividing by zero, and last Tuesday she took the square root of negative twelve without so much as a bye-your-leave to imaginary numbers. But let's get some perspective: at least she knows how to multiply polynomials. She also plays a mean game of bridge.

And yes, she does have bad habits. She leaves her improper fractions in the sink and never puts her derivatives back where she found them. She's really a sweet person, though-just a little absent-minded, and really, who isn't?

I won't deny that she's occasionally inclined to mix up her isosceles triangles with her scalenes, but she does know the Fibonacci sequence out to a hundred numbers. Plus, she always brings fantastic meat-loaf to our family reunions.

The transgressions, it seems, are numerous. But, come on, she's my mother's sister!

All I can ask for is your mercy. I hope that you will find it somewhere in your heart, deep down, to forgive. So, if you hold any compassion at all, I beg you to Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally.
-Alison

Beware of False Prophets (And Monks)

It's my first week at UMass Amherst, and weird things have already started happening to me.

The other day, on the way to my linguistics class, I was stopped by a tall man with arm tattoos, ear piercings, and a beaded necklace. He asked me if I was a student here. "Yes," I replied. He asked me a few other things- what my major was, etc.- and then, out of the blue, handed me a copy of the Bhagavad-Gita, and announced that he was a traveling monk.

I was a bit surprised- he didn't look all that monkish to me- but I was interested, so I kept listening. He said he was part of an organization that was trying to spread the Bhagavad-Gita to more people. He told me a bit more about the book, and said he wasn't selling it, he just wanted me to have it, but could I please leave a donation? The book looked interesting, so I fished in my wallet for a dollar and handed it to him.

He looked disappointed, and told me that the book had cost five dollars, and they tried to cover the cost of the books. I then thought, I'm probably being conned, aren't I? I told him that I was sorry, but I couldn't donate any more. He took the book back and returned my dollar, and I proceeded on to class, amused and slightly bewildered by the encounter.

-Lukas

A Wise Man Once Said...

A man who dares to waste one hour of time has not discovered the lack of value of Arena Scheduling.
-Charles Darwin

In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about Arena Scheduling: it goes on.
-Robert Frost

When we remember we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and Arena Scheduling stands explained.
-Mark Twain

Arena Scheduling is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Arena Scheduling isn't.
-Mark Twain

All wrong-doing arises because of Arena Scheduling. If Arena Scheduling is transformed can wrong-doing remain?
-Buddha

A person who never made a mistake never tried Arena Scheduling.
-Albert Einstein

All Arena Scheduling needs to gain a foothold is for people of good conscience to remain silent.
-Thomas Jefferson

Mankind must put an end to Arena Scheduling before Arena Scheduling puts an end to mankind.
-John F. Kennedy

-Marianne

Lunch is Just About the Weirdest Time of Day for Me #2

I've been planning to write this blog story for over a month, but didn't get to it until now. Oh well.

It all started rather innocently. I usually went home after camp and made lunch for myself, but I was getting tired of that. I decided to go to Cabot's instead.

The awkwardness began with the fact that I was alone. There's something not quite right about eating at a restaurant by yourself. It's just not meant to happen. To make matters worse, there was no room left at the counter, meaning I was forced to sit at a table meant for more than one person. Blah.

Even so, I wouldn't have minded so much. If it hadn't been for the fact that the waitress recognized me, there would be no trouble at all.

The waitress came to give me a menu. Eager to cut the awkwardness of sitting by myself without food to distract me to as short an amount of time as possible, I informed that I already knew what I wanted. I was planning on getting a chicken finger plate.

"Chicken finger plate?" the waitress guessed.

I shuddered. I suppose I go to Cabot's and order the same thing often enough that the waitress recognized me and knew what I want. I can't stand it when people who aren't supposed to know me do. It just bothers me. Unwilling to agree, I made a last minute decision. "Actually, I was going to have a hamburger."

"Oh," the waitress responded, sounding a little surprised, but only a little. "How do you like that cooked?"

"Medium Well," I answered automatically.

"Would you like anything - lettuce, tomato, onions - on that?"

I decided I wanted lettuce and pickle. "Lettuce, tomato, and pickle," I said.

Oh no! I didn't mean to order tomatoes. I really, really, really don't like tomatoes. I was about to modify my order when I realized, in all the awkwardness, I had somehow failed to order cheese.

"Actually, can I have a cheeseburger?"

I didn't want to modify my order twice, so I let the tomato thing slip.

"American cheese."

The waitress left and I waited awkwardly. Eventually, my food came.

There they were: the tomatoes. The situation was weird enough without me leaving the tomatoes on my plate. If I came back to Cabot's and had that waitress, she might think of me as the person who ordered tomatoes and didn't eat them. I shuddered again.

Willing to go to great lengths to prevent that terrible scenario, I picked up the better looking of the two tomatoes and took a bite out of it. The fleshy part was bearable, but the jelly stuff was just disgusting. I took another bite, wincing. Then, in a painfully large number of bites, I finished the first slice.

I decided it wasn't so weird to leave the second, especially since it was a little yellow in the middle, so I left that there. I then began eating massive numbers of french fries to get the taste out of my mouth. It didn't seem to want to go, but we were both glad when it left. Or I suppose it might have just been me.

-Marianne

Dance Dance Revolution

It's hard to describe exactly what I did over the summer. Officially I say I participated in a summer math program, but it was much more than just that. It was a community of a hundred and fifty mathematicians, all uber smart and super crazy fun. And super crazy. And from that experience I have more than one weird story to tell...

The first one took place at a dance, and reminds me of what people think traditional crazy absent minded mathematicians are like.

One weekend we held a giant dance party. Different from our normal laundry room strobe light parties, this was to include many people in a larger space, and normal hip hop music. And most of all, dancing. In strobe light parties, you don't dance--you play around with the trippy effects of discontinuity...or, for the non-mathematicians, you play around with the trippy effects of stop motion, things like seeing through your hand or numbers on washing machines looking like they're floating in space.

Dancing, like dancing at a club type dancing, is a specific kind of dancing. I have personally always felt awkward about it, but as far as I could tell, you sort of bop to the music. So I went out on the dance floor and did my best, dancing with friends. As I'm dancing, I notice one of the grad students, Fiyero, sitting on the sidelines watching. I invited him over, worried that he felt excluded. He didn't seem to be having a very good time.

He shook his head and so I continued dancing. About five minutes later, I hear a cry from the sidelines-- "I've got it!" Fiyero exclaims. "What?" we all ask, inquisitively. "I understand how to dance. You see, I figured there had to be some kind of restriction that makes this dance what it is, and I've got it. You keep your elbows close to you."

I sort of stare at him, perplexed, then go into fits of laughter. He was such a typical mathematician. And yet, upon further thinking, we all agreed that he was probably right. It would seem super awkward to see someone with their elbows out.

Well, this was a long time ago, so you might be wondering why I mention this today. Today, I was wandering around the internet and bumped across this scientific study:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/science/2010/sep/08/psychologists-killer-dance-moves-men

If you watch the video closely, you'll see that their example of a good dancer keeps his elbows much closer to his body than their example of a bad dancer.

I'm telling you, mathematicians know how to dance.


Sachi

Welch's Concord Grape

Yesterday morning, I decided that I wanted to spread some jelly on my bagel.

I went to the refrigerator and saw a jar labeled Welch's Concord Grape. I took it out, got a knife, and stuck the knife into the jar.

To my surprise, the jelly was all liquified. The knife just stirred it around, and there was absolutely no way to pick it up. Then, I realized: it was not a jar of jelly, but rather a bottle of Welch's Concord Grape Juice.

Ah, well, nothing wrong with rinsing your knife in some grape juice to prepare it for the descent into the true jelly.

But unfortunately, this experience was a kind of deja vu for me. Just look back in this blog to late in 2009, and you will see that bagel spreading mishaps have happened to me before.

-Philip

Rain forests and a weird taco

Looks like we need at least one post for July. (Yes, I cannot let our blog die. But no one can deny that nobody really has the energy to write on it. I see the situation as somewhat analogous to the Vietnam War. But let's get back to the story.)

So, as always, stories of weird occurrences on the subway are good! I was standing and reading on the T as I traveled into Boston this morning, well, I guess I had stopped reading when a man said to me, "Are you registered to vote?"

He was wearing a hat covered in pins (or are they called buttons? You know, those circular things that you pin to things that usually have messages on them, as in "I like Ike"...) And I don't remember what any of them said but they were all very old and peeling. He had some long beaded necklaces around his neck, an old faded shirt, and earrings shaped like forks. Before he talked to me, he was having some kind of strange conversation on a cell phone. I couldn't really follow it at all, but I could tell it was strange.

Anyway, immediately after asking me the question, he said, "Oh, I guess you're too young," before I even had time to process what he had asked me. (I could take offense at automatically being assumed to be less than 18, but I have also been asked if I'm a BU student several times during the past few weeks (I'm in a summer program at BU) so I suppose it's not all bad.)

So he turned to another person. "Are you registered to vote?"

"Not in this country," he said.

"Oh, what country are you from?"

The answer was Brazil. "Oh, Brazil. I'm very sorry about what America is doing to your country."

"What do you mean?" asked the Brazilian man.

"We're cutting down your rain forests. For MacDonnald's."

"Oh, right."

"Most Americans are really dumb; they don't even know what our country is doing to your rain forests."

I can only guess at what he would do if he did find someone who was registered to vote. But that was only my first odd exchange of the day (although I suppose you could argue it wasn't really my odd exchange). The second took place when I went to buy a taco.

This was my second time going to this restaurant. I asked for a taco and a bottle of water, paid, etc. After a moment the guy at the cashier (the only person in the store) said, "Well, the thing is, I don't actually work here."

What??? If he didn't work here, why...?

"I work upstairs. I'm covering for a friend. I don't know how to make tacos, but he does. He's upstairs right now but he'll be back in a few minutes."

Oh, okay. "Oh, okay."

"If you asked for a burrito, I could have made it for you," he said. During this time, someone else came in and asked for a burrito and got it. But soon the actual person came back and made my taco.

Now, it was a weird taco: pork, cabbage, and pineapple. The description had said "served on two corn tortillas," which I had assumed meant there would be two small tacos. It turned out to actually be one small taco, wrapped in two tortillas. But I really didn't mind all that much, seeing as it turned out to taste quite bad. I liked the pineapple but not the cabbage.

-Rebecca

It's Stochastic!

While I was working in the lab today, I overheard the following conversation about soccer from some people nearby:

"You know, usually the purpose of sports is to determine which is the better team. But in soccer, if you score a goal, it's really just stochastic."

"So a score like 1-0 really doesn't give you any conclusive information."

"Yes. Yeah, I know, you have to have some skill, but it all seems to come down to a stochastic process, in the statistical mechanics way. The ball just diffuses across the field, and if it happens to diffuse into a net, you score."

"Yes, I see what you mean. Maybe if the field were shorter, or they played for a longer period of time, it would mean something, but as it is, it's just stochastic."

Yes, soccer is actually just Brownian motion on a large scale. World Cup fanatics, sorry to break it to you.

-Philip

Are you catching my drift?

I tend to assume that after hiking all day, people get a little crazy. So after hiking two mountains today, two very very tall mountains, Sarah was probably just being silly when she said her diner food all tasted like apples. At least, that's what the rest of us thought the first time she mentioned it.

Sarah ordered a veggie burger and piled ketchup on it after getting the bottle from Miranda. I took the ketchup and put some on my burger and fries, handing it off to Jenny, though by the time we got it there was not much left, and we borrowed a bottle from the table behind us. As we're munching and talking about how good food was after hiking all day, Sarah starts complaining again that her ketchup tastes like apples. At this point Miranda jumps in and says "mine too!" and we all look at each other and burst into laughter.

Jenny and I, perplexed, try some of Miranda's ketchup and find to our surprise that they aren't crazy and ours was simply dilluted-- the ketchup actually tasted like apple cinnamon.

Our waiter came to ask if everything was okay, and we burst into laughter a second time as we tried to explain that our ketchup tasted like it had cinnamon applesauce in it... We couldn't help it, but we knew he probably thought we were wackos. Being a good waiter, he took our ketchup bottle and promised to ask the kitchen about it. And us, trying to be nice, assured him that it wasn't that bad, just a little strange.

A few minutes later he came back. "So, I smelled your ketchup bottle to check" (that you guys aren't psycho) "and you're right, it smells like cinnamon." And he handed us a new ketchup bottle. We attempted to give the table behind us their ketchup back, but after hearing us giggle maniacally about it they decided that they didn't want it.


Sachi

No Aliens

First graders are amusing. I work as a teaching assistant in a first grade class at my temple. Last Sunday, the kids were decorating bags in which to give toiletry items to women in a homeless shelter or something like that.

The girls in the class immediately began drawing pink and yellow flowers and hearts. But the boys were potentially an issue.

"Remember," said the teacher, "these bags are for mothers and children so decorate them appropriately."

"No Star Wars," said one girl.

"Right," said the teacher.

"And no sports?" said a boy.

"Right. No sports," said the teacher.

"Can we draw aliens?" asked one boy.

"No, no aliens," the teacher answered.

"Oh," said the boy. "I already drawed an alien." I looked over at his bag and there sure enough was a neon green, three-eyed alien drawn in the middle of it.

It was a very cute alien, so I'm sure the recipient will enjoy it.

-Rebecca

Conscience and consiousness

I was walking to school, looking down. I wasn't looking down on purpose (after all, The Last of the Really Great Wangdoodles reminds us that we should all look up more often) but, on my lonely walk there was nothing to attract my attention, so as it happened, I was looking down.

As I took a step, just like all the other steps I had taken, at a reasonably fast pace to avoid arriving late to school, I suddenly noticed that the stick I was about to step on was not, in fact, a stick.

It was a worm.

I don't know how I knew it was a worm. It was brown, straight, and still. It looked just like a stick. I'm somewhat nearsighted, so I couldn't see it in so much detail. It seemed, to all evidence I was consciously processing, to be a stick.

But I must have somehow been subconsciously noticing something about it; I must have somehow noted that it was slowly slithering forward; and with no time for my subconscious to inform my conscious mind how it knew, it screamed at me: "It's a worm!"

Alas, it was too late. I had already completed too much of the step, and all I could do was put slightly less weight on the foot than normal.

After I had passed, my consciousness realized that it had absolutely no idea what had made it think that stick had been a worm. But remembering how sure my subconscious had seemed at the time, I turned around and looked at the stick.

It had curled up and was wriggling. In other words, it was a worm.

I don't know whether or not I injured it; after all I only gave it a fleeting glance as my feet continued to carry me to school. So as I walked on, I could only hope, for the poor, unfortunate worm's sake, that I had not in fact injured it.

So, here I am today, with a potential injured worm on my conscience, and a newfound trust for my subconscious.

-Rebecca

The Elusive Howard Dean

Yet another month is drawing to a close, and as I sit here at my desk, my fingers click-clacking on the keys on my laptop, I think about the funny and awkward stories that I can tell.

There was a traveling saga about my trip home for Easter, involving misunderstandings over the telephone when calling for a taxi, incompetent train ticket sellers who gave me tickets for the following Monday minutes before my train was scheduled to depart.

There was getting on the train, which was to be diverted from its normal route due to flooding in Rhode Island...the man I sat next to waking from his sleep to ask, "Where are we?"

"New Haven," I responded.

"Well, as long as it's not Heaven, I'm OK."

There was the long wait before the train left the station, and then the announcement that the engine had been successfully "tied back on." With string? Shoelaces?

But unfortunately, that took place too long ago for me to remember enough details to tell the full story, so you will have to enjoy the glimpses that I have provided.

A story that happened more recently, and therefore I can tell more easily, is the following:

The Yale Political Union usually invites a noteworthy guest to speak at the beginning of debates, after which students can ask questions and then proceed to debate the resolution themselves. During the last few weeks, we had some especially interesting guests: Senator Mark Warner of Virginia on "Resolved: Subsidize a Green Economy," South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford on "Resolved: Trust the Waffle House Rather than the White House" (that one was especially fun), and then Howard Dean was going to come to speak on the topic: "Resolved: China Must Inevitably Democratize."

I was planning to speak at that debate, as I had been told that the debate was really more about whether China should democratize, whether democracy is universally good, and I was interested in speaking in favor of the topic (the inevitable part was the part I was least willing to defend). Having said that I was interested in speaking, I received an e-mail saying that I could go to "speaker's dinner" on the topic with former Vermont Governor Howard Dean. The dinner was at 6:30 in Commons, the main dining hall.

I did think that seemed strange, since usually the guests were taken to a restaurant for dinner before debates rather than treated to a meal in the dining hall. But I had never gone to a dinner with a guest before, so I didn't know much. And the e-mail did say Commons.

So that Tuesday, I dressed up in a suit and swiped my card into Commons, excitedly looking for a group of people eating with Howard Dean.

I looked to my right...no Howard Dean. I looked to my left...no Dean. I continued on, farther and farther into Commons, and Howard Dean was nowhere in sight.

Eventually, I was able to end my awkward suit-clad wandering when I saw someone that I knew who was in the Political Union: the Chief Whip of the Independent Party.

"Do you know where Howard Dean is?" I asked.

"No, but usually they go to a nice restaurant. I can't imagine that they would make Howard Dean eat here."

"I wouldn't either, but I definitely remember getting an e-mail saying dinner with Howard Dean would be in Commons."

Could my memory have been that flawed? I certainly felt ridiculous, standing there in Commons wearing my suit, insisting that I had been told that Howard Dean would be eating in there.

She sent a text message to the president of the Political Union, only to confirm what was expected. Dinner with Howard Dean was taking place in a nice restaurant, and was almost over.

"Well, I suppose there's nothing wrong with wearing a suit to Commons," I mused sheepishly.

And with that, I went to get some food.

After the debate, I looked back at my e-mail, and sure enough it said that speaker's dinner was at Commons. But I realized that speaker's dinner was not the same as dinner with the guest. For one thing, it was the day before. I think it was more of an informal meeting for potential speakers to discuss what they would say. And it was just bad phrasing on their part to mention Howard Dean as part of the topic, not that he would be at the dinner in Commons.

So I am still one of the many people in the world who have never eaten dinner with Howard Dean.

-Philip

Those Hardy Highlanders

To set the scene, imagine a persistent drenching, windswept rain. It is the kind of rain where every surface outside is wet, the ground is flooded in many places, and it is difficult to see through windows because they are covered in water drops. Now, imagine a group of students sitting in a classroom, second floor of the old mathematics building, which looks something like a peculiar, large, aging stone house from the outside; the classroom itself is of rather odd appearance, with an almost yellow-looking floor, creaky-hinged windows, desk-chairs facing towards the blackboard, and a large wooden blob in the front that must have been intended to be some kind of desk. In the middle of a lecture about eigenvalues and eigenvectors, the distinct sound of bagpipes was suddenly heard from outside.

Snickers emanated from the room. One person said, "He must one dedicated bagpiper!" as we imagined the bagpiper standing outside in the soaking rain.

Eventually, the bagpipe music faded away, but it reappeared two more times.

Well, it certainly helped make diagonalizing matrices more entertaining.

-Philip

Craziness emerges under the cover of night

A few nights ago I had an interesting dream:

I was in my room, trying to do my math homework, but there were a lot of people in my room and they were being very loud. Annoyingly, every time a solved a problem, one of the people would whisper in my ear "It's an extraneous solution!"' And sure enough, it always was. I had an entire page of empty sets. Blah.
(I remembered this one in the middle of math class and burst out laughing. There's the awkwardness of the story right there)

Twice in the past year my dream had something to do with pregnant cats. I have no idea why.

Over half a year ago - lets say eight months, I had a dream in which Sadam Hussein took over my temple.

I wonder what these dreams mean.

-Marianne

Hide and Seek Can be a Dangerous Game

I was playing hide and seek with friends a few days ago.

It general, it was a good game, with many interesting hiding spots found - including the top shelf of a closet - but there were some unfortunate mishaps.

Most people, at this point, had been found, and there were four people left to be discovered. Some people were busy seeking, others were just sitting around and talking. I was traveling between the two groups, but at the moment of our story, I was in the sitting around and talking category, although I was actually standing and talking.

I was talking to one person in particular: Linda. Linda, who was also standing, decided to sit down. She walked over to the couch and sat down.

All of a sudden she jumps up and goes "What is wrong with this couch. . .!?"

At that moment I heard a groan. "Yaoughwau!" The couch began to rise up, and out came Max. As soon as he crawled out from under the couch, he rubbed his head. A metal bar had dug into his forehead (which itself is really not funny at all).

Hide and seek can be a dangerous game.

-Marianne

International Amusements

Many of my friends who have participated in model UN for a long time will surely not find these stories funny as I'm sure they have already had similar experiences. But since I have just started model-UN-ing, I have a few annecdotes that some readers might enjoy...

I went to the Harvard Model UN conference this weekend, with a few other writers from this blog. I was on a double delegation, which means each country is represented by two people. This can lead to some funny situations:

Luxembourg finished speaking and someone motioned to comment.

"Two thirty second comments are in order," said the chair. She called on people who raised their placards. "Bolivia, and Luxembourg."

As Luxembourg started to comment on the speech, people looked around at each other confusedly. Finally, someone interrupted him: "Point of parliamentary inquiry: Can Luxembourg comment on their own speech?"

"Oh, that was my mistake," said the chair.

The same thing happened again about ten minutes later, when Japan asked Japan a question.

Another time, Luxembourg came up to comment on a speech by Sweden and began energetically talking about a financial plan or something.

"Please make sure your comment is related to the speech you're commenting on," said the chair.

Luxembourg stopped in mid-sentence and began again: "Sweden made a very good point," and sat down.

Another time: "I yield the rest of my time to Luxembourg," said Bolivia.

"Luxembourg, you have three seconds," said the chair, refering to the amount of speaking time Bolivia had not yet used.

As everyone was wondering what they would do with their three seconds, Luxembourg went up and said, "We are Luxembourg."

And of course, there's the common situation in which a delegate yields to questions, and the chair says "you have 23 seconds for questions." Then another delegate asks some long and detailed question, the speaker answers simply "yes" or "no" and the chair says, "You have 22 seconds left for questions."

Next, the time when my partner motioned for a moderated caucus (a specific quick way of discussing things in which there is a specified topic and the chair just calls on you rather than write your name on the speakers list) with the topic "allowing countries sitting in the back who haven't talked yet a chance to comment." When, after two countries spoke, no one else volunteered, the chair decided to use her discretion to end the moderated caucus.

And, perhaps the best moment was when Kazakhstan came up to the front of the room and began speaking, in a completely serious tone of voice, about a very innovative solution to the problem of malnourishment among refugees, which consisted of the "refugee food pyramid." It contained three sections: oatmeal, bananas, and string cheese, and she held up a diagram to show everyone.

I personally enjoyed the moment when, after my partner proposed creating a program in which refugees who were accepted into host countries could work in sustainable energy jobs, thereby contributing to the economy of the host country, someone sent us a note saying, "Isn't that like endentured servitude?" We couldn't send a note back correcting their spelling because whoever wrote it didn't sign it.

-Rebecca

Sharpening Pencils: Awkward

My English Class was having a discussion about collectivism or something like that, and we were all taking notes. A student in the class (lets call her Julia) got up to sharpen her pencil.

All of a sudden the entire class got silent.

Nobody really knew why, except, perhaps, for Mr. U, who could see her as she walked toward the pencil sharpener. But he didn't start talking again, so nobody else did either.

Slowly people began to turn around and we saw that Julia had just reached the pencil sharpener, and was now noticing that the entire class was staring at her.

"I just wanted to sharpen my pencil!"

-Marianne

Is insulting community really so terrible?

I was in Open Art Studio, one of my electives. The teacher was talking about how there was only one more class because the next one would be replaced with community. Community (formerly known as B block) is a completely pointless class that replaces an elective every once in a while.

Everyone in the class was upset. We were all saying "Why don't we just skip community?" and "I wish we had more Open Art classes."

One person said, "But community is completely pointless!"

Suddenly the teacher's face became surprised and astonished. She stared ahead, her mouth open.

Nobody could figure out what was going on. Was insulting community really so terrible?

We all looked at each other, and people started to laugh. The teacher was still frozen - her astounded face becoming very funny. We still had absolutely no idea why she was so upset.

Eventually the teacher explained. "My plants are dead," she said.

We looked around the room and, sure enough, every plant, of which there were many, was dead.

-Marianne

My Effort to Single-Handedly Save the Blog from Death

So I've decided to make an effort to single handedly save the blog from death, because everything deserves to be saved from death.

Just thought I'd tell you.

-Marianne

"There's a Picture Attached"

My English Teacher is one of those teachers that confiscates your phone if it rings during class and keeps it for a while, so the class was all intrigued when we heard a noticeable vibrating sound in the silence after one of my teacher's, we'll call him Mr. U, comments.

"TJ, give me your phone," Mr. U said.

TJ reluctantly took his phone from his pocket and held it out to Mr. U. Mr. U took it before TJ even got a chance to see what it was.

The entire class watched Mr. U. Depending on what it was, punishment could range from phone confiscation for a day to detention to I-take-your-phone-and-keep-it-until-your-parents-take-it-from-me.

"Hmm, a text message." Mr. U looked at it. "Is this from your girlfriend?"

The class watched TJ's face turn red.

"Oh, there's a picture attached," Mr. Y fiddled with TJ's phone a little, then a serious expression came over his face.

TJ's face was bright red and he looked extremely worried. Everybody was barely holding back laughter over TJ's face. I don't think anyone in the class had ever seen him look this scared.

"TJ, see me after class." Mr. U tucked the phone into his desk, his face still serious.

TJ looked as though he were on the verge of tears - or fainting.

There was a silence in the class for about ten seconds, nobody knowing quite what to do. Should they laugh at TJ's expression or should they try their hardest not to so that TJ isn't even more embarrassed?

Then Mr. U offered an answer to everybody's problems. "Just Kidding," he said, smiling.

I swear, the class was laughing for ten minutes.

Describe the significance of Marbury v. Madison...

Around November:

In history class we're studying a bunch of important Supreme Court cases from the early 1800s, under Chief Justice John Marshall. I go to gym; my gym teacher, who was pregnant, has just given birth so we have a substitute.

"Hello, I'm your new teacher," he says. "My name is John Marshall."

Wait, like the Supreme Court justice? I think to myself. After gym class is over I say to my friend, "Did you notice his name is John Marshall? Like the Supreme Court justice?"

"Oh, you're right!" she says. "That's so wierd! I wonder if he knows."

"Yeah, I don't know. Well, he's a gym teacher; he probably doesn't know much history."

"Yeah, but John Marshall is pretty famous. Maybe we should ask him about it..."

***Fast forward to today, second to last gym class of the term:

20 minutes on one of those bicycle machines is boring. I decide to read through the skit I have to perform today in Spanish to pass the time while I bike. After all, I've heard that studying while exercizing helps you remember things. Then my aforementioned friend asks me a question about history. We start quizzing each other for our history mid-term coming up on Friday.

"Do you guys have some kind of a test coming up?" Mr. Marshall asks us.

"Yes," we tell him. He asks what its on and we tell him its on American history from the begining to the Civil War and reconstruction.

"You're in luck," he says. "I'm a certified history teacher."

"You are not," says someone else in the class.

"I am," he says. "I have a degree in history and a degree in exercise education."

I don't know whether or not to beleive him but he soon proves he's telling the truth by quizzing us on history. He asks us questions about the Federalist Papers, and Articles of Confederation, and the War of 1812...

As we leave class, my friend and I comment on the funniness of the situation. Suddenly, I recall that conversation two months ago and I realize that he must know that he has the same name as the famous Supreme Court justice!

I always enjoy meeting someone with unusual combination of interests. Like, how often does a person want to be either a gym teacher or a history teacher?
-Rebecca

And she's really pretty

Sadly, I forgot the blog's birthday. Thinking it was January 7, I was holding off to perhaps write a happy birthday blog post. However, the blog was in fact created on January 3. Aw, I missed it! So here is a belated birthday post.

A couple days ago my English teacher asked us to anyonymously answer some feedback questions about the class. The questions ranged from "How does the instructor encourage your interest in the subject?" to "Twitter the class: describe the class in 140 characters or less." Our teacher, Ms. M, sent us to the computer lab to type our answers for maximum anonymity, and left us alone.

The first question we began to ask each other was, "Are you writing it in the second person? Or are you going to refer to Ms. M as "the instructor"? Most people chose second person, and we began writing.

"I should end my answer to #1 with 'And Ms. M is really pretty," joked my friend Maddie.

"That would be pretty funny," I said. Someone suggested that we all request not to have tests. "Maybe if we all write it she'll listen to us," he said. When I finsihed #3 and realized the following question was labeled 5, I didn't know what to do. Should I number the next one 4, or 5?

"What are you doing about question 4?" I asked Maddie. After momentary confusion she realized what I was refering to. "Maybe I'll make up an answer for 4," she said,

"You should answer it 'Ms. M is really pretty,'" I suggested. However, she didn't take my advice, instead writing "4. OBAMA!!!!!"

When two people in the class began threatening to attach each other's names to their responses, one of them said, "Okay, will you write "Ms. M is gorgeous" in one of your answers?"

As far as I know he actually did it. Sadly, I didn't have enough time in the class period left to come up with a clever tweet for the last question. So, we all turned in our responses and wondered what would come of it.

The next day:

"I read your responses, and I'm already trying to incorporate some of your advice into what we do in the class," said Ms. M. "From what you've written, it seems that you all think this class is too easy."

Everyone looked at everyone else. Who the heck implied that!? we were all wondering.

"We said this class is too easy!?" someone asked incredulously.

"I knew we should have united," said someone else.

-Rebecca