Thursday, September 29, 2005

Quote of the Day

After a rather long conversation about the past, present, and future of hybrid cars:

History Buff: So, what kind of car do you drive?

Math Whiz: A Honda Civic.

History Buff: Oh. I drive a Saturn Ion. It has a really great turning radius.
When "a really great turning radius" is the selling point of your car, maybe you should just avoid conversations about cars altogether.

I drive a Honda Accord. It has moderately effective windshield wipers.

So what's unimpressive about your car?

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Oh What a Tangled Web I Weave!

Not to continue the discussion of phobias, but I did get caught in my own web today. The inevitable has finally come to pass: someone finally questioned my credentials at my new job. I made it a full week and a half before anyone asked why I am qualified to tutor statistics.

The truth is that I took Stats 221 two years ago and didn't remember a thing when I applied for the job as a tutor. The fact that I also applied for a math tutor position with the same employer should have tipped him off to the fact that this was a move of desperation rather than of appropriateness, given that I haven't even taken one math course since I graduated high school in '99. I have spent the last six days feverishly studying the course manual and textbook, hoping that no one would call. Thankfully only one person has, and she just had keyed the answer in wrong. What luck for me! Disaster averted! But then History Buff just had to ask, and I was forced to confess.

This incident reminded of some other times I was named the charlatan, revealing a life of suffering for my lies.

The Mission Lie
My companion was complaining ad nauseum about his father and how stupid it was that he only put up one string of lights at Christmas.
I turned to him and said in a resentful voice, "At least you have a dad." A few more seconds of the hurt face did it. He quieted up like a big mouthed girl in a room full of horseflies.
Weeks later I was explaining the latest news from my seldom-heard-from dad when he whipped his head around and said, "Hey, I thought you didn't have a dad!"
"Oops. I mean, just kidding?"

The High School Lie
In high school my friends and I went to buy candy bars in the lunch room (this is before the price hike that caused my friend Heff to exclaim, "What the crap!" the first time I heard that exclamation). DJ hadn't noticed that I had bought a Twix just like his, so when I took his off the table and started to open it, he just thought I was joking. When I started to sniff at it, he looked uncomfortable, and when I started to eat it, he only bored into my skull with his gamma-ray vision. What's worse is that KK, the girl we both liked, knew I had another Twix in my lap, so she was laughing hysterically. When I produced the second bar, it made little difference in his emotional state. The lying apparently scarred him. In fact, he changed all his classes the next semester because I was in them. But the joke's on him: I went with KK to the prom, and they stopped talking entirely.

The Formative Lie
I told my eighth-grade homeroom teacher that I had to go to a club on Day of the Arts, that day of the year when there were no clubs, because I wanted to go see the rock band that was playing in the auditorium. Woods and I gave her the opportunity to take the class there, but she refused; really we had no other choice. She let us go to our respective clubs, and we snuck into the back of the auditorium to see the show, reveling in our rebellion. It was a slow shock, you know, the kind that comes on you none of the sudden, when we realized that the people filing into the row on the other side were the members of our class. We darted from our seats to the other door and waited until the whole class was seated. As Woods popped her head into the hall, we were certain she was spotted. We made a run for it, returning to our class, ready to explain how there were no clubs that day. The teacher came back to the class, and as we opened our mouths to explain, she said, "I don't want to hear it. Just go with the class." That was better anyway, since I accidentally left my bag in the auditorium.

The Conclusion Lie
So there it is, the root of my lying habit is in my love of the arts. It's what began it all. And what has it gotten me? Only a free rock concert, a date to the prom, a bit of much needed respite from the blabberings of an ingrate, and a sweet job. Experience surely is life's greatest teacher. I'll never lie again.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Facing Our Fears

The professor of my Monday-night abnormal psychology class has a sweet manner about her that is so undaunting that is a bit unnerving. She pleasant beyond reason. The topic of discussion last night was how to help people overcome their irrational fears. The professor, whose fear of spiders was so intense as a child that she would not go on family vacations for fear of the daddy longlegs at the campsite, had asked a class member to catch and bring in a spider so she could demonstrate the technique of modeling. This is when a phobic person watches a nonphobic interact with the object of fear without problems.

When the girl brought the spider in its jar to the front of the class, the professor took a quick step back and said, "That's quite far enough," in her usual agreeable tone.

A volunteer from the class came up to handle the spider while the class squealed in semi-controlled horror and delight. The teacher just stood back and said, "See? I am already feeling more calm watching her handle it." Just then the spider scurried from the girl's hand and wound its way around the wrist and forearm at a very quick pace. "Oh, that's a bit faster than I had planned," said the teacher nervously. After calming herself, she reached out and put her hand next to the spider on the girl's arm. She retracted suddenly, her phobic reflexes kicking in. She gained composure and reached up again, supposedly hoping the spider would crawl onto her arm.

Just as she reached her hand out again, the spider bolted down towards the girl's elbow and dropped off the edge, falling to the floor. Girls screamed, guys gasped, and one especially jittery girl jumped up onto her chair. The professor screamed, "Too fast!" and slammed her foot down on the spider's little body. The class let out a wave of sound followed by a shocked silence. The silence was broken occasionally by stifled laughter.

"I apologize to those of you who like spiders. It was just too fast." Her voice had immediately returned to pleasant, though her face looked more stoicly happy than comfortably relaxed.

Amid the increasing laughter, a girl raised her hand and asked, "Doesn't killing the spider just reinforce your fear of spiders?"

"Yes, um hm," she answered.

I believe it also reinforced little Charlotte's fear of humans. So much for experiential learning.

Saturday, September 24, 2005

Like Trying to Find a Needle in a Muffinstack

My brother and I went grocery shopping today, and besides the wrongly priced Log Cabin syrup, the trip was, overall, very undeceptive. I did notice, however, while walking through the pastry section, which always involves a good, long look at the many deliciously sweet and lard-laden treats, that there was a box of twelve muffins with a broken seal. As I looked more closely, I saw that there was indeed a muffin missing and one that was only half broken--still salvagable. Another muffin had a needle hole in it and seemed to be oozing some sort of fluid. I am assuming it was boston creme.

My brother recently returned from his mission to Russia, and this incident led him to recount a mission story, which about three out of four things do for people at his stage.

Limoncito: "One time on my mission we found a bloody syringe in our borsch."

Limon: "No way!"

Limoncito: "Well, it could have been beet juice, but I'm pretty sure it was blood."

Limon: "Oh." Slightly disappointed. "I guess a syringe is still pretty gross."

Limoncito: "Well, it could have been a potato, but I'm pretty sure it was a needle."

Limon: "You're not very bright, are you?"

Limoncito: "I just don't have a very keen sense of taste."

Limon: "So you ate it anyway?"

Limoncito: "I was hungry."

Note: This story is only loosely based on reality. I am leaving it up to you, the reader, to decide what is true and what is not. It's like a choose your own adventure book, except without all the page turning.

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Automatic Word Completion

Today I was caught as the middle man of a text conversation between History Buff and DP. DP wanted me to tell her that she was a "peach." When I did, she suggested, after serious contemplation, that I tell him he was "a apple." Aside from the incorrect article, it seemed appropriate enough, but then she realized there was an even better fruit to describe him. "No! A mango! That's the party fruit! It fits him perfectly."

"Whatever," I thought.

But when I went to key in "mango" the automatic text completion gave me "manho." I guess the cell phone knows what kind of parties DP goes to.