Several people rent space in my head and at least one of them spends a lot of time thinking, “What If….”
Disaster Recovery Laura is a little paranoid and wonders about the availability of toilet paper and instant grits during a Zombie Apocolypse
Entrepeneur Laura wonders what if food trucks sold boudin AND ice cream? ShakeYourBoudin, baby!!
Fantasy Dreamer Laura spends some time with TSA and wonders what flying would be like if Disney & Chick-Fil-A were in charge.
It all started, as it often does, with the talk of change.
Accounting changes. Changes in estimates. Changes like inventory obsolescence. It’s a riveting subject that glues students in their chairs. Or maybe that’s gravity. Regardless, it’s a subject up for discussion in Chapter 22.
I gave the example of the losing SuperBowl team’s pre-printed “championship” t-shirts, which are obsolete the minute that team loses the game. These shirts are apparently donated to countries such as Haiti (after the earthquake), Armenia, or Zambia (https://www.businessinsider.com/what-happens-to-super-bowl-losers-shirts-2014-1)
World Vision is the charity that supervises the donation of these t-shirts.
And I could imagine an immigrant from one of these countries, here to pursue an education. I could imagine him/her/them/zem playing a trivia game with friends, or getting a spot on Jeapardy, and being asked the question:
Who was the 2013 SuperBowl XLVII Champion?
And I can see the Zambia native flushing with excitement, going all in, doubling down, certain of the answer. Certain because every member of his/her/their/zeir entire village was the lucky recipient of a t-shirt clearly stating that:
The San Fransisco 49ers won the 2013 SuperBowl XLVII World Championship. Not the Baltimore Ravens.
I live in parallel universii with Rick and Morty.
And then it’s down the rabbit hole of parallel universes, but only for a few seconds, because class must go on.
I wasn’t around when the cold war started. Half of me may or not have been around, depending on whether or not a woman’s ovaries make new eggs after she’s born.
How would we know? Science.
In this article, scientists experiment on mice and hope to use their findings to improve womens’ health and fertility: (https://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2012/02/120229-women-health-ovaries-eggs-reproduction-science/)
Tell me something I don’t know!
Experiments like the race to the moon, don’t have such tangible, obvious benefits. But we benefit all the same. An iPhone 6 had more computing power than all of NASA when it put the men on the moon (https://www.popularmechanics.com/space/moon-mars/a25655/nasa-computer-iphone-comparison/).
So when physicists do some kind of nerdy stuff like create a new form of matter (https://www.livescience.com/63999-fifth-form-of-matter-created.html), people want to know what it’s gonna do for them.
The answer is maybe nothing. Or maybe it will open up a whole new world of fantastical things.
Consider how video graphics development advanced when the mathematical theories of Benoit Mandelbrot were incorporated. Our visual experience in movies is enhanced because of MATH.
Sometimes learning has a purpose, e.g. to cure cancer or to prove a theory. And sometimes, it’s just because.
Just because you want to.
Just because you can.
Just. Because.
Out of the mouths of babes, they say. Last night I was working on my second epiphany of the evening and it unfortunately involved solving 2 equations with multiple unknowns and used summation notation.
Epsilon, Epsilon, why have you forsaken me?
Lucky for me Babe#1 is majoring in math. So I ask him, “Should take the natural log?” (since that’s driven me insane worked so well in the past.)
Not so lucky for me he said, “Taking the log of that ain’t gonna help you. None.”
Pas de tout.
What I think he meant to say was:
Because he’s got a test and:
So, now I await the return of LSU’s finance super baby genius doctoral student. He will help me for a 12 pack of beer– that he’s just now old enough to legally drink.
Some people like a challenge. I may or may not be one of them, depending on the challenge. Ben Bell put some musicality to this one, too.
You push me away
And I come right back.
My heart compensates
For the brains that I lack.
I deleted your info,
Cleared my cache,
Threw your beer
In the trash.
Oh,
There’s one more thing
Before I go
It might sound silly
You had me at No.
I’m an adorable pest
Who won’t go away
That’s what you get
For feeding a stray.
I deleted your info,
Cleared my cache,
Threw your beer
In the trash.
Oh,
There’s one more thing
Before I go,
It might sound silly
You had me at No.
This time I’ll listen
To the words that you say
Ignore the look in your eyes
That begs me to stay.
I deleted your info,
Cleared my cache,
Threw your beer
In the trash.
Oh,
There’s one more thing
I thought you should know
I might walk away
But will never let you go.
Need some musicality to go with the whisky and lyrics (and Ben delivers):
La Louisianne
You taste like rye whisky with a dash of absinthe
You talk like a couyon, never making no sense
You look like a muddy boot, tracking in dirt
Trying to leave you makes my heart hurt.
Acadiana’s got swamp gators, rice, oil, and fur
Big pots of gumbo and etouffe to stir
North of I-10, it’s all roughly the same
Pine trees and cotton fields, some sugar cane
Oh, girl,
You taste like rye whisky with a dash of absinthe
You talk like a couyon, never making no sense
You look like a muddy boot, tracking in dirt
Trying to leave you makes my heart hurt.
The mighty Mississippi, she slows her roll in BR
Huey built dat bridge low, so da barge don’t get far
Paddleboats cruise by Moon’s Riverwalk
If only the ghosts at Commander’s would talk
Oh, man,
You taste like rye whisky with a dash of absinthe
You talk like a couyon, never making no sense
You look like a muddy boot, tracking in dirt
Trying to leave you makes my heart hurt.
Oh, La Louisianne,
You taste like rye whisky with a dash of absinthe
You talk like a couyon, never making no sense
You look like a muddy boot, tracking in dirt
Leaving you makes my heart hurt.
Oh, oh, la Louisianne,
La, la, oh, Louisianne
Oui, oui, c’est ma Louisianne
You taste like rye whisky with a dash of absinthe
You talk like a couyon, never making no sense
You look like a muddy boot, tracking in dirt
Leaving you makes my heart hurt.
After spending the fall semester in a literal and metaphorical cave, I emerged to see the Instapot recipes take a commanding lead over POTUS posts on my Facebook feed.
You can imagine my disappointment when I discovered that Libertarians had not taken over the world (and rediscovered that Halloween candy, even if it’s on sale, still makes you InstaFat if you eat a bag a day for an whole damn month extended period of time).
Always got to go the extra mile. Dang competitive gene.
I’m sure the InstaPots are great, but I’m trying the intermittent fasting fad this week. I read that it works better than calorie reduction. Hmm…
You mean to tell me that NOT EATING AT ALL improves weight loss and doesn’t jack up your metabolism so that you don’t gain it back? It’s counter intuitive to those of us who grew up with the “eat like a bird–ALL DAY LONG” mantra
So far, I’ve been able to fast for as long as I sleep. My next step is to see if I can sleep all day. Imagine those health benefits!
My new BestMe-BestLife best practices also call for me to meal prep on Tuesdays, so I did. I wrangled the spaghetti squash and made some chili in the crockpot. I miss cooking in my real kitchen with my mega spice drawers, cast iron pots, and gas burners. Being able to control the heat is so important.
Speaking of heat, enjoy your sneaux day(s).
It was a balmy 60 degrees yesterday (Monday) and today (Tuesday) it’s like 19.
