I spent my entire academic career on the Honors track. Aside from math, which seems to be the one subject my brain processes at the speed of paint drying, I took the Honors and AP courses available in every subject. Yet I never really thought of the implications of separating out the smart kids until I read this editorial by Judy Jones.
The advantage of Honors courses was we could drive dragsters while everyone else puttered about in sedans. We could blow through material faster than the regular classes. When teachers knew everyone in the class could absorb material quickly, they could cover more ground and still fit in time for the students to explore their own interests.
At the same time, I recall being in those classes with a lot of the same people. The “gifted” students stuck together because, let’s admit it, it’s very fun to hang out with people who are at the same geek level you are. It’s great to be able to crack jokes about math or physics and have people laugh so hard that soda rockets out of their nose. Everyone else would just give you a look that asked “so what Star Trek dimension are you from?”
But that environment doesn’t reflect the working world.
While sitting around a table at 1:30 AM with a group of drunken swearing comics, a profound thought crossed my mind. Then an urgent need to piss shoved it out of the way.
Fortunately the thought hung out in the back of my mind through the beers I had, the late-night Wendy’s run, and me waking up on my couch with my cat on my stomach wondering why Netflix was telling me I watched six episodes of Scrubs when I thought I’d put on Star Trek.
After incubating for a few more hours of sleep in my real bed, here I am writing that thought down.
My fellow company members may have noticed that I haven’t posted anything about the Kickstarter we’re running for our move to Franklin Street. In these days of social-media blitzkrieg, I know that the volume of Twitter chatter on around your cause of choice can make a funding campaign.
But so can saying something profound.
I’ve held back so that I could mull things over a bit and get the words just right. Here’s what I’ve come up with:
Performing comedy is literally saving my life. No joke.
Snow is to North Carolina what oil is to water. You’re just minding your own business when this sticky crap comes out of nowhere and smothers you. You freak out for a bit. Then you realize there’s nothing you can do except endure it. Plus, it’s a bitch to clean off.
Things were pretty chaotic this past week. Cars were abandoned by the dozen. Buses got stuck going up hills. People endured epic 4-6 hour commutes. Raleigh even joined Atlanta in the Southern-snow-freakout meme category when some poor soul’s car caught on fire.
Keep all that in mind when I say that this snowtastrophe couldn’t have turned out any better.
I bought a subscription to my local paper this weekend. Not the print edition, mind you. I have no desire for old papers to pile up inside my apartment, not matter how useful they are as firestarters and cat tinkle containment devices. But I shelled out roughly $70 for an annual digital subscription to the News and Observer.
Ya, I know folks, I missed a post. IT HAPPENS.
I slept in a little this morning due to last night’s nail-biter of a game. Then I had a busy day full of meetings, a sick computer, and making good progress on projects I can’t talk about yet.
I also have a fair number of things to do tonight (yes, I know it’s Valentine’s Day, but still I’m single and the fridge can’t fill itself), so this post will count for Thursday and Friday.
I’m sure y’all will live.
Anyhoo, I had a moment of brilliance last night concerning Dookies and their evil ways. While listening to the game, I photoshopped these pictures of Couch K and tossed them out into the Twitter world.
One more after the jump.
Three comic book stores in a ten-mile radius from my house. All within a fifteen minute drive–tops.
There are so many people who light up your life. So many that it’s hard to pay attention to them all. Not that you can give them all equal consideration. Some are giant gas lighthouses who constantly guide you, whereas others are tiny tea lights who flit in and out of your life in a millisecond.
But you still feel terrible when a flame goes out and you didn’t even notice.
That’s how I felt yesterday when I found out Larysa Pevny, one of the professors on my Master’s committee passed away two months ago at the ever-so-young age of 47.
I doubt anyone, much less a person who was one of probably dozens of students who asked Dr. Pevny to serve on their committee, would have received very much warning. She always struck me as someone who was very private and not very big on brou ha ha unless her science was involved.
Which is why I will keep this short.
Thank you Dr. Pevny for what you taught me about science and life. My heart goes out to both your immediate family and your science family, who are undoubtedly missing you the most. I mourn the loss of the discoveries you could have made, the contributions to your field you had yet to make. Yet I don’t want to remember you for what could have been, but for what you did. You were an advisor who gave me a nudge in the right direction when I didn’t know which way to go, and for that, I am forever grateful.
We will miss your light.
If anyone would care to chip in a few bucks to the Larysa H. Pevny Memorial fund, please click here, then select the Larysa H. Pevny Memorial fund under “Donation Information.”
I’m trying to decide if my chiropractor is a decent human being with a few crazy ideas or a total quack.
For those of you who don’t know the history, I’ve been dealing with really obnoxious low back pain that radiates into my right hip for several years. When I last lived in Chapel Hill, I saw what felt like a million therapists and doctors who prescribed exercises or pills that didn’t do much of anything. It got really bad and I got super desperate, so I flipped through the phone book, found an ad for a chiropractor for same-day appointments and decided to give it a shot.