"I'm smarter now than I've ever been in my life."*

   I’ve been really awful about blogging this summer.

   Part of me hopes that everyone is disappointed and sad and checks this page every day for updates and is let down and then their days are ruined because I haven’t posted.

   The bigger part of me knows that you all have been living your lives the way you always do, and haven’t been too bummed about it in the least. Fine. (Screw you.)

   Anywhose-its, I don’t want to bore you with a recreation of my intensely amazing summer (you really couldn’t handle it, anyway), I just want to talk to you about math.

   I know I’ve kvetched about math on at least one occasion, but I want to fully describe to you the utter horror that this math class has wreaked on my life.

1.  I am taking statistics online through Omaha’s Metro Community College. Therefore, I am essentially my own teacher. And my teacher is really bad at math.

2.  There are, if I were a responsible, adult-type person, approximately 2-3 hours of homework per day. But who the hell wants to have so much fun? So I wait until day 3 or 4 and do 5-6 hours at a stretch. I’m like an Olympic athlete at math. Except for not really, because I don't try.

3.  Since the course is of course online, I am at a distinct disadvantage because of my cave woman-level knowledge of the Interwebs.

4.  My sister Penelope, who is ten years younger than I am, is taking the same class. Which sort of puts me in the mood to say, “WHAT THE FUCK HAVE I BEEN DOING WITH MY LIFE?”

5.  I’m a girl. We’re not supposed to have to learn the maths (duh), because we’re supposed to get married after high school. But I’m not married, so I have to learn statistics. Thanks a lot, God.

6.  Math books are written by mathematicians, therefore they are extremely good at telling you things that make no sense and they are really terrible at WRITING ANYTHING OF VALUE. I.e. “blah-blah-blah, use this formula, blah-blah-blah, don’t worry about it, "snoochie-roochie," don't think so hard, "blah, blah, blah," answer.” There is no, for instance, description of how these mathematical terms work in the grander scheme of things, just pictures of Asian women with glasses leaning over a list of really long columns of numbers. Yeah, thanks. I already knew Japanese ladies could do math. Showing me a picture of it does not constitute an education or a text book, you dumb fucks.

7.  Really long columns of numbers: fuck you, statistics! Now that we know what we’re doing, do you think you could maybe just hand me the standard deviation for this problem so this quiz doesn’t take me 5 hours to complete?

Here's a collage of my summer artwork.

8.  I know I’m starting grad school in mere weeks, but what does it all mean for me? As soon as I take a math test I’m over it. I don’t hate math, I just don’t ever want to do it again. Because it's stupid and awful. (J/K...it's just time-consuming, requires concentration, and doesn't happen to get my motor running. I'm not trying to be an engineer, bitches!)

   So…the summer has been full of long columns of hideous numbers that mean nothing to me in any real context. In many ways, that is the short story of my life.

   I have, on a positive note, learned a lot about gambling odds. Hopefully this will prove useful the next time I'm on an Indian reservation. 

*This quote is from Season Two of Mad Men. It's odd I haven't quoted Mad Men before. The show makes no sense, has no point, and is yet one of the most addictive pieces of shenanigans I've ever seen. And consider this: not a single character does math. Fuck yeah, advertising!

"She has lost the power of conversation, but not, unfortunately, the power of speech."*

   Y’all ever feel weird and like things aren’t quite the way they ought to be? I’m not a person who fears change, but change does tend to wreak havoc on me. Lately I find myself feeling like I’m the central figure in some David Arkenstone album.

   In case you’re a normal person (or just someone with good taste), you've never heard of David Arkenstone. You should be able to find out everything about him here. My parents, who’ve instilled me with their excellent musical tastes over the years (The Beatles, Yes, Ravi Shankar, The Gershwins, The Allman Brothers, and Led Zeppelin as well as all things classical), had a dark period in the mid-nineties. It was the Arkenstone period, and I don’t want to talk too much about it. Because it’s embarrassing. But his “music” (if you can call it that) always made me feel as though it was about nomads wondering through the desert. But not, you know, like real nomads. These nomads (again, all in my head) were dressed like Olivia Newton-John in that “Physical” video. It was “Physical” meets Lawrence of Arabia. It was (is) terrible. Listen to Mr. Arkenstone sometime. You’ll get it.

   So I’ve been feeling all wandery-in-the-desert, and purposeless and also just epically removed. But maybe also a little bit like Olivia Newton-John in the "Physical" video (spandex, leg warmers, bad hair, headbands). When I get confused about my place in the world, I get tired and take a nap. But there’s really no time for that. I have to take math class (stats, finally!) and find a job (anywhere, anytime) and work on my summer bucket list.

   The bucket list isn’t long, as yet.

   Here it is:

1.  Do a pull-up.

2.  Run a mile.

3.  Run a mile in under 15 minutes (this was my time when I was on the track team in junior high and finished last at EVERY SINGLE MEET.)

4.  Get over fear of bugs, especially spiders, as there will be many of both in Texas.

   I’m currently running for 10 minutes IN A ROW and have accomplished only .63 miles. I’ve killed many spiders and one silverfish, but I’m not anywhere near over my fears. (Especially after hearing Ouisa's boyfriend, Matt, talk in a scholarly fashion about bedbugs, which I'm now convinced are crawling on me at all times.) I’m working on lat pull-downs to make my side muscles stronger.

   But I feel kind of like those people in that American Gothic** painting. I’m standing around with a bunch of tools (or just a broom?) and looking confused and angry in front of a big old barn house: the modern-day, Nebraska equivalent of wandering through the desert.

Nebraskan Gothic

*The quote is George Bernard Shaw. It should be my epitaph.

**Did you know that Grant Woods modeled the figures in American Gothic on his neighbor and his own sister? I also didn't know it was supposed to be a farmer and his spinster daughter. I always thought they were supposed to be a married couple. Wow, art.

"Here is the world of imagination, hopes, and dreams. In this timeless land of enchantment, the age of chivalry, magic, and make-believe are reborn--and fairy tales come true."*

   This morning I had to drive to Santa Monica College to take my math assessment exam. (You can read more about my adventures in math placement here. It's way more exciting than it sounds.) It was a long, annoying drive and I was super irritated that the test isn’t offered anywhere in LA County besides Santa Monica and Whittier. But oh well. Life goes on, no matter how fucking tedious it may be.

   I parked for TEN DOLLARS at the lot reserved for plebs without parking permits and got out to fork my money over to the attendant. He was about 800-years-old and didn’t see or hear me pull in. I walked up to his little hut.

   “Good morning!” His cheerfulness was a complete surprise. (What, no surly assholes running this lot? Had I accidentally stepped into Wonderland or Oz?)  “Are you taking morning classes or evening classes here at the college? You know, this lot has in and out privileges, so you can leave and come back if you need to.”

   “Oh wow, thanks. I’m just here to take a test.”

   “Well, don’t come back and talk to me unless you pass it!” He winked and laughed.

   “Then I hope I do pass it.”

   “Are you thinking about getting a degree?”

   “I’m trying to take a math class so I can start my graduate degree in the fall.”

   “School is very important. I have a couple of degrees myself. It can open doors for you. Just make sure it doesn’t open the wrong doors!”

   He gave me my change and sat back down to his Enquirer.

   I had never been to SMC before, and assumed it would be a lot like LACC. You know: dirty, disorganized and overrun with mean people who don’t want to help you, but may, in fact, spit on you if you get too close.

   But it’s like Rich People City College. It has lovely walkways with actual flowers and plants and shaded courtyards with picnic tables. It has buildings that look new or at least like they’ve been painted or cleaned in the last 50 years. It has a security guard who was nice to me and gave me directions. It even has students that don’t look like they’re headed home to commit suicide. It’s like Disneyland for people who haven’t quite figured it all out yet.

   The people in the testing center were both friendly and kind, which was strange and wonderful. And when I went to the bathroom, I saw this:

Some girl caught me taking a picture of this. But it was okay, because she was normal and we laughed about it. Never would have happened at LACC. None of the girls there laugh/are normal.

   Not totally sure what this is about, but I’m for it! Here’s the thing: on a regular college campus (you know, the kind that have dorms and beds and such), this would not only make sense, it would be kind of brilliant. Buy condoms in the security of the ladies' restroom! But on a city college campus, it seems sort of odd. Are they assuming that students are having sex right there on campus? I mean people don’t have sex at Disneyland! They wait until they get back to their hotel rooms. No way are people having shady sex in empty classrooms at Rich People City College. That would defile it and make it sort of sad. Unless it were, like, one of those "we met there and it was so magical, let's go do it there for the sake of making a memory" sex. Maybe at LACC (though that image gives me scabies), but not at SMC. So, while I think SMC’s general vibe is only enhanced by the ready availability of condoms, I still think they’ve somehow miscalculated. But good for them for promoting safe campus sex. LACC doesn’t even have working toilet paper dispensers. Stupid LACC.

   So, I took the test. And I passed it (I think…I didn’t realize there’d be trig on the ALGEBRA test, so my trig remains my ONEWEAKNESS! I got a 16% on the trig portion. Not too shabby!).

   Then I walked back to the parking lot.

   Mr. Old Man Sunshine stood up from The Enquirer and asked me if I planned to come back that afternoon for class.

   “Oh, no. I was just taking a test.”

   “Are you planning to get a degree?” he asked me.

   “Um, yeah. I’m going to get my Masters.”

   “School is very important. I have a couple of degrees myself. It can open doors for you. Just make sure it doesn’t open the wrong doors!”

   “Okay, I won’t.”

   “Hey, but if you’re not coming back today, would you mind giving me your parking permit? I have a friend coming by to visit later.”

   “Of course.” I handed it to him.

   “You have a great day,” he said.

   “You, too!”

   As I drove away he gave me a huge grin and a wave.

   Ah…Disneyland.

*The quote is Walt Disney talking about Disneyland. Santa Monica College is like Disneyland in many ways: including how it takes a million hours to get there and costs a buttload to park.

"Do not worry about your difficulties in mathematics; I can assure that mine are still greater."*

        Today I overheard an 8-year-old kid at Target say to his mom, “No one else in my dance class can do this!” Then he busted out some weird side-to-side move in his sneakers and they made squeaky noises on the floor and threw salt in his game and he had to stop. “Well, I can’t do it here, but when we get home I’ll show you.” Awesome.

        But that’s not really what I wanted to talk about. I just needed to let it out because it put the world’s largest smile on my face.

        I want to talk about the GRE. And in case you think that studying is why I’ve been M.I.A. for so long, you’re wrong, so allow me to disabuse you.  I don’t want to prevaricate. I’ve been enjoying time with the wacky Rouse family and then, after they left, lying around feeling utterly spent, quiescent, and sad.

        The GRE prep test has given me to believe that I am a borderline moron, and so I’m a little nervous. I’ve never thought of myself as capricious when it comes to learning, but those practice tests made me rethink my life. Here are some of the things I’ve done in the interest of boning up on everything I ever learned and then subsequently forgotten:

        When my family was here in L.A., I dropped my mom and sisters off at 3^rd Street Promenade and took my dad to the Getty Villa, as he loathes shopping and makes it unpleasant for those who love it. We walked around the Greek villa replica in Malibu for a while and then he suggested we study some of my math problems for the GRE. I think he may have been slightly more excited about it than I was. Math never broke his heart. My dad’s a great teacher, but the amount of information I don’t remember about math has desiccated most of my brain juice.

Not a terrible place to talk Pythagoras and Euclid and shit.

        In addition to the half hour we spent on statistics, I have also worked on making copious vocabulary flashcards. I thought I wouldn’t have much struggle with the vocab portion of the test, being as how I’m such a big talker and like to fancy myself a writer, even. But there are words in there that I’ve never even heard of, let alone used! So I’ve had to go against my contumacious nature and try not to be so desultory about studying. 

My beautiful and super useful flashcards.

        But Math? Fuck you, Math! The bane of my existence!!!  (I probably shouldn't use the f-bomb on Math or he'll find a way to punish me later.) Hooray, Math! Here’s what I remember about Math: adding, subtracting, fractions, and BASIC algebraic equations.  Also, he was really mean to me in high school and cheated on me with all of my smarter friends. That’s so sad. What’s even sadder: the only reason I know fractions and percentages at all is because I love a good sale and I always tip at restaurants! I’m super inimical about Math, and I have to change my tune or this test might kick my butt.

        But I will be a better blogger in the next week or so, if only to stay sane. On the menu: before and after pictures of my new apartment! Hooray! Also, I need a new camera and new hands, but I think everyone will still get the gist.

 *Albert Einstein. What a pedant.