Relativity

I love learning. I love the feeling of expanding, exploring and experiencing. Education is a catalysis to the enrichment of our lives pushing the limits of our frail body, mind and soul. It grows new opportunities, freedom, success and all those other warm and fuzzy concepts we so endear.

I am currently sitting in my 4.5 hour Saturday morning lecture. The rays from the sun shine into this concrete bunker as I am being serenaded by a mono-tone melody of trivial theorems that provide less excitement than hanging out with a can of cream corn.

Maybe Sesame Street is to blame for teaching me that education can and should be enjoyable. In those younger years, learning was an hour long hit parade of dancing numbers sequenced into a plot with a huge yellow bird and a manic-depressive elephant. Who wouldn't want to learn under those conditions?

I could maybe even see myself listening to this lecture if it was being taught by a disgruntled green man in a trash can (at least for the first hour).

However, some where along the dream of life this reality was lost. I now have to come to terms with the fact that I spent 40 hours working this week so I could afford to spend my Saturday morning learning that a point must exist between two points of a continuous line. This new thought had no trouble competing with the exhaustive proof of Horner's Theorem. By break my thinking had gotten me no further than Mr Hoopers corner store (for some reason we where never allowed to go any further).

In my frustration, I later vented with a fellow classmate. He is an older man, bald with a crown of greasy grey hair to help keep his ears warm during the winter months, the kind you would expect to cast down words of authoritative wisdom, like Solomon. My beef was primarily with the poor course design and dry illogical presentation of such trivial material. Summarizing that although I had managed to ace all my assignments to this point, I had yet to learn anything useful.

I was expecting a word of support or at least a nod in agreement. However, to my dismay he adjusted his spectacles and retorted, "But you are here for the degree, I am here for the learning." He turned and lurched down the hall in search of his third cup of coffee, leaving me staring at my bag of cookies, the words still echoing between my ears.

Could my motivation be all wrong? Surely, if I only wanted a degree I would have just ordered one online from those internet universities. Forget the degree, I'd get my PHD! Maybe there was something I was missing, a hidden signal of information the teacher was transmitting. Perhaps the secret was in the hair, my lush brown hair was blocking the signal.

Not wanting to shave my head on a whim, I decided I better re-evaluate what had just happened. I mean, this may forever change the rest of my Saturday morning overhead viewing.

Then much like Archimedes must have felt, it dawned on me. I wouldn't have to shave my head after all. It is just like old Albert said, 'it is all relative'.

I smiled and returned to my seat happy to know, the old man really loved cream corn.

Mortal Bodies

Thank Goodness for Mortal Bodies...

Ever had one of those weeks when you wish to trade in your slightly disfunctional body for one that works. For all I know, there may be people out there don't wake up to discover they have pulled muscles while sleeping, have there forehead imitate the activity of Mount St Helens or, have an unruly colonial rebellions to a foreign bacterium. But as far as I'm concerned, the majority of us do battle with the quirks of these Earthen vessels and will continue to do so until we leave this stage of cattle dung.

Please don't get me wrong. I have a deep appreciation for the biological suits we live through. The beauty and durability of its design are a wonder which a science alone will never full capture. The body is capable of amazing feats and I am really grateful for the opportunity to lope around in one. However, sometimes it just doesn't operated as we would hope and that is where I find myself tonight.

I guess my current problem starts with me being one of those weirdos who run for fun. I had recently increased the intensity of my running patterns to train for a race I have entered in early November. Just over a week ago, I came down with a slight cold. No problem, I just stopped running for a few days. On my last day of rest, I was getting out of my car and noticed a slight pain in my left knee. Thinking little of it I resumed running the next day.

After a light 8km jog, I not only reaggrivated my cold but put my knee to a stage where I could no longer walk fluidly. It has been a week since that day and I find myself sitting here blogging during my normal running slot.

So what, I can't run. Big deal.

I guess my frustration lies in the side effects it has had on my daily routines. This whole week I have had the attention span of a A.D.D. kid in a candy store and trying to sleep is like trying not to think of pink elephants for 10 minutes. Following logically, the poor sleep has kept this stupid cold lingering, randomly choking out a pathetic coughs and clogging my nasal passages once every hour on the hour.

Surely my plight and woes fail to compare to many in my dodgey Knee Club which I have temporary joined (word up' Kev and Camilo') never mind those in the world who may not even have knees. However, that is not the point.

After holding a short pity party for myself, I began thinking about my Grandpa who spent three frustrating years feeling his cancer slowly eat his spine to a mushy pulp. A blue collar worker to the core, my grandpa was in his element building things, shoveling in his massive garden and hosing bears out of his pear tree. A man not used to being idle nevermind having to rotate between a sitting and lying position to reduce pain. He had even been deprived of proper communication as his hearing was less than sufficient for proper conversation.

With all that said, I'd bet he was even happier than me that we don't have to live in these mortal bodies forever.

My First Wlog

Well, it was little less than a year ago when I was chatting with my Uncle from Seattle about this new internet fad know as the blog. Puzzled for weeks on why they resorted to Blog as opposed to Wlog, I soon forgot about the issue until I started receiving emails of friends who were starting their own Wlogs or Webles. Not to be out done, I set out to out do...

As a 23 year old independent white male, I though it would a solid idea for me to have my own lounge where my cutting thoughts may aggressively challenge the global community on top drawer social issues that effect the world today. Unfortunately, my cutting edge thoughts are really just blatant personal social problems that will one day appear in the top drawer of a psych major's filing cabinet.

A classic example would be the time I boldly anounced to a girl I liked that "I don't celebrate Valentines day. It is just an overhyped commercialism holiday that preys on insecure relationships." Let me warn you.... words that sharp are dangerous! And, although there is no shortage of these brilliant ideas, my not so independent side thoughtfully suggested the female half of the world was not quite ready for these revelations.

Maybe I could have an instructional site....

Imagine me effectively training individuals to reach out to new horizons propelling them to achieve new levels of self awareness. The posting would list inspiring lessons such as "How to change you oil" a guide to reducing autonomous friction in you life; "Song Writing Made Easy" Seven misconceptions that will make you feel like you are a musical genius; and, "Improving your Chances at bachelorhood" Surefire tricks that let her know she is dealing with the wrong man. However, the notion of people globbing to my blog to wlog my secrets from all tangential points of the spherical earth, would leave me on the same plain as Opera, Dr. Phil and Jared from subway. Just the thought of it will disturb my sleeping patterns for the next week.

Many other themes for my blog included A thread I would call 'dashboard professional' (a revealing marathon of me wallowing in my pathetic relational life) and "Living with Jo(h)ns" a full on scientific log of my roommates habitational tendencies.

However, after all is said and done there is a whole lot more said than done. And you are left to muse over yet another ordinary blog.

So read it or leave it,

Welcome to the Badger Lounge.