What's Math Got to Do With It?

Uh-oh, in the weeds already. After I finished the hysterical laughing part, the 7 hour, two page homework assignment began.

There was the 90 minutes of teaching myself the astronomy software program (that we were told not to rely on to do the homework--more laughing). Then the time looking up fun facts of scientific notation, that I went ahead and did the long way instead so I could see how the math magic happens with all those zeroes and exponents. Then the drawing of the earth and imaginary planes of reference with wonky angles and imaginary horizons and trying to use common sense instead of reading Greek letters. Some tears, a bowl of cereal, and back at it.

I want the Carl Sagan Experience, damn it! Michio Kaku doesn't ruin a romantic night looking into Deep Fields by whipping out his Texas Instrument. I'm into Big Screen Astrophysics, there's people who can be hired to plot out this swarm of ant-like troll-script, don't bother me with this crap, I've got massive theory to polish in my mind.

Professors must dread people like me taking their specialty courses. This may truly wind up being a pass/fail course for me. Why not a "Science for Right-Brainers" or "Astronomy for Painters" or "Physics for Philosophers"? In perspective, the writing assignments for my other classes feel like email letters to my best friends. But I go on too long...

It was funny to be sailing along in the midst of the Iliad this morning, admiring the smoothness of the translation, thrilled to be using the same copy I used in 1979 in my Great Books class my freshman year. Which shows that a person can expand the neuro-synapses after years of dry-dock, only reading corporate manual jargonese and lighter non-fiction bestsellers, and be able to drink in the un-watered wine of classic Greek epics. Only to hit the rocks in the afternoon with astronomy. This Renaissance Woman program demands a high price of her aspirants, math entering into the process again. There just has to be a trick to this, some smoke and mirrors so I can plunge the swords into the basket and arrive at the white dove flying into the footlights. I mean, there really is, right? Silk scarves, presto-change-o, abracadabra, alacazam! Trig-o-nom-it-tree!! Whammo!

Battle cry of the Dilettante.

Rated R for Ranting

I've been on the verge of writing this topic for months, but tonight I've just had enough.

Love love love the Science Channel, National Geographic Channel, History Channel, Discovery Channel---but.

I am completely fed up with the hundreds of commercials I've tried to ignore for pharmaceuticals for this E.D. thing. Along with Flo-Max. And the cheesy music, raised eyebrow, and everything but the Mel Brooksian freight train through the tunnel. There's even a Korean Airlines one with the guy popping the champagne bottle at crotch level. And here all this time I thought guys were watching TV with just the remote in their hand.

What are the kids thinking who are watching these shows for science classes? Pre-teen boys and girls need to see this? Over and over and over, these geezers chasing their wives around the vineyard/driveway/golf course with a hard-on? "Grandpa, what's E.D.? Do you have it?"
"Grandma, what's E.D.? Grandpa said to ask you."

"Erekile Disgustion? Will you die?"

And then they hear the truth.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWW, that is so gross, ohmigod grandma, stop, I don't wanna know anymore, I'm tellin' mom you said that to me, gross!" And they look at Grandpa with that stinky face look for a long time, for years. When Grandpa tells them that their daddy has it too, they run away from home or tell the pastor their family are perverted Satanists. Here comes Family Services...

My theory is that these guys are suffering from Remotus Televisionitis Crotch Atrophy. They never have to get up once enthroned with the remote, and those groups of erector muscles just start to die. Hours and hours and whole weekends spent reclining slack and immobile, ingesting trans-fats and growing breasts. What do they expect?

E.D. How about Energy Dysfunction?

Carried away, as usual, but I'm really annoyed by these ads interrupting my richly enjoyable science shows on string theory, M theory, 86-ing Pluto and the secret life of Stephen Hawking.
Is it the rockets blasting, booster rockets with Viagra sponsorship like NASCAR? Einstein got along fine without it, read any of the latest of the racy biographies published in the last three years. The man with two brains....very sexy. Chicks dig Einstein, look at those soft dark eyes...

Anyway, I certainly am not wanting anything like a blitz for pregnancy tests, vacuum cleaners, or laundry detergent, things that advertisers seem to think only women make use of. How about----computers? Industrial technology? Banking or investments? Cars, beverages, eyeglasses? Real estate companies?

There is that hilarious one I see sometimes on the Comedy Network, for Encite, the mod 1960s spoof of "male enhancement" where 'Bob' and his lovely and happy wife are poolside by the springy diving board, have frozen smiles and all their friends are droopy and sad-looking. We can keep those, and the construction worker one with all the industrial pipes being hauled up by cranes and installed with 'Bob' smiling as usual. I laugh every time.