Rube's Eyes Are Brown

I have that written down in Teaish on the upper right corner of my first page of notes. It had been bugging me for quite some time, but I know now that Rube's eyes are brown, a shade lighter than Archie's but darker than Mario's. It really is odd that I expected them to be blue, just as I always expected Mario's to be. I think it's residual from Sturken, as I really spent far too much sum total time looking at his eyes.

Stay tuned, those of you who ignore these sorts of science-y posts (I'm looking at you, Kathrya), for the story at the bottom.

And so, we have Cosmology, the Universe, and Particle Physics. Because, naturally, we can cover all three topics in a single class. In case you were wondering, there is a standard model of both cosmology and particle physics, because, when in doubt, scientists choose the most confusing name possible.

The universe is a pie chart. Quarks, leptons, and photons together are less than 5% of total stuff; the rest is dark energy and dark matter. Our universe is 13.7 billion years old. Now, personally, measuring the age of the universe in years strikes me as rather silly, when you consider the mutability of our orbit, but, alas, it is a commonly accepted unit of time despite its unwieldy nature.

Fun fact: if the universe were infinite, the sky would be white, because, anywhere you looked, somewhere, you would hit a star. Now, personally, I think that if light dims with distance, than this wouldn't be true, but it apparently is.

And now, the funny story.

Teacher: The universe is most likely curved, so if you go in a straight line, you can never reach its edge.

Rube: What if I go in a curved line?

Teacher: That's what I said- it makes you travel in a curved line.

Rube: but if I curve the opposite direction, wouldn't I technically be going straight? And, then, couldn't I get somewhere?

Teacher makes a thinking face and crosses his arms.

Other Student: His argument makes sense geometrically.

Rube: See?

Teacher: Ah. I'm not certain. How about you try it and report back to me next semester?

Other student: Wouldn't it make more sense for him to report back to you last semester?

The entire class laughs and Teacher returns to his lecture. "This is how you know we're geeky," Rube says to me after said teacher has resumed talking.

"Hmm?"

"If we weren't so geeky, we definitely wouldn't have laughed at that."

"It was funny. Wouldn't anybody laugh?"

"You're overestimating the world, I think."

What I've Found Under My Desk

Because I'm cleaning, despite my possibly broken but probably just badly bruised pinky toe.

• Notes, in Spanglish, from a debate in Spanish (ex: niños have a right to choose what they see.") Written on the bottom, in Tea-ish is "why care."
• The second page of my Rockefeller application, an essay about PHD finger proteins that is covered in black scribbles.
• Practice Intel essays from October regarding my promise as a scientist, mathematician, or engineer.
• a torn piece of paper with nothing written on it
• An outline, in pencil, of the essay about PHD fingers, written on the bottom of a Nature paper.
• Fallen, the Sturken paper, printed with only every other line because the printer is running our of ink.
• All four pages of Dr. Verona's resume.
• The first page of the PHD finger article, with exactly two 'annotations.' The first is a box around Hox and a note, "hox = important." The second is a circle around "A control group of mice" and a note, "the importance of a control."
• Oh, wait, just found another page of Dr. Verona's resume. I guess it had five pages.
• The envelope that Nyx's birthday present came in.
• Introduction to Anthropology worksheet.
• First page of Spanish dialogo, with corrections.
• The schedule for the first day of school. As in, Tuesday, September 1, 2009.
• An AP math problem about a diver.
• Our entire Super Student Challenge paper.
• the first page of the Rockefeller essay with scribbles all over it
• The Rockefeller personal statement, without any scribbles.
• A middle page of the outline of my research paper.
• A piece of notepaper with "PLAN" written on the top, followed by a roman numeral I with "Batteries" next to it. The rest of the paper is blank.
• The entire contents of my Anthropology binder, minus the actual binder.
• A black sock that is actually dirty.
• Mistborn, by Brandon Sanderson.
• Two separate miniature notebooks
• Some Anthropology notes that never actually made it into the binder.
• A letter from Duke University
• A Paperclip High School Directory.
• A void railroad ticket
• 8 index cards covered in Utexas calculations
• Two bank receipts. The first says I have $1,011,01, the second says $1145.16. I'm assuming that the second is more recent.
• My $18 SAT score report that I didn't look at.

Now, time to cover the rest of the floorspace...

Moooovie

The Sturken encounter was fine. We actually ended up talking for a couple of hours, but it was just as friendly people, with nothing of the something of before. The Harry Potter movie was fabulous. It completely destroyed the book, but it was horrifically exciting. Julie spent a lot of time saying "it didn't happen like that!" and Gretchen and I clutched each other at the very predictable sudden zombie appearance. It was fun.

In other news, I'm going to blatantly steal another portion of Nyx's life. Can I help it if she's doing more interesting things than I am? After all, no one really wants to read about Sturken and I complaining about are siblings and noting his anger issues. Actually, I'll tell you anyways. He hit his sister's arm a few weeks ago because he was just so mad at her, and he needed somewhere for the violence to go, and I said that I'd never experienced that sort of violent impulse, and his response was that he did kind of have some anger issues, but "I'm not a psychopath! really!" My response was, "if you were, I think I'd have noticed by now."

He agrees with Nyx that our hometown is stifling. "London's really opened my mind," he said. "Not that your mind isn't open. You seem really, uh, universalist." I laughed. "It's just, for me, I was really close-minded before I left. Kind of a jerk, really." He still used gay as an insult once during the evening, so he must have been truly awful before. I told him about the boob bead (minus the boob part) and he thought it was kind of awesome in a rather gross way, but recommended that I not tell Mario. We gossiped some, and he agreed that Johannes is really rather odd. We mostly just talked, on and on and on, for literally hours, while he played some racing game on our gamecube and I hid in the basement from my sisters, who were playing fashion show. He showed himself as perpetually more flawed as the time wore on. At first, he made fun of me for being on the math team. Then, later, we talked about SAT-IIs, and he mentioned that he'd actually been on it in middle school. It's nice that he takes the IQ thing for granted. He willingly admitted that I was a bit smarter than he was, but it didn't seem to bother him, it just was. I think that since we've known each other so long, we take the things that would normally make us inaccessible (my nerdiness and his excessive athleticism (he can do A LOT of push-ups. It's scary)) as just part of who we are.

It's odd, really, how different it was from the last time I saw him. I still like him, obviously, but it's lost all of the physical attraction that there was. I think I've finally managed to file him under extended family. He's just another one of the endless string of odd cousins. Shelby, on the other hand, just can't get used to it. When she was eight, during my nightmare trip, she informed the family that "I want to hit him, but I don't know why," and proceeded to attack him. Yesterday, while we were standing around in the yard, she just spontaneously bit him. It was entirely bizarre. He was shocked at first, but when we talked it over later, he seemed to be over it. "It's funny, really, you and Shelby," he said.

I sighed. "Yeah, I just can never understand her. Genie I get, but Shelby's just completely alien."

"Well, you're really polar opposites. You're a complete introvert, and she's more extroverted. She's entirely impulsive, and you think before you act. And then Genie's somewhere in the middle."

Poor Genie, always somewhere in the middle. If I didn't love her to pieces anyways, I'd feel bad.

Oh, he remembered me talking about Gretchen two years ago, and continues to deliberately mispronounce her name, and he even talked about Nyx's biking accident. He said everyone thought she was going to die, which is, really, kind of awful.

Speaking of Nyx, she's gone and had another accidental date. The boys seem to be falling all over each other to get to her =). Direct quote below.

OH CRAP.

if my head were ANY denser, my brain would be a ShamWOW towel.

that is my analogy for last night. yay for un-dating!

i went to see harry potter with this guy. i've thought of him as like an older brother before, so i didn't think it was that weird. even when we saw the preview for twilight, in which bella says to edward, "it's my birthday, kiss me" and he leaned over and said, "it's my birthday..." i thought he was joking. i mean, he didn't protest when i paid for my own ticket.

after the movie we went to longshore because i had never seen it at night before. we sat on one of the catamarans and talked for a really long time. finally my mom's friend called and asked where i was, and i said i'd be home soon. Yamaha pulled me closer on the catamaran, but still i was just thinking, "this can still be friendly, right?" finally i said we should go, and he leaned over towards me.....dialogue to follow in next post.

Later...

what are you doing?
What do you mean, what do you think I'm doing?
Don't do it!
Why not?
Dude, really....
What?
It's just....you're twenty-two!
So what if I am?
You're six years older than me! Doesn't that mean anything to you?
No. It doesn't.
Why not?
Why should it? Ulysses and Cleo are about the same distance apart.
Seriously! I'm sixteen!!
I know.
Doesn't that bother you?
No.
Why not? Why doesn't it bother you?
What do you mean, why?
Why....am I your favorite dispatcher? (reference to earlier at work) Why me?
Well, I've really enjoyed this conversation we've been having....(lists random reasons that don't mean anything)....and i'm attracted to you.
That's it? You're attracted to me? That's silly.
No it's not. That's what it's about!
Seriously. You're ridiculous.
Are you lecturing your elder?
You need lecturing.
Come on, are you afraid?
No. I'm just not interested. I don't think of you that way, I think of you like a brother.
Then why are you sitting here with me...like this?
I would sit with my brother like this!! Well...not like this, precisely....(indicating closeness of faces)
This conversation went on for some time, but i didn't give in. Finally i sat up and turned to him, saying:
Wait. is this gonna be awkward tomorrow? Because if it's awkward I'll punch you.
I'd rather you didn't punch me.
So don't make it awkward.

later on, walking back to the car.

Okay wait. This is ALREADY awkward. Stop it. You need to learn how to not be awkward!
And you need to learn how to not be afraid.
Do not. I'm not afraid of anything.
Yeah you are. You totally wanted to kiss me back there.
I did not. You wish.
Uh-huh.
You're being preposterous.
Yeah, okay Nyx....

fortunately after that we got back to normal conversation.

Hola!

Maybe Sturken just won't show up? The rest of his family, but not him. I'm trying to decide whether that would make me happy or sad.

I reread the seventh Harry Potter book today and yesterday. Rather than crying when Harry decides to die, as I normally do, I cried at the epilogue. The epilogue! The goddamned epilogue that is tacked on and completely ridiculous. Harry was being such a good Dad, and the kids were so cute, that my eyes just started welling up. I didn't sob, but I did get rather more teary eyed than I would have liked. I fear that I'm growing into my Dad's crying habits.

Also, I have proof that techies don't even register on the radar of actors. Yesterday, I was painting a sign in the blackbox before rehearsal ended. Then, when it did, people came rushing in. I assumed that they were just getting their stuff, but there was an awful lot of rustling around and male voices. I peeked over my shoulder, curious. The first thing I saw was a couple of shirtless guys. I turned beet red and went back to my work. A couple of painting techies clearly didn't qualify as a dressing room breach of privacy. I could still hear them talking and changing behind me. The guy who played Danny (the one I'd seen when I turned, who was not all that fit) was making jokes about his need to work out. Then, a girl walked in from the hallway. I think it may have been one of the kids in Genie's grade, but I'm not sure. Someone made a protesting noise, and she responded with a flippant "It isn't anything I haven't seen before." I heard a muttered "that's what worries me," but the sound didn't reach her. They eventually trickled out, leaving the other painter and I in silence.

Nails, Screws, and the Verbification Thereof

Genie and I went to the high school and painted sets for Grease. Normally, we set up shop in the blackbox, but, today, we were out on the big stage, painting a bed white (tomorrow, we'll add the pink heart design, or PHD, not to be confused with the webcomic of the same name).

We sat on the bed and started filling in the etched heart with primer. "Haha!" I said. "I got the heart."

"Hmph," she responded, filling in the other side.

"Hey," I said, painting faster.

Then, at the exact same time, with no prior communication, we said "heart race!"

We dissolved into laughter.

"I love that we have the same sense of humor," I said.

"Transylvanian ostriches and all," she responded.

On the floor, Genie found a screw. "Look, Tea," she said. "A nail!"

"No, that's a screw."

"Same thing."

"No, a screw is twisty, and a nail is not."

"What?"

"Screws go in with screw drivers, nails with hammers."

"Oh. I always thought that screws were little and nails were big."

"They aren't."

"So I gathered."

A few minutes later, as we passed by a techie making yet another inappropriate joke (they do that a lot), I poked Genie. "I definitely should have made some joke about screwing and nailing."

She laughed. "Probably. Too late now, though."

Regardless, she definitely should have made some comment like "I always thought screwing and nailing were the same thing..."

Alas, another opportunity for inappropriate humor, wasted.

In other news, I finished The Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian, which was both enjoyable and interesting. Then I read two more of those ridiculous Eliosa James romances. The movie I watched tonight, Like Water for Chocolate, was actually even more ridiculous. At one point, a character became so impassioned from eating quail prepared while the protagonista lusted after her sister's husband, that she ran out to the outhouse to get herself off, but her skin became so hot that she lit in on fire and was rescued by a band of revolutionaries (they rode off into the sunset, making out on a horse, while she was totally starkers). It. Was. Weird. But kind of awesome, as well.

Also, I may possibly be seeing Sturken on Friday. We'll see if I can make it out without getting all spastically into him again. Heck, I'll be happy if I escape with my slight Mario obsession and burgeoning Ryan interest intact.

Moving On

Sturken has a date today, and I am totally and completely chill.

Well, mostly chill. Not so chill that I'm not going to write about him here.

Basically, I had a crush on him from whenever I first started liking boys up until last month- which isn't to say that I wasn't into other boys. But, always, in the back of my mind, there was always a little thought of Sturken, and little pondering that "if I love him so much, is it really fair for me to pretend to love someone else?"

Yes, I said love. I can verify it with a lot of entries in my diary from the Fall of 9th grade in which I wrote just that. He's a family friend, a nice jewish boy who I've known since infancy. In middle school, back when he was shorter than me, he was nerdy, but he moved to Europe after 8th grade, and he seems to have turned into a bit of a jock. Well, he is addicted to those football video games on the X-box, and last time we visited him, he spent the entire time betting me that he could do a slam-dunk jump (not that he could actually slam dunk) and touch high objects (I, of course, dutifully pretended that he couldn't).

All in all though, I was somewhat obsessed. I currently view him as my first love, even if it wasn't reciprocated. Seriously, though, I had it bad. Read this:

We shivered as we waited in line, chattering about school and the meaningless information that, if anyone else were explaining, I would discard immediately. Our sisters, my two and his one, stood a bit behind us, huddled together, giggling between high-pitched whispers. We continued our talk, moving on to our friends. He poked fun at the names of mine, over pronouncing every consonant, I laughed, allowing the sound to bubble out, now that the darkness prevented him from seeing my blush. I retaliated, teasing him for his association with a boy who had acquired a mullet over the summer. He laughed too, creases forming around his eyes. I carefully approached the question of when he would return home. We were only family friends, I wasn’t supposed to miss him, yet the question pushed at the edge of my consciousness even when I had gone months without seeing him. “Soon, I hope," he told me, and I wondered at his words. Was it because he wanted to see me? Or was he simply tired of this land of rain and foreign accents? I wished that he, and not his parents, who debated a move to Singapore, was right. I wanted to be able too see him, hear his voice turn deep and slow when he tried to seem manly, then speed up, changing to its ordinary tenor when he was distracted. I wanted to remember every detail of him, to learn more of him than I ever could in a few short days every year. I watched his face carefully, searching for any hidden meaning, but why would he have let one show? I kept my thoughts just as tucked away.

We reached the front, and received our crêpes, thin pancakes filled with melted chocolate, almost too hot, compared to the cold air. We settled around a small table, the little sisters sitting, and us two standing, watching over them, just as we always had. The sisters were talking about him. “His nose is crooked,” his sister said, “isn’t it crooked?” She looked at me. I gazed at his face, head tilted. “It’s,” I paused. Beautiful? Perfect? Attractive? While he’d love to hear those, they revealed more of my thoughts than I cared to share. It fit his face perfectly, slightly large, with the softened angles of a young teenager, but “it fits your face” sounds like an insult to the rest of him. The pause was dragging out, and it was sounding like I truly believed his nose crooked. I finally managed a strangled “fine,” a tiny, meaningless word, good or bad, a placeholder, like everything else I said to him. I took another bite of the warm chocolate and gazed at him, trusting the darkness to hide me. It didn’t make sense to risk telling him, not when we only had two days together, and any potential payoff would be marginal. Two days of platonic joking far outweighed two days of what I feared would be pain. I watched him as he smiled, fighting to remember each and every image so that when I was home, I could imagine that I still had him, the crêpes, and the night.

I wrote that last year, back when the obsession thing was in full swing. Last month, though, it abruptly disintegrated. I remember biking around during Christmas break, praying that my next push of the pedals would be enough to push all the need for him out, and, miraculously, it was. It's almost enough to make me believe in God.

Anyways, Sturken has a date, and my only thought was a hope that he has a nice time. No jealousy, no nothing.

I'm cured.