Fermented Anger: An Automotive Saga

Sometimes when people learn that I'm a professor or get to see me display my professorial knowledge they'll comment something to the effect, "Wow. You're so smart."

And they manage to say it without seeming sarcastic, which is weird.

Since my job is to try to teach people something they all think they can't learn (another language), I often point out to them that it's not so much that I'm smart as that I am better educated in a specialized field.

Even if I'm smarter than most of them.

I say all of that to lead to this fact: I am a complete idiot when it comes to cars.

This is what the guys at Advance Auto Parts see when I come in.

When I was in 11th grade, my high school had us take the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB). At the time, I knew even less about tools like wrenches or the fabled socket wrench than I do right now. I would not be surprised if I said they were some kind of screwdrivers.

The military told me to be a social worker.

Pizza is a Strange Mistress

I don't know what I've been eating this week, but I've got another dream to talk about today. I mean, obviously, I know what I've been eating. I had pizza for dinner last night.

Possibly an explanation.

That would normally suffice except this dream came at 10 a.m. today (Tuesday is a stupid day), a full 11 hours after I had pizza. So...

Stream of Unconsciousness

Tuesday's always a long day, and evil men have made it longer. I don't have anything funny on my mind and a tragic lack of pictures on the phone to share.

This is most indecorous.

Which is a word too sophisticated for my phone.

There are over 170,000 words in the English language and dog may be two of them.

On Friday, I began application to a Ph.D. program. Though I have been promised 1500 to 2000 pages of reading per week for the next half decade or so, I am less intimidated by the program than by the application process.

I don't want to dog it after all.