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The curiosity you just read appeared in my Yahoo mailbox just as I finished typing up a report I'm turning in for my Geology class tomorrow. It was a comment in reference to the picture of my niece's puppy ... and I have no idea whatsoever what it means or even who bothered posting it.

Isn't technology grand? ...I am scared, though. I mean, if you can sink 400 bucks into a computer system ...

...

...

... Jees, I don't even know how to finish that thought.

Can't Talk. Studying.

Can't stay too long today, folks. Have to get back to the studies. There are tests in Geology and Psychology next week, as well as turning in a bibliography for a speech in my Communication class. I'm here and still reading, but it's going to be interrupted by long periods of study.

In case you're wondering, yes, I am disillusioned with this kind of writing. I might have made a reference to Mad Maddox once, but I got tired of his stuff pretty early. A young George Carlin, I thought of him when I read the first entry. After reading a few more of his articles, and those of a few other Carlin copycats, I've come to the conclusion that today's self-styled or otherwise labeled cynical writer is similar to a shark; more teeth than brain. The last thing of Maddox's I read was "Star Wars Episode III: A Steaming Pile of Sith." Hmm. Funny thing is that I wouldn't have known anybody would dare to call Maddox cynical without vulgar references to sexual activity or excrements. (I'll have to admit, though. "Sith" is a clever substitute for "shit", as they have all of their letters in common.)

Thus, I've decided to study this phenomenon of cynicism. What makes a person cynical? I don't know yet. But, from the skimming I've done, most of the time it takes a superior self attitude that is disproportionate to one's contribution to anything at all. Therefore, cynics can come in all stripes; conservative, liberal, socialist, fascist ... you name a group, and there are cynics in it.

On one site, I came across the definition of a cynic that's fairly illuminating--accurate, if not precise. It says something along the lines of a cynic is an idealist whose rose colored glasses have been snatched from their face, stomped in two, thus improving their vision. Not quite the definition that allows one to be an active participant in one's conversion, I thought...

Am I the Only One with This Problem?

I have this little problem. I don't know what it's called, but I'll tell you what it does to me;

I'm going into Geology. That's an easier field, slightly, than Physics (the field I entered originally as a first semester freshman.) I am not very strong in either field, so I know I'm going to have to study very hard and not let up on myself in the slightest.

Now, even if you're not asking yourself this question, I'll pretend like you are;

"David, if science is so tough on you, then why are you getting involved with it? What's your academic strength anyway?"

I'll answer the second question first. (I thought you had only one question anyhow.)

My strength was English. I can't recall exactly which portion of the English section I did best on the ACT, but overall I scored a 34 in that section. In the science related sections, I scored either right at 18 ... or lower.

Now, that first question pops up again, this time phrased differently; "If you make a 34 in English (highest possible on that test is a 36), and in the sciences you score half that much, then why aren't you majoring in English?"

I love the English language. In fact, I love all forms of communication between people, whether it's English, Spanish (which I do speak, but have allowed myself to forget a lot of), or any other language I'd like to learn, or music ... whatever people do to convey thoughts and feelings.

To answer that question, and not jerk you around any more than I have already, I've come up with this analogy;

Let's say you love animals, in particular pigs or cows. When people find out about this, do they ask, "Oh! I know of a great little job you can get dealing with those animals all the time. It's the slaughterhouse my grandparents take their animals to. Why not get a job there?"

Oh, really? Not only NO, but you ended a sentence in a preposition!

I hope I'm exaggerating that a little bit. As soon as I delude myself into believing there is no one on Earth who would say such a thing to an animal lover, I forget that they might not only exist, but they probably write for Malcolm in the Middle.

But, the way an animal lover feels about working in a slaughterhouse is the way I feel about getting a degree in English.

I will never cease to wince (in increasing degrees from least to most on this list) when anyone uses the word "conference" as a verb, the word "reference" as a verb, or the word "utilize" at all. In fact, on the last reference ("reference" is a freakin' noun! "Refer" is the verb!), I get nausea. My reaction to any more than one syllable for the word "use" is that strong. Why use "utilize" when you can utilize "use"?

(Pardon me, but I have to go gargle and brush my teeth for a few hours.........All right, I'm back. My teeth are still gritty, but at least they're minty fresh. I'm thankful I don't have a girlfriend right now. I could hear her asking, "Honey, did you barf a Julep again?")

There you have it. I chose the sciences, not because I liked them any better, and not because the people in the sciences are any better about the use of the English language. In fact, my Geology professor, as I was turning in my first paper the other day, said about the articles I used as research for that paper, "I don't care what style you use, just so long as the articles are well referenced."

I let that slide like so many boulders into a wealthy housing development in Southern California. He's a Ph.D.; I'm a 31 year old, fourth semester freshman. I'm old enough to know when and how to pick my battles.