Category Four

Anyone who has been to college can tell you that professors fit into several categories. Category one is the great, but difficult professors—the ones who bring out the best in their students. Category two is the rotten professors who are either too tenured or too under-the-radar to get fired. Category three is a hodge-podge of everything from the “hot” professor (see the chili pepper ratings of “Rate My Professor”) to the disorganized Medieval Lit. professor who forgets his lecture notes to the non-English speaking statistics professor who always says “for-e-wing?” It’s week six of the semester before anyone realizes that “for-e-wing” means “Are you following what I’m doing?”

This semester Ariel has a professor that belongs in a category all his own. He teaches Linear Algebra. (Yeah, I know, anyone who takes Linear Algebra is asking for trouble, but Ariel is Ariel and chose to major in Applied Mathematics, which is totally asking for a trip through a ring of the Inferno.)

Back to the prof. Ariel told me that he’s “ancient—he’s older than Opa, Nana, or Papa.” I don’t think her grandparents will be amused that someone older than them is “ancient.” (Though my mom will gleefully notice that her name was not included so she’s still young.) At any rate, the prof, let’s call him Dr. Farmer—to protect the innocent as well as the guilty—teaches by doing math proofs on the board. This seems legitimate to me; after all, it’s math class. But, he does it, without explaining what he’s doing, nary a word. And then during question time, he answers questions that weren’t even asked. Ariel surmised that his dual hearing aides must not be working.

Of course, the pièce de resistance is that Dr. Farmer likes to re-name his theorems. For example, the name “Theorem 3.05” is too boring. Instead, he’s renamed it “Theorem Dawg.” Yep, he has a heavy Southern accent. According to Ariel, all the students gaped at one another, assuming this was a joke. It’s not. Whenever he refers to Theorem 3.05, he calls it “Theorem Dawg.” He makes up similar names for the other theorems. Now Ariel dreads taking Advanced Linear Algebra and mistakenly saying to her classmates, “Now if we use Theorem Dawg and Theorem Cow, we can solve the matrices and apply this to vectors.” I guess that’s the horror of Animal Theorems. Yet, another reason not to major in math.

A New Hamster

Matt’s hamster Sam died, and we buried her in the backyard. (You may remember our “male” Sam became “Samantha” when she gave birth to a litter of babies.) After the burial, it was time to get a new hamster. First, we went to Petco. They had hamsters, but Matt didn’t like the conditions of the cages. Unless hamsters are properly cared for they can be aggressive and won’t make good pets. Matt could get a PhD from a major university with what he knows about hamsters, including their Latin names. On to PetSmart.

PetSmart had clean cages and happy looking hamsters. Matt debated whether to get a Roborovski hamster or a Russian white. The Roborovski are small and hyper, which means they can’t be held—they are escape artists. But robos are fun to watch. Russian whites are actually brown/black mottled, but their fur turns white during the winter. As Matt was trying to decide, we were distracted by some dwarf Chinese hamsters. Matt pointed one out and said, “Mom, you should get the small animal care person. I think that hamster is having a baby.” I said, “You’re right!” Promptly, I tracked down the small animal salesman, brought him to the cages, and explained the problem. The man looked at the hamster. He cleared his throat. “Ma’am, that’s a male hamster. They’re just, uh, well-endowed.” I blushed every shade of red.

Later I explained the situation to Matthew. He looked aghast and said, “They look really deformed—I’m glad we bought a Russian white instead.” I guess he doesn’t know everything about hamsters.

Gorge: down and up

Yesterday, we and some friends went hiking at Cloudland Canyon. If you remember, my last encounter with CC included me stepping on a rattlesnake. This time, no rattlesnake! Of course, I missed a lot of the scenery because my eyes were glued to the trail.

However, no visit to the wilderness would be complete without a negative experience with some wildlife. This time we stumbled into a swarm of yellow jackets. My friend was going to everyone’s picture and the moment she said, “Smile!”, the screaming started. We scattered, but the stinging continued. I wonder how the picture turned out…

On the hikes we’ve been on in the past, we’ve hiked around the rim of the gorge. This time we decided to hike into the gorge and see the waterfalls and pools. Did you notice the words “down” and “gorge”? Good, remember that. The views were stunning. Tumbling waterfalls, river-smoothed boulders, inky pools, and forest floors of millipedes, centipedes, etc. (Yes, I really do like bugs.)

Time flew. And we turned to hike back, which was great until…you remember “down” and “gorge”—now we faced “up” and “gorge.” Staircase after staircase after staircase anchored to the undulating face of the gorge. The height didn’t bother me—it was the stairs! My friend called them the “Escher stairs.” (You remember the Escher drawing called Relativity of the steps that never end—they traveled forever.) Add to that low blood sugar and empty water bottles. Yep, misery. But we made it, although my calves are exacting a nasty revenge.

Communication Problems

Years ago a British show called Fawlty Towers ran an episode called “Communication Problems.” In the episode, the owner of a hotel (Basil Fawlty, aka John Cleese) had an elderly female guest who refused to turn on her hearing aid because it “wore the batteries down.” And since this was British farce, all kinds of hilarity ensued given the fact that the woman always misunderstood what was being said.

Well, you know the old cliché, “Truth is Stranger than fiction”? Welcome to “Communication Problems” Keller style.

Yesterday at church, Ariel leans over to me during a hymn and whispers, “I can’t see.” Given the fact that she’s not stumbling around blind and that she wears glasses, I think, “Right. Time to make an appointment with the optometrist again.”

As the service goes on, I notice that she’s beginning to look a little “wilted” around the edges. I think, “Ariel’s re-caught that nasty cold that we’ve been sharing.” After the service, Ariel says, “I need to go home—my head hurts.” I find Luke and give him the job of driving his sister home and then coming back. I tell Ariel. She holds out her hand to me and whines, “My hand is numb.” I think, “My goodness, girl, don’t be so overwrought.” But I say, “Yes, yes, Luke is going to take you home. Don’t worry, you’re not having a stroke.”

Ariel and Luke trundle off home. Then we all come home. Ariel is curled up in a sitting fetal position with a deer-in-headlights look on her face. “My head hurts really bad—I took two Aleve, but they aren’t helping.” I assume she has a nasty sinus headache and shift into mother-of-sick-child mode. Within five minutes, I’ve given Ariel decongestant, a vaporizer is spewing out steam, her chest is slathered in Vick’s vaporub, and she has a cold compress.

Now that she has everything she could possibly need, including a bowl of macaroni and cheese made from scratch, I sit with her. And she begins to tell me, “You know when I said I couldn’t see, I really couldn’t see.” “What do you mean?” I ask. It turns out that she had blind spots and flashing lights in her right eye. And then, that numbness in her hand, it actually started in her foot went to her hand and finally ended up making the right side of her face numb.

The proverbial light dawns in my head. “Ariel, did the weird things go away after the pain started?” She looked at me nonplussed. “Yeah, actually.” I sigh heavily, “My dear, welcome to the world of migraines with aura. It’s not a nice place, but there you are.”

After I called our friend who is a neurologist and got Ariel treated (thank you, thank you—she’d have been miserable at ER waiting for hours to be seen), I ask, “Sweetheart, what did you think was happening to you?” She thought that she was going blind in one eye, or getting glaucoma, or some other horror. “And what about the numbness in your face?” Ariel: “That was very scary.” I say, “Why didn’t you tell me your right side was going numb?” “It was only my hand and foot at first, and I thought they were asleep. It wasn’t until I was on the way home that my face went numb.”

This, of course, is why parents carry cellphones. “Why didn’t you call me?” Ariel explains, “I knew you were busy and I didn’t want to bother you.” Children don’t seem to realize that a parent will sprout eagle’s wings and fly home if their children are hurt or in danger. And as Ariel reminds me, “I did tell you.” Yep, communication problems. Watch out Basil Fawlty, you’ve got nothing on me.

Building Immunity

I'm not sick. I call it "building immunity." I also don't have H1N1 because I refuse to get something known as "swine flu."

Apparently the only way you can create antibodies for cold viruses, is to run a fever, sneeze, blow your nose a lot, and rest on the couch. And if it weren't for the fever, chills, and congested head, it would be great--I got to read a whole thriller today. (The Perfect Fake was very cool and involved forged cartographs and exotic locales.)

So, that's what I'm doing: reading and manufacturing antibodies...I'm not sick, really.

Old Movies, part two

I have to talk about comedies because they often have the best lines of any movies. One of my favorites is “…when you loomed up in your nightie and shot me in the arm.” That’s from the heist comedy How to Steal a Million with Audrey Hepburn and Peter O’Toole. What young woman doesn’t imagine looming up in her nightie with an antique gun and accidentally shooting a would-be burglar who is actually a government fraud expert and drives the hottest yellow Jaguar? And, for the guys, who doesn’t imagine stealing a priceless, heavily guarded statue all to win the tender heart of Audrey Hepburn who is the to-die-for sophisticate in a black Givenchy dress. (Yeah, I know you guys don’t know or care who Givenchy is, but if you’d seen the movie you’d appreciate the designer.) And the “stealing” is for a higher cause—so it’s all good.

Charade is another movie with a thousand quotable lines. Audrey Hepburn says, “I already know an awful lot of people and until one of them dies I couldn't possibly meet anyone else.” To which, Cary Grant replies, “Well, if anyone goes on the critical list, let me know.” (I’m thinking of recommending the line to Ariel to try on some of the strange guys that insist on introducing themselves to her at UTC.)

Of course, not all the great lines are from comedies: “Round up the usual suspects” (Casablanca). That line gets used at our house when something goes awry—it means “Was it Matt or Jake?”

And the Humphrey Bogart/Lauren Bacall movies sizzled. “You do know how to whistle, don’t you, Steve,…” or “Anybody got a match?” Well, this is a family blog, but the lines are worth memorizing for later—Cal’s heard me quote Lauren Bacall many times. But, that’s probably more than you wanted to know.

Old Movies, part 1

I love old movies. Perhaps it’s the almost literary quality of the camera shots. For example, there’s nothing like watching the shadows of Errol Flynn’s sword duel in Robin Hood. Or, in the midst of the verbal cacophony of His Girl Friday, when Cary Grant drolly accuses his girl of having been seen with Archibald Leach (Cary Grant’s real name).

But, I think I really fell in love with old movies when I was in high school—this was when videos were a rare and prized possession to be rented, before the VHS-Betamax war. An old local theater decided to have a Hitchcock revival. Every week they’d show a new movie. This was one of the old theaters with balustrades and pilasters and a real, fringed velvet curtain. And people “dressed” for the theater. It was like being in an old movie. I wore a white dress, white hat, and white gloves. It was a wonderful mix of teenagers and old people. We saw Rear Window the way it was meant to be seen—on a huge screen where Raymond Burr loomed over you. Grace Kelly filled the screen in her gold gown in To Catch a Thief—Cary Grant couldn’t help but fall in love with her. And agoraphobic Jimmy Stewart dangling from a building in Vertigo. And the tension in Rope! The film was shot in real-time like a play without a lot of angles or scene changes, and the body was in the center of the screen in a box, which was used as a buffet for a dinner party. Ewww. Every time a character noticed the box, you’d think “Oh, no, they’re going to find the body!”

Of course, good tense movies still are being made. What about Wait Until Dark? Although since that was made in 1967, I guess that qualifies as old. But I think it’s one of the scariest movies ever. Or Deceived (1991)—I guarantee it’ll make you jump. Try watching these movies, especially with the lights out. Have fun!