The Alan Test

Socializing has always felt like work to me. I have to think about what I'm going to say to people I don't know that well, attempt to get over my shyness so I don't look like a wallflower (which usually ends up happening). When I'm standing talking to no one, I think to myself "why did I come? I don't want to be here." I've been told I may suffer from some form of social anxiety, that it's more than just being shy. Who knows?

One of the reasons I love my wife is because she has grown to understand that socializing is not something I particularly enjoy. I once said I would rather have a filling filled, without anesthesia, than go to certain social event, which may sound extreme, but it was true.

I also don't really like sitting at home, watching 48 Hours Mystery on a Saturday night (although, for some reason I've gotten a little hooked on that show) so we have, or maybe I have, developed the Alan test.

Alan is a spouse of a friend of Lauren's. He represents, to some degree, all partners of Stanford linguistics graduate students. At times, I've gone to social outings with Lauren where I was the only partner, and it always feels a bit more uncomfortable when that happens. The Alan test works as follows:

Lauren: Honey, do you want to go to _____?
Me: Will Alan be there?

If Alan, or some other partner, will be there, I'm more likely to go. If she doesn't know if other partners will be there, I tend not to go.

I should mention that Alan is a lot more social than I am. I've heard him talking about things ranging from his feelings about absentee voting to the concept of ex-cons becoming cops. I'm not so good at talking about whatever, but I'm happy to listen to other people, because then I can at least feel like I'm being social.

My aunt, knowing that I never seem to know what to talk about with strangers, once sent me an article from some Sunday newspaper. It was called "How to be a good dinner party guest", or something. The article suggested you bring up pets when you don't know anything about the person you're talking to. The reasoning was that people would either have some kind of history with pets they would like talking about, or have some story explaining why they don't like pets. Knowing my luck, I'd end up talking to someone, like our old neighbor, who seemed to despise pets, and go on and on about it. I don't need that - who does, really?

As luck would have it, Lauren was going to a social event last night, and Alan was going to be there. I had to decide. I ended up not going, because I'd been grading papers, working all day and didn't want to keep working at night because socializing has always felt like work to me.

Sick

I've never had the flu.

That's a statement I've said many times. I've had people describe what the flu feels like, and I usually end up staring blankly at them, unable to relate. They sometimes get a little irritated and give up. Most of the time the response is "Really!?!?".

This week has been flanked by illness. On Monday, I had a nasty migraine that knocked me out for the evening. I was walking around with a hot pack on my head (the only thing that seemed to make the pain manageable that night) and went to bed early, hoping it would go away with sleep; it did. At the end of the week, I got a cold (and still have it). I've been blowing my nose and filling trash cans with Kleenex.

I don't really get sick, at least that's what I tell myself. I've never missed work due to illness, and even went to a meeting on Friday that I didn't need to go to, even though I felt crappy. I've sung in choirs while having a sore throat, taught with a throbbing head, even went to pilates class yesterday, when I probably should have stayed at home. I do this because I'm stubborn; I refuse to be sick.

I've still never had the flu.

When I was about one, I apparently was very ill. The way my mother tells it, she was worried I was going to die. Of course, I have no memory of this illness. My parents also had a cat at that time, I believe they named it Stupid, for obvious reasons (my dad will correct me, if I'm wrong). About the time of my near-death, Stupid cat went missing, or died (my dad will correct me, if I'm wrong). After Stupid was gone, I got better. On more than one occasion, my mom has said the cat gave its life so that I could live. I like to say the cat gave me nine lives, so I never get sick, except for the occasional hairball.

That's the superhero cat-man version of why I never get get sick.

I've never had the flu, but I have had malaria - multiple times.

Growing up in Nigeria, everyone got malaria. I know there are these stats that a child dies every 30 minutes from the disease, and I do recommend you go here to help out, but those are the serious cases. Everyone I knew as a kid had malaria, but I didn't know anyone that died of the illness.

My dad once said (and he will correct me, if I'm wrong) that malaria has a 5-day life cycle: Day 1- you feel sick, Day 2 - you feel really sick, Day 3 - you feel so sick you think you're going to die, Day 4 - you feel so sick you wish you were dead, Day 5 - you get better. To top it off, I had a strange reaction to the medication; I acted out my dreams, including once wielding a knife at a cupboard until several people had to hold me down.

Getting through malaria really builds up the immune system. This is the non-superhero, sciency version of why I think I've never had the flu.

I spend this Sunday sneezing and hoping I get over this cold soon, hoping that I can teach tomorrow without feeling the least bit ill, hoping this is not the end of my cat-like immune system and this doesn't turn into the flu, because I'd like to keep saying....

I've never had the flu.

Mom Can Be Right - Sometimes

I've had a number of friends whose parents use some guilt trip or another to get their kids to do things they don't want to do. My parents don't seem to hold grudges about choices their children have made. I really admire this about my parents. This doesn't mean we never disagree, it just means we respect each others' thoughts, choices, and decisions. I can even respect my mom's decision to wait 6 weeks to decide to buy a plane ticket to Ghana, even though I completely disagree with her thinking.

This may seem unrelated, but I like to think I get my "kitchen style" from my parents. I learned to bake and cook from my mother, and learned about fusion from my dad (the man loves peanut butter and broccoli sandwiches - I know, I don't get it). I love to mix my food types, using a fried plantain as a wiener (not recommended), pasta with tamales, frying udon noodles and eating them with creamed corn, and putting cereal in my oatmeal. Even though I'm not a foodie, anytime my parents bring up something kitchen-related, I listen.

Back in November, I went to Baltimore for a couple of weeks. While I was there, we were talking about palm oil for some reason. If you've never had palm oil, you should know that it stains EVERYTHING; hands, dishes, and in the modern freeze-it-and-eat-the-rest-later world we live in, tupperware. My dad told me how my mom had heard that putting palm oil-stained tupperware in the sun would get rid of it. He hadn't believed it, but then tried it, and was shocked; I still didn't really believe it. I'm one of these seeing is believing people, so I was not satisfied with my parents saying it worked, although I said nothing at the time.

Fast forward to last week. I took pasta (with some fake chicken from the Chinese grocery store thrown in for some fusion) to work, in tupperware. I used the same tupperware for 3 days during the week, watching the tomato sauce stain get worse and worse each time I used it.

On Thursday night Lauren mentioned that I had stained the tupperware. I decided to experiment. Tomato sauce is not palm oil, but if it works on nasty palm oil, it must work on tomato sauce, right? I washed the tupperware on Thursday night, and took a picture of it at 8:45 am on Friday morning. Here it is...


Friday was overcast. The sun barely came out. I still put it out, moving it from room to room, to get the most outside light as possible. I didn't wash the tupperware on Friday evening. On Saturday, at 8:45 am, I took this picture....


It was sunnier on Saturday, so I repeated the process, moving the tupperware from room to room, and took at picture this morning (Sunday) at 8:45 am.....


I can't explain how it works, but it's amazing!!!

My parents were right - this time. Now if I can just convince my mom to buy that plane ticket, I'll be happy.

The Last Break Before the Never-Ending Quarter

So I've decided to post a blog every weekend. I don't know how long this will last, but maybe me publishing this will guilt me into actually sticking to it.

Tomorrow is the start of what I like to call the never-ending quarter. Spring quarter starts on April 6 and runs until June 26. Summer quarter starts on June 29 (the Monday after Spring ends) and runs until early August. In all, there is an 18-week stretch of classes, with only Memorial day as a holiday. In Spring I teach Statistics, in Summer, I'm scheduled to teach Trigonometry.

I've been told the reason for not having a break between Spring and Summer is to accommodate the semester school students who want to take summer classes at De Anza and go back to their schools, which usually start in mid-August. While I understand this argument, I don't agree with it. It seems like the school ends up putting other students' needs ahead of those of the year-round De Anza students, who end up taking classes for 18 straight weeks, with no break. I won't go on about this, but I've said my piece.

This past week was spring break. I wish I could say I did a lot of this:


...but I didn't. I saw a lot of that; on our bed, our futon, our dining room table, our coffee table, my office chair, Lauren's office chair, my lap, my torso, my torso while I was trying to do work that was on my lap. In all, it was a restful week for Geordi.

I worked, didn't get much sleep (got 6 hours last night for no reason other than I couldn't get to sleep and woke up at 6:30 for no reason), saw a 3 movies, and watched the MSU mens basketball team make it to the championship game, where they face UNC, the beast of mens college basketball.

That was basically my break. I think I'm ready for the new quarter, but I never like the first day. It's always filled with dealing with more administrative stuff than I care for, and dealing with students who don't understand that a class that is supposed to have no more than 35 students can't possibly have 50 students in it.