Empty nest

My mom and sister went to visit my other sister in Canada, so it's just my dad and me at home. And the dogs, of course. And the cleaning lady, occasionally, plus her daughter and her daughter's son who plays on the Wii and lurks in corners*. Empty nest.

So I've been watching things with my dad. We watched two movies the other day, and I watched him fix the dining room table's wobbly leg, and I watched him look at his computer while we ate, and he watched me play (and lose at) Mario Kart.

Yesterday he and I also went to the market to buy supplies for our contribution to the family Christmas lunch/dinner. We bought ingredients to make stuffed poblano peppers. My grandma called on Friday and when I answered the phone she said,

"Hello? Señora?"
"No, grandma, it's me, Lalli."
"Señora, I was wondering if you could make some stuffed poblano peppers for Monday."
"Um, okay, but I'm Lalli."
"...oh, Lalli!"

I gave the phone to the cleaning lady and she said, "It's for your dad."

My dad was on the phone for about fifteen seconds before saying goodbye and hanging up, then turning to the cleaning lady and saying that it was my grandma asking if she could make some poblano chiles. It struck me as very roundabout.

Monday (today) is the 24th and the cleaning lady said she could do it very speedily in the morning and then go home to her own family, so my dad and I bought all the stuff to make it quicker for her.

We also got a piñata and some candy. The piñata was big and bulky, and we had to stuff it into a taxi to get it home. A few peaks got a little bent and some of the crêpe paper tassels stayed behind in the taxi, but it ended up fine in the end. Maxie sniffed it when we got home, but kept walking away and pointedly ignoring it when I tried to take her photo with it. In the end I had to bribe her with a piece of rawhide and even then she wasn't cooperating. I pointed at a spot right next to the piñata and was all, "Sit!". Maxie gave me a puzzled look, like "But... there's a spiky thing where you're pointing. I'm gonna sit over here so I'm not next to it.". I picked it up and moved it a little closer to her and she got up and walked her tail right over to the porch. That dog.

*Well, whenever I see him it's because he's popped around a corner. I never walk into a room and see him already in it; he's always on the move, that kid.

Curve

My previous smugness has morphed into boredom. Not with my life (average) but with the Internet. Don't you ever get bored? It seems I always end up in an Internet rut, finding myself time and time again on the same time of websites.

Looking over my browsing history from the last three days, about two-thirds of it is homework-related stuff ("Regeneration in compound eyes of Crustacea", for example) and the rest is a mix of recipe blogs, articles, movie summaries and trailers, English tabloids*, nutrition and muscle-building advice, videos of meerkats, social networks and snark forums.

Do you see how much wasted time that is?!

"Wasted" is relative, I suppose. Obviously any amount of time that I spend browsing around is benefitting me in some way, otherwise I wouldn't do it. But there's a point where the cost of time invested exceeds the benefit of stress-relief and entertainment.

I borrowed a cost-benefit curve from here. I don't know why it's talking about hamburgers, but imagine that the benefit is entertainment and the cost is time– a limited resource. See, the point of maximum returns isn't the point where the benefits and the costs cross near the top. The optimum is much lower, where the distance between the lines is greatest (at the mark of two hamburgers, in the above graph). You get the most returns for your investment.

This post started out making sense to me, but it's degenerated into a messy unloading of the brain. Also, I've always like cost and benefit curves. There's just something about them that appeals to me, and I suspect it's to do with my laziness. You do best when you don't give it your all.

I remember the first time I came across them was during a talk this one guy gave us about overfishing by individual fishermen and small (local) fisheries. People were fishing to the point where the cost and benefit curves intersected, and he said that he had been frustrated when he'd first started working on the problem, from a conservation point of view. Didn't the fishermen understand that if they overexploited the fish, they'd have no more resources in the future? How could he make them see? And then someone told him something, and it changed his entire perspective on fish and many other things: The fishermen weren't stupid. They knew the species they were fishing would die out. But they needed money, and they needed it NOW.

And with that, I say good night.

P.S. I saw a movie the other day where it was pointed out that mexicans have an ideal that you're not worthy of happiness until you've suffered enough to deserve it. I think this applies to many cultures, not just mine. I mean, religion. Right? GUILT!

That was disjointed. I could probably make that fit together, but I want to go to sleep. Use your imagination.

It got me thinking. It also reminded me of the time when I got all frustrated and said, "Why've I got to be happy, anyway? What's so great about being happy?" and my psychologist metaphorically patted my head and said that happiness isn't overrated and to calm down.

Smug

I feel snarky today. Snarky in a way that makes me feel happy and smug, not snarky-frustrated.

One of those times when I get tired of people complaining about how bad everything is and figure, what the hell, all I can do is what's best for me. At this point that means doing my Math homework and not eating any more graham crackers. These are easy things to do, because the homework is some easy-peasy limits and we ran out of graham crackers because I ate them all.

See?

Damn, I really feel good today.

I joined a new gym with about ten different instructors. The Wednesday guy is very good, one of the Thursday guys is good, the Monday girl is okay and everyone else oscillates between passable and really bad (Friday girl). Also, pushups are kinda dangerous because the gym floor gets incredibly slippery when it gets sweaty. My knees slide around in an entertaining way, but I don't want to do full push-ups because one of my hands might slide off to the side and I'd end up like Michael Jackson.

Of course, I could bring a yoga mat, but I'm too lazy to bring one with me on the bus at 6 AM.

Isn't it funny, though, that I'm early for the 7 AM classes at the gym, but was late for every single 7:30 AM History of Biology class? Well, maybe not funny. Telling, I guess.

I've been doing my nails a lot lately. Right now I'm wearing sparkles, only half of each nail chipped off and I have yet to re-do them.

I stubbed my two tiniest toes a few hours ago. The pinky still hurts, but luckily my nails are intact. I knew a girl whose foot slipped when her knee gave out (there's something wrong with her knees and apparently they do that every so often; she said she's had many surgeries, but will inevitably end up in a wheelchair by the time she's… I forgot how old. Maybe 35?) and her big toe's entire nail came right off. Augh! So I treasure my pinky toe's nail, although actually there isn't much of it. If I clip it, it's about 3mm long. But it's there, make no mistake.

Okay, Math.

Right.

Non sequitur

I didn't mean for this to come out feeling bland, but I guess that's how I feel at the moment.

I was doing some homework this week about neurotransmitters. It was funny. As I read about serotonin and depression, I was like, "Holy crap, this was me yesterday!". Horrible morning, slept all afternoon, woke up at night feeling better.

I love my Behavioral Ecology class, but the annoying thing about trying to talk about it is that within a minute many people veer the conversation over to humans and human behavior. Yes, humans are fascinating. But don't try to make comparisons between humans and other animals if you don't understand the animals you're talking about in the first place. Like in a book I read recently, where the characters had a long conversation about lions and lionesses and female power and it was mostly founded on a bunch of false assumptions they made about lions. If you want to talk about humans, then talk about humans. Don't drag lions into it and start making up fantastical analogies just because you think they sound cool.

I really am a stick in the mud sometimes. I was just thinking about that today. I was on the bus and I saw a kid reach into his book bag, pull out a microfiber cloth, pick some lint off of it and then wipe his glasses on it very carefully. "Kid," I thought at him, "there's a fuzzy hoodie on your lap. No need to be carrying around your microfiber thingy. Don't be a stick in the mud."

I think about this a lot, sometimes. It's very comforting:

I tend to think of human beings as huge, rubbery test tubes, too, with chemical reactions seething inside. When I was a boy, I saw a lot of people with goiters. So did Dwayne Hoover, the Pontiac dealer who is the hero of this book. Those unhappy Earthlings had such swollen thyroid glands that they seemed to have zucchini squash growing from their throats.

All they had to do in order to have ordinary lives, it turned out, was to consume less than one-millionth of an ounce of iodine every day.

My own mother wrecked her brains with chemicals, which were supposed to make her sleep.

When I get depressed, I take a little pill, and I cheer up again.

And so on.

So it is a big temptation to me, when I create a character for a novel, to say that he is what he is because of faulty wiring, or because of microscopic amounts of chemicals which he ate or failed to eat on that particular day.

It's from Breakfast of Champions, by Kurt Vonnegut. I added the emphasis so you'd know which parts to pay attention to, just in case you were temped to focus especially on the bit about goiters.

Every time I go to the study room next to the library I fall asleep. All the warm air rises up into that room, but it doesn't get too hot as the day goes on because there's a dome that the hottest air goes to. Today I was nodding off when a classmate from a few semesters ago sat at my table and talked to me so I wouldn't fall asleep. He told me he ate 16 tacos for lunch, which explains how he can run so much and be so skinny. Seriously, what little there is of his body is in great physical condition and he's known for running on and on, fast, and never getting tired.

Clutter

My family accumulates things. The fridge accumulates tiny containers of dipping sauce which nobody will eat. We save the ketchup and chili sauce packets that come with pizza, even though none of us eat them. We have tons of keychains. We have tons of books. We have fifteen-year-old elementary-school textbooks. We have tangles of toys crammed into a plastic storage box under the stairs. We must have around a hundred mugs. And there are uncountable decorative bowls, vases, plates, figurines and other souvenirs.

Be it by nature or nurture, I have a tendency to obtain and accumulate things (Star Wars toys, amusing pillows and odd bits of nature extracted from their homes during field trips** all come to mind) and am averse to throwing them away. Luckily for me, I seem to be less averse than my parents, who once yelled at me for not eating the corners of a slice of cake.

Two weeks ago, I felt suddenly overwhelmed by how much stuff I had and threw out two trash bags' worth of stuff from my room, which was promptly picked over by the housekeeper. This means that a stuffed toy, a plastic CD case and other such items are now on display in the laundry room (which is of her domain, as she uses it a lot more than anyone else does).

All my old Star Wars toys (and there were many of them), anime figurines, a music box, a poster I never got framed are in storage; a lot of my ex-clothes is being put to use by other people (I only have one metal band T-shirt left!), I threw out a bunch of useless knickknacks, relocated a table elsewhere in the house, dusted everything…

…and I am still swimming in stuff, but at least it is now mostly things that I want and use.

Still, I've been bitten by the decluttering bug. Today I attacked some common areas and threw out what felt like 12kg of old magazines, threw out a bunch of garbage that has been lurking for who-knows-how-many years un the bottoms of decorative vases that lay, concealed and forgotten, behing potted plants, and amassed two dozen or so decorative bowls.

Why do we have so many bowls? They just sit stacked on a shelf and gather dust and lost earrings. And that's just the ones that were in two rooms downstairs– in the display cabinets upstairs there are bowls all the way back o every shelf, and more bowls stacked in the cupboards underneath. When I asked my Dad if there was any one that he felt comfortable getting rid of, he pointed at one shaped like a green pig (it's not as kitschy as it sounds, it's actually quite nice) and then suggested I wrap up all the others and put them in storage because they're pieces of art.

In storage? Where? What for??

AUUUGH! I am ridding myself of the habit of accumulating things, even small, insignificant things like pen holders.

Oh, I didn't mention the pen holders, did I? We have a lot of those, too. But my Dad's tools of the trade are pen and paper (well, that and a few Apple products) so the pen holders are actually put to use. They're all over the house, on nearly every end table and desk. There's enough of them to be on every one, but some desks are selfish and can have three or four pen holders so there aren't enough to go around.

You know, there's something extra odd about having so many decorative things tucked away and piled on top of each other– none of them are actually hung up on a wall or anything. At most they sit, bunched together like merchandise in a shop, on top of a surface such as the piano. Maybe if we set some of them up properly, people would finally feel the house is "decorated" and stop bringing more things into the house.

Weekend project.

** By which I mean things like a walnut shell, or a giant mushroom which my teacher had harvested and was going to throw out. You know, not stuff like a ghost crab for a pet or anything.

School

Today was my second day of school. I started fifth semester, which means I'm almost halfway through my bachelor's degree. Actually I'm supposed to be two-thirds done, because the degree is eight semesters long, but you need to take a workshop** during your last four semesters and I didn't join one this semester.

I don't know what I want to specialize in, you see, and the workshop you join will define what you'll write your thesis about and who will be your supervisor. I was completely enamored with Parasitology, which turned out to be a dud when I took the class last semester, so I'm treading carefully in the world of Biology these days.

I'm getting interested in animal behaviour these days. There's a workshop on that but I didn't join it because what if I end up disillusioned with animal behaviour, the way it happened with Parasitology?

I'm taking Ecology of Animal Conduct this semester and so far it's looking great. The teacher is really good, plus he's English so it sounds cool whenever he says a name or book title. The rest of the time he speaks Spanish with an accent reminiscent of my Mom's, so I feel right at home.

Anyway, the animal conduct workshop will open again next year. If I want it, I'll wait for it and add an extra year to my bachelor's degree. If not, I'll join something else next semester.

I also signed up Biological Anthropology because it sounded fascinating, but after going to the first class and getting a list of the recommended bibliography I can see that it's not what I was hoping for (it's mostly genetics), so I'm dropping it like a hot potato so I can concentrate on my other five courses, especially animal behaviour.

** Workshop as in "meeting at which a group of people engage in intensive discussion and activity on a particular subject or project", as defined by the Merriam-Webster dictionary widget I have on my dashboard. We don't spend two years carving table legs or something.

Birdie

Yesterday a bird fell out of a tree in the backyard while I was whittling a penguin out of wood**. I only figured it out when the Small Dog, who is a cocker spaniel and therefore is engineered to fetch birds, risked life and limb fighting the bamboo thicket and later a thorn bush while trying to get at it.

The bird was freaking out so it ran around the yard and I managed to tackle Dog just when she had the bird's tail in her mouth but hadn't chomped down yet. The bird ran away into the thorn bush and I tied up Dog so that the bird could regain its composure and fly away. It didn't, though, and stayed on the ground beneath the bush until not even the combined efforts of my dad, my sister, her fiancé and me were any help getting it out of the bush and away from Dog. Eventually we gave up when my dad pointed out that it was hopping around to get away from us and it was getting poked by all the thorns.

Small Dog stayed tied up for the rest of the day, except for a brief stint where she tugged at the chain so much that her collar snapped in two (killer instinct, that dog has), and this morning the bird had migrated into a small bamboo on the other side of the yard. The bird's mom was flapping around the bamboo and screaming at her kid, and also screaming at Maxie when she wandered into the yard for some sniffing, a pee and possibly breakfast. It followed her around, hopping on the wall and on the trees, screaming at the top of its birdie lungs. Maxie totally didn't notice.

I don't know what the bird's status is now. I haven't seen it since morning, although I heard it conversing with its mom in the afternoon. For my own peace of mind, and to make up for making the bird poke itself with thorns yesterday, I made a little bird bath and tied it to the braches of the tree. Next to it I put a slice of bread with almond butter and sunflower seeds. I read that in a kids' activity book when I was little, except in the book they used peanut butter. I figured that our peanut butter has some added oils and whatnot and probably the almond butter is better for the bird. Or for the bugs, who are probably going to be the ones to eat it.

** I do not mention this to show of my whittling skills, but because "whittling" is a funny word. Like "soup".