When I had to look up the definition of a word today, I was reminded of a little clip I saw on the TV many years ago. Apparently it was against technology and for doing things the hard way. It was a race between two kids to look up a word. One kid used a regular book dictionary, the other used the computer. The book kid opened up the dictionary and flipped through the pages to the right letter. The computer kid had to turn on the computer, insert the CD, wait for the program to load, etc. The book kid was done long before the computer one.

I suppose the purpose of this was to get kids less dependent on technology. This was probably mid-90's, so I suppose it was becoming an issue. It was a lovely way of demonstrating how efficient books can be.

However, when I needed to look up a word today, my first instinct was not to grab one of my dozen or so dictionaries. Instead, I typed the word in my already open browser, pressed alt, and clicked on the word. The information was immediately at my fingertips. It seems I have failed the propaganda of my childhood.

The High Five: It's the wave of the future!

I couldn't resist the horrible pun.

Last night, Brandon reminded me that Daylight Saving Time was ending. I completely forgot about this fact. So much forgot that I had no idea and slightly didn't believe him. So I did what any human would do and looked it up online.

The first search result concurred with Brandon. However, it also mentioned a nice little bit of information that sounds like something I would write. On a page whose sole purpose is to inform people about DST, there is a lecture on spelling and grammar.

The official spelling is Daylight Saving Time, not Daylight SavingS Time.

Saving is used here as a verbal adjective (a participle). It modifies time and tells us more about its nature; namely, that it is characterized by the activity of saving daylight. It is a saving daylight kind of time. Similar examples would be a mind expanding book or a man eating tiger. Saving is used in the same way as saving a ball game, rather than as a savings account.

Nevertheless, many people feel the word savings (with an 's') flows more mellifluously off the tongue. Daylight Savings Time is also in common usage, and can be found in dictionaries.

Adding to the confusion is that the phrase Daylight Saving Time is inaccurate, since no daylight is actually saved. Daylight Shifting Time would be better, but it is not as politically desirable.

As a requirement to graduate, UC Davis makes all candidates either take an upper division writing class or pass a competency exam. As an English major, I have written many essays in my career here. However, this was a different kind. As I read through the passage, I immediately started noting alliteration and other stylistic devices, only to realize that they won't care. This exam is more of the university's way of asking the following questions:

1. Can you read?
2. Can you understand what you read?
3. Can you form coherent sentences that show you can understand what you read?
4. Will you be an embarrassment to our institution if we give you a degree?

I realized this as I was reviewing my final work. Noticing many areas where flow could have been improved or other points tied in better, I had to stop before my mind got bored. I asked myself, "Would this essay pass a competency exam?" Then I folded down my desk and turned in the essay.

As an officer of the Classical Studies Association, I think it's part of my responsibility to attend this Halloween party. On top of that, I think I have to dress up as someone from antiquity. This makes me sort of sad.

On a related note, Jeff Probst was asking me if I had a costume for him to wear to parties this weekend. I informed him that I have a few lab coats and bow ties he could wear. Being Jeff, he honestly didn't know what he could do with that. So I offered the obvious: a doctor. He then got a twinkle in his eye and noted that he could add a sign that says, "Free Breast Exams." Sadly, I don't think it was a joke.

The weather confuses me. Just yesterday, I was complaining about how windy it was. This morning, the temperature dropped so drastically, I had to wear gloves. Even then, my fingers were still numb by the time I got to school. The temperature had warmed up some by the time I was biking home, but it was still pretty nippy. Yet when I went on a little adventure with Brandon, the weather was ridiculously gorgeous. There was a slight breeze, warm sun, blue skies. I'm utterly confused.

I think it's funny how homosexuals refer to their significant others as "partners." They intentionally use a gender-ambiguous term to cast a cloud over their sexual orientation. Yet if someone refers to his or her "partner," you can almost be certain this person is gay.

I've been thinking up a list of reasons why heterosexuals would refer to their significant others as "partner." Here is what I came up with:

• When the couple considers themselves at the status of married, only without the license.
  
• When the one views the other as an object, less than human.
• "Partners in Crime." You know, when they've been struggling through their differences for the whole movie, then the dominant one reaches out a hand and offers equality by calling the other "partner..."
  
• Cowboy friends. It's not a gay thing, it's a cowboy thing. Although arguably... well, let's not get into that.

Our apartment is located less than half a mile from I-80. We're two blocks from probably the largest exit in Davis. We're maybe a mile from the center of the UC Davis campus and next door to part of the extension. Yet our mail is delivered by the "rural carrier," a sad looking Jeep-type vehicle.

Waiter: And would you like soup or salad with your entree?

Man: Salad.

Waiter: And what kind of salad would you like?

[Pause]

Man: Lettuce.

My job yesterday was to sit at a table and try and get kids interested in Classics. It was for Preview Day, a chance for high school kids to see what's so great about Davis. This particular part was a basketball court filled with rows of tables from all the departments and programs on campus.

The thing that amused me most was the seemingly random order in which they put the tables. The Classics table was squeezed right between the Chemistry and Physics tables. Not only is this completely illogical, but also a big letdown. Our table was the one with a giant gap in people. Since Chemistry and Physics are more popular majors, they attracted more people. And on top of that, they had all sorts of cool demonstrations with which we had no chance of competing. I mean, would you rather read a Latin 1 textbook or eat a graham cracker dipped in liquid nitrogen?

Apparently there will be a party in our apartment tonight. This has happened before, so I have a pretty good idea what will happen. There will be loud music throughout the rest of the apartment and I will sit in my room with earplugs and earmuffs. I did get some advice from AJ though:

You'll probably want to move your plant somewhere else. If Mark sees it and finds out it's an herb garden, he'll probably pee on it. He'll definitely spit on it, then probably pee on it.

Well, I'm glad this doesn't happen that often. They're great roommates otherwise, and I suppose they could be holding many more parties.

Having just read an article about Gay Pride week, I have the strong desire to start a Straight Pride week. I would fill it with lots of skewed references to gay pride, keeping it fun. I'd have people sharing their "coming out of the cupboard" stories and have traditional straight activities, like dating or other awkward things.

My only fear is that people would take it the wrong way. No, it is not meant as a mockery of homosexuality, only a mockery of the celebration. I always find it silly when people celebrate causes with the excuse that "you get to celebrate yours every other day of the year." I counter that argument by saying, "No, we don't." Things accepted as socially dominant never get the chance to celebrate for fear of angering others by being sexist, racist, or whatever -ist is appropriate. So in a sense, the less widely chosen paths are more free in their celebration.

If homosexuality is not a choice but a part of who you are, I would like to be able to celebrate my heterosexuality as part of who I am. I would like to be able to tell the story of the awkward conversation with my parents that I do in fact like girls. I would like to be able to comfortably walk in public around people who don't discriminate against me for liking girls. I have this dream. This is my vision.

Like most adults, I tie my shoes using the "Loop, Swoop, and Pull" method. This is how I learned to tie them, so this is how I have been doing it all my life. As most of us remember about the learning experience, there was an alternative method. Supposedly easier to learn, the "Bunny Ears" method was taught to some prior to "Loop, Swoop, and Pull." However, as time passes, Bunny Ears fades away with childhood.

It should be mentioned that this summer, I had the amazing epiphany that the LSP and Bunny Ears methods are exactly the same, but that's beside the point. Think about it for a while, but then forget it for the sake of my argument.

Anyway, a fully formed adult will occasionally slip into society without making the transition from Bunny Ears to LSP. This is a drastic step into adulthood missed completely by some. This is like never going through puberty, having adults never have to shave and sound like they're constantly on helium.

Growing out of Bunny Ears is a part of growing up. It is a highly traditional maturation rite. Granted, we all mature at different rates. Yet we choose how to tie our shoes and how to teach others how to tie theirs. Is it okay for our adult friends to still use Bunny Ears? Maybe. But they will have to face the conflict eventually. Bad habits are hard to break, but the important ones are necessary to conquer. We strive for a progressive future. This is no time to bring back the Dark Ages.

Standing around over lunch on Sunday, one of my friends turned to me and commented about my dad's cooking. The one food that stuck so strongly in her mind was what apparently sounded like "yucky." Scott Boggs, culinary expert and human extraordinaire, then turned to me with a puzzled look on his face and asked, "What's yucky?" I smirked and shrugged, then said, "Gnocchi," to which he sighed a relieved, "Ahh." It was like a cool club where you either have to know a bit about food or a little Italian. Lucky for me, I fit into both categories.

If you are reading this, I suspect it's safe to assume you are a literate English speaker. Given this fact about you, it would be reasonable to say that you have some sort of knowledge about the English language in terms of grammar and structure. As an English major, I feel particularly keyed into the idiosyncrasies of our language, and find poor grammar particularly harsh on my ears.

However, my rant for today has less to do with grammar and more to do with outright lying. At the moment, my particularly favorite pet peeve is the misuse of the word "literally." In proper contexts, "literally" is used when something actually happens. You can only say, "It was literally raining cats and dogs" when cats and dogs are actually falling from the sky as rain does. "Literally" gets most of its use in situations similar to this example. Well meaning patrons of the literal store use the word to emphasize their point, but end up gently removing the validity from their statement.

At this point, I'd like to mention a rather humorous web log devoted to the misuse of our favorite little word. "Literally, A Web Log" notes glaring misuses and often visually displays what a true literal situation would be. Such classics as "literally coughing his head off" and "could literally go on forever" are among the many great examples of our society's misuse of language.

Alas, instead of passively watching our grammar go to waste, I have resorted to several methods in an effort to fix this problem. The first is to insert a very sarcastic "literally" whenever anyone uses it, correctly or incorrectly. This is often followed by the entire phrase repeated again, emphasizing each word. The purpose is to make its use as annoying as possible, hopefully to the point where people start phasing it out of their daily lexicon. Sort of what "gnarly" did by itself.

My second method, an extrapolation on the first, basically consists of inserting the sarcastic form whenever it's appropriate, regardless of its prior use by another. Much to the dismay of most of my friends, this is rather common. The hope here is once again that people will stop their deceitful ways and start respecting the valid definition of the word.

My third method—and by far my favorite—is instead of fixing other people's wrong, I merely introduce a new one. I intentionally abuse the word "figuratively" in a similar manner most people do "literally." Add a real sarcastic tone and it really starts to confuse people. For example, "That class was packed. There were figuratively fifty people there. Figuratively. Fifty. People."

It's at this point a friend responds, noting that there were in fact fifty people in the class and that he doesn't understand why you're emphasizing the figurative aspect of it. But that's the joy of it. It makes just as much sense as misusing "literally," but rarely are people confused when that happens.

To our language as a living entity, there is little one college student can do to counteract such a major error. Yet with enough force and impetus, I feel I can make a difference. This is how I help the world, one grammar mistake at a time.

On Wednesday, the Coffee House piano was stolen. If you're unfamiliar with UC Davis, the CoHo is a popular semi-cafeteria eating establishment located in the busiest part of campus. If you are unfamiliar with pianos, they are generally very large, heavy, and for the most part stationary instruments. Thus, it amuses me that someone would even think about stealing a piano, much less one located in a place where you would have to slowly move it about half a mile in an open area. I mean, honestly. Did they really expect to get away with it?

I think it's funny how the people you find working at recycling centers are the ones I would think least likely to care about recycling.

Last night, I received an interesting phone call.

Around 7:30, I answered my phone to hear a man ask for me. He was calling in response to a job I applied for, yet told me they were unable to offer me a position at that time. However, he mentioned they would keep my application on file in the event that something came up in the next month or so. I thanked him, and he wished me a good evening.

After hanging up, I started wondering if the whole "on file" bit was something he was telling everybody, and that the "file" was a plastic bin they sent to the recycling company. Fortunately, I had the opportunity to inquire again.

Around 8:00, I recieved the same call from the same man letting me know the same information. I decided to play along like I hadn't received the first call. When he was finished, I asked, "So, this means you liked me better than other people?" He sort of laughed and said, "Yeah, I guess you could say that." He went on to explain that there were 30 or so people who applied for the position and they accepted only 10. Then I asked, "So of those 30, where did I rank?" Unable to give me a precise number, he explained that they only put 2 or 3 on file. Satsified with my interrogation, I bid him a good weekend and hung up.

Having felt proud for my courage in asking blunt questions to a potential employer, I felt there was one more burning question that would have been even more inappropriate to ask: Who calls at 8:00 on a Friday night to tell anyone he or she didn't get a job? Who makes that call at 8:00 on any night? I could understand if it was getting accepted and they would be needing me in on Monday, but why call then if you are the bearer of bad news? "In case you were planning on having a good weekend, I'd like to let you know something that might ruin it."

Well, at least had the decency to make it a personal phone call. And at least it was a conversation we were both expecting.

I have just discovered that my mother is running for Congress. Actually, it looks like she's running for reelection, since she's been a member since 1998. There are things I never knew about my mother. For instance, she looks very different in photos on the internet. I would even claim that she's of a different ethnicity. But what do I know? I'm only her son.

I was busy doing funeral activities most of today. This mainly includes getting there and back, but there was the actual service as well.

Anyway, there were many many people there. One man was talking to the people I was with, then turned to me. I introduced myself, giving my first and last names. When he still wasn't sure of who I was, I also included that I was from Santa Barbara. Since I had no memory of ever meeting this man, I was surprised when he kept trying to figure out who I was. Apparently enlightened, he left it at that.

It turns out he was seated right next to me. In a room with 1500 or so people in it, it's not surprising they had to pack the chairs tightly. We ended up nearly sharing a chair. At one point, he turns to me and says, "Tell your mother I say hello. She was good friends with my wife years ago."

It was at this point when I recalled that he never told me who he was. He never introduced himself or anything. It took him several minutes to figure out who I was, even after given an introduction. Yet apparently I was supposed to know who he was.

So there you have it. Mother, this man says hello.

Tomorrow will be day number 11 of my Italian 1 class, and it is the first day any homework is actually due. On top of that, it's essentially writing three sentences in Italian all along the lines of "My name is Jeff. I am from Santa Barbara." When confronted about homework, our instructor said, "Well, you have a workbook, don't you? And are there answers in the back? Yes there are. So why would I want something you already have the answers for?" Since every now and then the book asks you to write something it can't correct (such as your name), these are the only parts he wants. It's like some weird kind of reverse psychology that doesn't actually work.

One of my new favorite things to do is to practice my accordion on our balcony. It makes me feel Italian or something. I enjoy this act not only because it involves me playing the accordion, but also because we have a popular bike path that runs directly in front of our apartment. This means that about 90% of the bikers riding on the path will turn their heads in puzzlement of what is going on. It leaves them very vulnerable for things that may or may not be thrown at them from the other side.

For dinner, I baked some chicken. I pulled the three chicken legs I've been marinating out of the fridge, preheated the oven to 375, and waited. Once it was heated, I put the chicken in the oven and set the timer for an hour.

About 45 minutes later, I went back to the kitchen to find that not only was the timer off, but the entire oven was as well. Brandon questioned whether or not I turned the oven on in the first place, but Joe was there to verify that it was hot when I threw the chicken inside. A little freaked out, I set the oven back to 375 and put the timer on 30 minutes to check on it.

About 10 minutes later, Brandon yells at me that something was beeping. I assumed it was the oven finished heating, so I didn't bother checking.

Maybe 25 minutes after I set the timer, I went back to check on the oven, but there was no indication of any timing going on. I checked the internal temperature of the chicken, then decided to wait another 20 minutes.

Five minutes later, the oven started beeping, presumably for the time it wasn't actually keeping.

I eventually got my chicken fully cooked and ate it. It was delicious, if slightly complicated to cook.

In an effort to preserve my dental roots (it's a pun, you see), I have my own personal challenge going along with the blogging one. I have challenged myself to floss every day as well as rinse with mouthwash twice a day. It's been about two weeks now and my first failing was last night. I fell asleep on top of my bed, so all I had energy for was to brush my teeth. I really didn't need the shock of mouthwash to help me go back to sleep.

So that was my confession as well as public declaration of my intent to keep my mouth clean. Seriously though, that "dental roots" pun was pretty clever, don't you think? I mean, my dad is a dentist. Good oral hygiene helps preserve the roots of your teeth. See, it's funny because...

For some reason, Grandma decided to send my entire family a forward, an act we all find somewhat annoying. However, this email made me giggle. The subject line was "Fw: Can u smell Friday?" First off, the whole "abbreviating a three letter word" thing was enough to make me cringe. Next it was the content.

It started off with our favorite form of image, the animated gif:

This was followed by more of the same, each of a different animal animated in a way to make it look like it's dancing. Then at the very bottom, amidst several other dancing animals, I found this gem:

Oh, Grandma. It makes me slightly uncomfortable that you sent this to me.

Earlier today, Brandon was playing his guitar in his room, so I walked in with my accordion and we played together. Joe was sitting in the room as well, talking to Brandon, then got a phone call. I imagine it must have been awkward talking to someone who has a guitar and accordion playing awkwardly in the background. Fortunately, I thrive in awkwardness.

When I move my books around, I always like to put towels in the boxes to pad them as well as disperse the weight. I am very much in love with my books, so I like knowing they're safe.

When I took a shower last night, I was using a towel that had not been used since before I moved up. When I was drying my face, I noticed the unmistakeable smell of my Oresteia. I think it might be a little pathetic that I can recognize my books by smell alone.

Since I was put in charge of redesigning the Classical Studies Association website, I was browsing the old one for content. It's a rather embarrassing piece of freewebs.com property, so it can use a nice deletion. Anyway, the thing that struck me as odd was the date it listed in the top corner of the page:

At first, I thought "19106" was some sort of zip code or other number like that, but was curious as to why it was next to the date. Then it dawned on me: nineteen one hundred six, seven years after nineteen ninety nine. Then I remembered: I never did anything to prepare for Y2K! We're all going to die!

I got an interesting phone call yesterday. It went something like this:

Me: Hello?
Him: Hey, is this Jeff?
Me: Yep.
Him: Hi, this is Jack. I was in your class today and you wanted some more information on internships.
Me: Nope.
Him: No? It was a little yellow card that was passed around in your class...
Me: Nope.
Him: Are you sure?
Me: Pretty sure. What class was it?
Him: I don't remember. I went to about 10 classes today. It was either Com, Econ, Psych...
Me: Nope.
Him: Well, are you interested in an internship?
Me: Not really.
Him: Okay. Well, I have a bunch of other people on this list here, so... have a nice day.

I thought this was a very strange phone call. So I turned around in the kitchen and told my roommates. Brandon and Joe were busting up laughing. Apparently Brandon decided to fill out my information on one of those cards. I'm actually glad he did. It's like some weird sort of prank call where neither side has any idea what's going on.

I had a nice reminder today that I am still in college, a world full of adults who say pretty much whatever comes to mind. My Early American Literature professor was lecturing about Queen Elizabeth, the "Virgin Queen." He was very doubtful of her chastity and commented how it's hard to imagine her going her whole life without "doodling around." Then he concluded with, "If you want to believe that anatomically, she went with her hymen intact, I'm not going to stop you." It was just a very interesting way of phrasing it, that's all.

Since I'm the only one in our apartment who informs people I live here, I tend to be the only one who gets junk mail. The most recent one still intrigues me.

The contents were your average junk mail: "Please send us money so that you can get ripped off in return." It was for a museum, so I was more interested in normal. I kind of like museums. But it was the envelope that intrigued me the most. The stamp has no amount on it, but merely says, "USA NONPROFIT ORG." I guess it was nice of the USPS to allow nonprofit organizations to send mail for free. But the part that really got me: there's no postmark. Does the post office not find it necessary to acknowledge that these letters have gone through their hands? And it's not like someone could have slipped it into our mail slot. Our boxes are securely guarded with a lock only opened by the mailman.

So this is the part that intrigues me: Can I remove the stamp, place it on another envelope, and send it off in the mail? I hereby found my own nonprofit organization, the sole purpose of which is to send a letter for free.