Remember way back when Dennis Miller used to be funny? Yeah, I know. Hard to reach back that far. Still, he was at his funniest when he was at his angriest, when he was on a rant.

I’m not that funny, but I’m about to go on a rant. And I do mean to go [...]]]> by Richard

Remember way back when Dennis Miller used to be funny? Yeah, I know. Hard to reach back that far. Still, he was at his funniest when he was at his angriest, when he was on a rant.

I’m not that funny, but I’m about to go on a rant. And I do mean to go off on it.

Back on Valentine’s Day, we got a comment entered in an post that was so old we had to blow the spiderwebs off it so we could actually read what we wrote. Which means, usually, we got spammed by some kind of robot. And not the fun kind. This robot-installed spam was hawking academic papers that you could buy.

Yeah, that’s right. The place, which I will not dignify with a link, is a cheating factory.

There’s an argument that buying papers off the internet isn’t cheating. That those papers only serve as a guideline to the — ha! — students who buy them. A way for them to help focus their thoughts.

Yeah, right. And I’m the Queen of Iceland. Admittedly, I do look good in a nice mauve prom dress and a tiara, but Iceland doesn’t actually have a queen. I think you get my point.

The purpose of an essay is not to punish the students. Well, most of the time. Seriously, it’s so that the professor can make sure the students have actually grasped the point of a section of knowledge and are able to synthesize ideas, resolve contradictions and form coherent opinions about that knowledge. These are all important skills. And buying papers off the internet doesn’t help achieve that goal.

I know I’m speaking as a very old person here. There’s no student who likes writing an essay. I know I didn’t when I was that age. But, now that I’m old, I can appreciate what it’s trying to accomplish. It’s a worthwhile goal. That and it’s fun to watch little dudes suffer like that.

I still remember the two all-nighters in a row I pulled in trying to write a coherent paper about Kurt Vonnegut’s Jailbird. That thing, like most of Vonnegut’s books, is a mass of twisting narrative that can confound the most agile mind. Of which mine was not. Still, I managed to get the paper done on time and turn it in. I got a “B” and counted myself lucky. I later found out I got that high a grade because the professor felt sorry for me when he saw how I looked when I turned it in. I know, how could he tell the difference? Har, har.

Still, even though it’s hard, people need to learn how to write coherent bits of narrative. You will be judged on how well you write. No one’s going to demand that anyone write as well as Christopher Moore or anything, but you have to be able to get your ideas across in print, or pixel as the case may be.

I just do not like these kinds of services. I think they cheat the professor and the student. And that’s not good.

Okay. I’m done. End of rant. Go about your business.

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Finally! Scientific justification for the midday nap! I’m not lazy, I’m just ahead of the curve.

You see, way back in that dim, misty time that was a time dim and full of mist (i.e. when Speed Racer was a baby), I first found out about how important it was to take a nap.

See, 10 [...]]]> by Richard

Finally! Scientific justification for the midday nap! I’m not lazy, I’m just ahead of the curve.

You see, way back in that dim, misty time that was a time dim and full of mist (i.e. when Speed Racer was a baby), I first found out about how important it was to take a nap.

See, 10 years ago I was just starting this whole taking-care-of-the-baby-all-the-time thing. I’d been in charge of George of the Jungle and Zippy the Monkey Boy for a few (4) years and all, but they were ancient. I mean, they were walking and everything. Speed Racer was another thing entirely. I was up late with him so his mom could get some sleep. Then I had to get his brothers and him up for school (them, not him). It made for some late nights and one cranky dude.

So I devised a system. Whenever Speed Racer went down for a nap (and he did go down. No going gently into that good night for him. It was full-tilt boogie until he crashed. Hence the name.), I did the same. It was the only thing that got me through his toddlerhood. Seriously. Without a nap, I was liable to, well, destroy the universe is probably too severe, but not by much.

The only problem, though, was that I could never convince my wife, known to me as She Who Must– WAKE UP, YOU LAZY SLUG!, that taking a nap was a good idea. Especially since she was having to work hard all day every day.

Well, now I’ve got something to use in my defense, because, really, who doesn’t want a nap?

Researchers are saying that mid-day naps help you think better by clearing out your brain’s temporary storage areas and getting them ready to be filled up again during the afternoon. Sounds good to me.

“Sleep not only rights the wrong of prolonged wakefulness but, at a neurocognitive level, it moves you beyond where you were before you took a nap,” said Dr. Matthew Walker, an assistant professor of psychology at the University of California, Berkeley.

The results showed that the group that was able to take a nap in the afternoon performed better in the evening exercise than the group that had to stay awake the whole day. And not only did the nap group perform better than the no-nap group, they also performed better than they had earlier in the day, before their nap.

Walker said the findings support the idea that sleep is a necessary process that clears the brain’s short term memory storage so there is room to absorb new information.

Oh, yeah, bay-bee! Tell me more!

Walker likened the process to having an email inbox in your hippocampus. This gets full, and you need to sleep to initiate the clearing out process. Until you do, then the mail stays in the inbox and you can’t take in any more.

“It’s just going to bounce until you sleep and move it into another folder,” said Walker.

It’s odd, but I think normally I’d have a lot to say about this. But right now I’m hearing the couch call my name. Time for my scientifically recommended nap.

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It’s not every day that a dude gets to learn just exactly where he fits in with his family and, in my case, with his wife. Well, not every day unless you live with a harpy, a shrew, a domineering angry joy-breaker. Not that I would know anything about that, of course. Still, I [...]]]> by Richard

It’s not every day that a dude gets to learn just exactly where he fits in with his family and, in my case, with his wife. Well, not every day unless you live with a harpy, a shrew, a domineering angry joy-breaker. Not that I would know anything about that, of course. Still, I did learn a little valuable something from my wife, known to me as She Who Must Be Obeyed (Or Else).

My little lesson in marital place putting happened in the kitchen where, it seems, so many of my lessons are learned. (Don’t fry chicken in the nude; bacon makes everything better; hairs catch fire very easily and smell bad when they crisp; never use dish soap when you run out of dishwasher soap actually made for the dishwasher. You know, the usual.)

It was an odd moment. Both I and my wife, known to me as She Who Asks What Is This Kitchen Place Of Which You Speak, were both in the kitchen together while I was preparing dinner. I was digging through the pantry searching desperately for that can of Who Hash* I needed to finish making dinner, while she was taking a leisurely stroll from the dining room, through the kitchen and into the living room.

She asked me if it was possible that I could change my dinner plans at the last minute and make a different kind of salad. Something with actual greens instead of the word jumble I’d planned. (Get it? Word salad? Sigh. No one appreciates a good medical joke.) I, oddly enough, sighed and replied like Droopy Dog that, yeah, I guess I could.

To which she responded (and I quote this accurately and without changing a thing): “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” She paused for a second and then continued. “You just have to do what I want you to do.”

I laughed. “Ha, ha, ha, ha. You’re quite the funnymaker.”

She stopped her perambulation, turned and stared at me. “I was being completely serious.”

Then she walked off. Whistling.

Sure, I crouched there in the pantry for (slightly less than) and hour, shivering and feeling oh, so very cold. But I wasn’t ground down. No way. I shall have my revenge.** Oh, yes. I will have my revenge.

*actual ingredients may be exaggerated for comedic effect.

**or possibly not.

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