"Then make sure to calculate the two tailed sigma value to evaluate statistical significance."

I think that I find out the most interesting words in the world when I am studying at college. Two-tailed. Statistical Significance. What alliteration. For all the talk of professional language and straightforward technical writing, we still sneak some alliteration in there. Don't use jargon, but then again, don't be boring either. Write professional prose.

I'm ditching work to review statistics. Now I have to go back to work, even though I don't have anything to do until I get another set of videos to watch. So I will sit, and talk, and surf. I've become a stickler for correct writing. Poor comma usage and misplaced or dangling modifiers pop out of the page to annoy me, especially in writing that purports to be professional.

I sold my contract. Harold is letting me live rent-free at the condo. It is snowing in the mountains. I'm going skiing on monday, tuesday, and wednesday. I am going to have a job doing something great.

song lyrics can't describe my feelings right now


oh, and here i was feeling bad when all along you were just doing the same thing.
in my hood all we hear is woop woop grandmaz it's time to run


i'm thankful for

family friends
wireless internet
keeping in contact over long distances
nice jeans
old jeans
new shoes
comfy old shoes
new socks
the english language
good grammar
old cars
drag races
cross country journeys
a quiet yet clean house.

there's more, too


i haven't blogged in a while. what a silly word.
music is my sister, music is my great granddaughter.
music is my beach house
music is my hometown
music's where i meet my friends

in park city today, i read thoreau, and thought "water really is the only drink for a wise man"

i wish that we could talk about it, but dear, that's the problem

we all sat silently around the table in the cafeteria. decorated in a rustic, mountain theme, it seemed like there should have been so much snow outside. at least enough to ski on. there wasn't. we were all organizing our thoughts, having been put on the spot to teach some skill or little trick. the neuroscience major volunteered first. i was second oldest, there was just one retired guy in his sixties there, vying for a free season pass. the rest were straight out of high school with the exception of a girl who had just graduated from UCSB. after the neuroscience major, the kid from arizona went. he taught how to do a push up, which seemed silly. nevertheless we dropped and each did one. i volunteered next. i remembered all the little tips and tricks from speech class. use an attention getter. ask questions. don't start with "um." don't say "um." speak slowly. watch for signs of interest and understanding.

"who here knows how to make a really rad paper airplane?"

nobody did. now they all do.

mine still flew the furthest.

and so it starts, you switch the engine on.


theoretical framework

i write words like these

"If a significant statistical relationship exists between education levels and incumbent support, I will conclude that citizens with lower levels of education are more likely to favor incumbents, most likely due to a susceptibility to name-recognition cues"

when i am on the clock.

I write words a lot like the ones that you have already seen in my spare time. I'm in the political science TA lab and should be asking for help but I don't like the TA that is working right now. Which means I write alone, and have my computer read my paper back to me. If you didn't know, that makes you a better writer. Or it makes your writing better. Or so they say. So it goes.

I've been surprisingly productive for the last few days. I have all but sold my contract, I will be in Park City on Monday to interview as a teacher, I've written a speech and a two thousand word research design. I've been to a constellation lab, not missed a class, and worked every day from eight to five. I don't think I have ever been this actively busy my whole life, other than as a missionary.

I wonder what being a grown up is like.


brain twins

I went to see my political science professor. We talked for a while about my paper, and then for a while about my grade, and then for a while about what I want to be when I grow up. Also we talked about how I nearly failed all of my classes when I was a freshman. He wanted to be in the foreign service as an undergrad and grad student, and even took the test six times. When he finally passed, though, he realized that his wife didn't really want to globetrot for the next twenty years, so he didn't pursue it.
It makes me wonder about my life's course. Christensen said "my greatest ambition and highest career goal was to join the foreign service, but then I was married and it just wouldn't work out." Now he is a great teacher. I guess it all works out in the end whether you do what you really wanted to or do what you were meant to do.


think think think

winnie the pooh is
an imaginary friend
he thinks more than most

sleep, wake, shower, shave, brush, dress, church, home, noodles, skyler, traci, dave, ward prayer, rachel, bright eyes songs, natalie, liz, home, facebook, blog, sleep



The car is black and the paint, oxidized from months or maybe years of neglect, only shines in a few places. Inside, the dashboard is covered in a thin layer of dust, covering once shiny plastics. The backlight on the radio only works about half of the time, and when I drive at night I must guess which track is playing. The manual transmission shifts smoothly, but a small engine combined with tall gears means the acceleration leaves something to be desired. I think the car is asking for help, it seems to need a friend. Older cars ask more clearly, more obviously. They creak and groan, stutter and miss. Gears grind, doors squeal, and everything rattles. This one left the lot just ten years ago, new car smell and all. It's still a bit too proud to groan. I am a sucker for little funny-looking cars that need attention. Some cars, like the Taurus, don't inspire any sort of pathos. When they break, they stop, not looking sad like a broken Beetle does, or vaguely mean like old muscle cars do. It seems they really do just give up the ghost and head to car heaven. I don't think a Taurus sitting in a junkyard will ever elicit the pangs of nostalgia and desire that even the oldest, rustiest GTO can.
I'm not sure if it is by design that cars become "basic transportation," or if simply public reaction steals their souls, but it seems sad. Every car is built with some semblance of a soul, and if it was never loved, never though of as someone's sacrifice, someone's project, someone's baby, that soul gradually fades. I think that happens to people, too. Some people never get the attention they deserve or maybe weren't made for attention to start out with. Religion lets everyone believe that they are at least one person's project, and that saves a lot of souls from fading away. Some people don't get that either, and they become these empty shells, just doing their job, just going through the motions. Little by little they lose the sense that they belong to something bigger and that they are worth something more, so their resale value drops.

I hope I never feel like I am basic transportation. I hope nobody does.