Awesome

This is seriously the best batch of slacker prompt blogs ever.

Things That Simply Have to Change

I have been waiting for this slacker prompt all semester. Now that it has come, all my ideas have flown away and I am left to ponder what I will post. Will I write about my feelings on the latest political topics? Or maybe environmental issues that are currently in debate? No, I think I’m going to do something else. Have you ever listened to the “Radio from Hell Show” on X96? I’m a big fan of the section “Things that must go,” and I think that is what I am going to occupy this blog with.

First of all, let’s talk about driving. I don’t think that Utahns understand the lane system. Slower traffic in the right lane, and if you’re going to pass you do it in the left lane. You don’t go slow in the left lane, or even worse, go the same speed in the left lane as the person right next to you in the right lane! The Utah road block has to go. If you insist on driving slow, please do so in the right lane. And don’t try to weave in and out of lanes! If passing traffic stays in the left, and slower in the right, we’ll all be much happier and I’ll be able to refrain from outbursts of anger when I am behind the wheel.

The next thing that has to go: one uppers. You know who I am talking about. The people who always have to interrupt your story and tell you how they did it so much better. No one likes a one upper, except for possibly another one upper who has just read this and said “I do.” Courtesy is King.

Amusement park affection is next on my list. You can see it in your mind’s eye I’m sure. The couple at the amusement park who are all over each other and they’re all sweaty and smelly and all that gross stuff. Everyone gets sweaty and “ugh” at amusement parks, and the last thing that I want to see is two of these sweaty, “ugh” people groping each other, consequently making me lose my lunch and my desire to date.

This one is a doozy. Cell phone etiquette; texting etiquette in particular. There are few things that chap my hide more than this. Here are examples of what exactly irks me with regard to this subject. Being texted at midnight on a weekday when everyone should know that I’m in bed because I have school in the morning. When people don’t return your call/text until way after the fact and give no reason for their tardiness. LOL (that has to go) and HaHa (which also has to go). I hate receiving texts with only one word (haha for example). I’m not going to respond to someone who responds to one of my texts with haha. I also think that we need to use English more formally in texting. I don’t want to decipher a text message; I just want to read it.

Well, there you have it. My list of things that must go. I’ll contemplate on more things that irritate me and I’ll rant and rave about those the next time it is a slacker prompt.

Fly me to the moon, so I can EXPLODE it!

For those of you who are not aware of NASA's latest space adventure, this blog post could prove to be informative, humorous, depressing, or a combination of them all.
Let's go to the very beginning: June 18th of this year, NASA commenced the LCROSS(Lunar Crater Observation and Sensing Satellite) mission. It's primary goal was to measure the concentration of water ice (ice to dust ratio) in permanently shadowed regolith. Sounds exciting right?

Well, yesterday morning the LCROSS completed its 113 day mission by blowing up a (albeit very small) portion of the moon. You may have been wondering how the researchers at NASA were going to figure out if water particles where present on the surface of the moon with a satellite. The satellite is a long distance from the surface, and finding ice particles among all the dust and rock would be very difficult, if not impossible, at long range. So, this is the plan NASA came up with. At about 54,000 miles above the moon's surface, the LCROSS satellite separated from its spent Centaur upper stage rocket. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's a rocket that gives the satellite the last burst of speed it needs to reach escape velocity. After separation, the Centaur rocket proceeded to ram straight into the Cabeus moon crater. The resulting plume of dust and surface material extended about six miles above the moon's face. The LCROSS satellite, which was following the Centaur, flew straight into this plume observing the particles for about four minutes, before it too crashed into the moon's surface.

That's not very nice, now is it? Now the moon has two new twin impact craters. NASA went and messed up the moon's face. Ok, that's not really the case. The moon already has so many craters, what are two more going to change, right? Normally, I am a major supporter of NASA, but did they really need to ram stuff into the moon? Really? It almost seems like a bunch of adult children playing with adult toys. But, hey, every member on the LCROSS mission team will be able to say, "hey, we shot the moon!"

Chapter 18--A selection from my latest writing project (which has no title as of yet)

You said I could write about anything I wanted. Well, I'm co-authoring a short story with a friend. It was my turn to write a chapter, and we'd already decided what had to happen...so this is what I came up with. Any suggestions? Criticism? Is the dialog reasonable? I'd love comments, as this type of situation isn't my usual cup of tea! But be nice as you do it, please. :-)

“Hello Craig,” I purred. It was in the middle of the night, and I’d just slapped him awake. Everyone else was asleep, so I had plenty of time to work with him. He awoke with a start, staring at me as I fingered the ropes that tied him to a plain kitchen chair.

“Who am I?” My laugh had a menacing edge to it. I knew I was scary in my black, wearing the ski-mask over my features. “I’m someone who was smart enough to stay anonymous until now. And unlike my sweet little friends,” I said, “I’m not nice.” I hit him, hard enough to make his ears ring. "I'm the General." I watched the instant recognition and wariness appear in his eyes. He'd heard of me.

“This is how it works,” I said flatly. “You tell me what I want to know, and I’ll try to get the rebellion to be lenient. At the very worst, your death will be short and painless. Otherwise I guarantee severe trauma, blood loss, scarring, extreme pain, and no death until you tell me what I want to know. Is that understood?” He glared at me, and I hit him again.

“You have two minutes to make a decision,” I told him, and left the room to gather what I’d need. I came back in with a little bottle, some rope, and a long solid plank of wood.

“Will you cooperate?” I asked. He just smirked at me and I smiled.

“Good,” I said. “I’d hoped that’s what you would do.” I set down everything and pressed my palms tightly against his throat. He was unconscious in a moment from lack of blood to the brain. Knowing that I didn’t have much time, I released him from the chair he was in and laid him down on the board, tying him there firmly. Carefully slipping a small pill under his tongue (which quickly dissolved), I put a bright lamp shining directly down into his eyes, and then waited until he was awake again.

“Last chance,” I said sweetly. “No? Well, alright then.” I blindfolded him with a strip of black fabric, then pressed a kiss against his lips. I elevated his feet, then left him while I grabbed a full bucket of water, a cup, and a towel. My camera was filming everything.

I reentered the garage silently to see him flexing his wrists, trying futilely to get loose. I set the bucket down, and he instinctively turned blindfolded eyes towards the sound. Carefully I set the towel over Craig’s face, holding it tight against his skin with my knee and one hand. With the other I took a full cup of water and poured it slowly over his covered face. After a few seconds he began to thrash violently, screaming and pulling on his wrists so hard that they began to bleed. I didn’t release him for almost 10 seconds. He shuddered, coughing convulsively.

“It’s terrifying, isn’t it?” I said softly, my lips very close to his ear. I caressed his face with my soft hands. “It’s dark, and you have no control. The water is swirling around you, filling up and getting in your nose and lungs until you can’t breathe. This is what drowning is like.” He was shaking a little; I knew he was experiencing the first stage of shock.

“That was 10 seconds,” I said quietly. “Just 10 seconds, and I’ve torn apart your world. I have control here; you live or die at my whim. Can you imagine going through 30 seconds, or a minute? What if I just let the water keep coming? How long would it take you to drown?” I stepped away and looked at his wrists.

“Oh, this is unfortunate,” I said, pressing a finger to the raw and bleeding flesh of his wrists. “Funny, it usually takes two or three sessions for someone to panic enough to bleed like this. But I’ll do as much as it takes. Still, we can’t have you getting an infection…”

I went back into the house and got a bottle of rubbing alcohol, only to return and pour it liberally on his sores, ignoring his gasps and cries of pain. Then I took the wet towel and held it back over his face, pouring more water on it. He was fighting and struggling with all his might, but couldn’t do anything else but take it. I let him scream for 15 seconds, then stopped a second time. He was weeping pathetically, bleeding from his cuts. I wasn’t finished.

I removed his blindfold and he squinted up at the bright lights that I’d put in his face, trying to see past the glare and look at me, hiding in the shadows. I moved fluidly, stepping up to him and lifting the towel again.

“Please,” he begged. “Please no no no no…” I pressed it tightly against his face, and poured more water, letting him scream.

“What the hell are you doing?” asked David, bursting in. I held the towel firmly.

“I gave him a choice,” I said, shouting over the shrieks of my victim. “He chose pain.”

“Let him up!” said David, jerking me away and tearing the towel off. Craig lay twitching, gasping and coughing as he shivered with cold and wet. “He’s going into shock!”

“True,” I said. “But he’s only in the first stage. Once it progresses a little further I’ll treat it and move on to something else.”

“You’re gonna kill him!” he shouted.

“I won’t kill him,” I scoffed. “Besides, I know what I’m doing. He won’t die until I get tired of waiting for him to answer my questions.” I ignored my trembling prisoner.

“Back off,” warned David. “He looks like he’s had enough.”

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” I said.

“Woke me up?” said the boy, almost furious. “The whole gang is awake now! Jonathan told us what you were doing. He’s with Emily now; she was terrified when she heard the screaming. He’ll be here in a minute.”

“Speak of the devil,” I murmured as Jonathan hurried into the garage. He stopped when he saw Craig on the floor, tied up and shaking, blood trickling from the open wounds on his wrists.

“Please, please,” said Craig, “don’t let her do that anymore. Please, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Just don’t let her do that.” I led everyone out of his hearing.

“He’s almost ready to talk,” I said sweetly. “He’ll still lie; he’s not quite to the point of desperation yet. I’ve only been at it for a few minutes; I probably need at least another fifteen to twenty, but after that he’ll tell you anything you ask. Can I keep going?”

“This is good,” replied Jonathan, beginning to laugh.

“You’re going to let her?!” asked David angrily.

“Why not?” replied Jonathan amusedly. “She’s done everything that she promised she would. He’s even relatively undamaged.”

“Not for long,” I muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“I can’t watch this,” said David. “I’ll go stay with the girls.”

“Will you continue?” asked Jonathan once we were alone. Peeking into the garage, we could see that Craig was white-faced, terrified. His lips were slowly turning blue.

“Yes,” I said, “but I’m not going to waterboard him for a while. He’s reached stage 2 shock, and I need to change methods until his body recovers. Then we can do it at least a few more times.”

“Sounds fine,” said Jonathan, and helped me release a shaking Craig and retie him his chair. Slowly, carefully, I took a rope and made a hangman’s noose, the captive watching every move I made. I put it around his neck and tightened it until it pressed into his flesh on every side. I bound his feet together and tied the other end of my noose around them, so that his legs were bent up underneath him to take the rope’s tension off of his neck. Jonathan tried to say something, but I shook my head. He understood and was silent.

“You know,” I said conversationally to Craig, patting his cheek. “You’re quite a pretty boy. It’s a shame to make you scar, but you made that decision, didn’t you.” I tsked loudly.

“Jonathan,” I asked. “I have something I have to get from the kitchen. Grab this rope” I indicated the one connecting his feet and neck “and hold it up until I get back. I don’t want him strangling before I’m ready.” With that parting remark, I went back to the kitchen and grabbed a sharp paring knife. As I came back I could hear Craig pleading with Jonathan.

“My parents didn’t get any mercy,” snarled Jonathan, jerking the rope and cause the boy to gag, his feet uncomfortably flexed. “Neither did Andrea. You deserve this.”

“Thanks for your help, Jonathan,” I said. “You can let go now.” The boy did as instructed, cause Craig to choke for a moment as his feet pulled painfully on the rope.

“You see Craig, I really want to know everything about Privvain.” I spoke pleasantly, arranging the lamp to shine directly in his face again. “All you have to do is talk to me. Answer every little question I give you, and you’ll live. The pain that I’m about to put you through will stop, and you can sleep and eat again.”

“First question,” said Jonathan when I nodded to him. “What was your role in Privvain?” Craig remained silent. I took the tip of the knife and drew it slowly down his face, not pressing hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough that he knew the danger he was in.

“Let’s try this again,” said Jonathan. “What was your role in Privvain?” Craig still said nothing. Moving my hand, I pressed a little harder, and a thin scratch appeared on his chest, little beads of blood welling up as he watched. I shoved the blade deeper and he flinched, choking himself as he allowed his feet to drop to the floor. Craig immediately lifted them up again, his legs trembling a little. I plunged my knife into his arm and dragged it along, leaving a deep bloody furrow. He was strangling and shaking, uttering cries of pain. I moved to stab him again, and he broke.

“No please!” he babbled. “I was recruitment. I did public relations, gave seminars, and that sort of thing. I watched over Andrea for a few weeks while Privvain tried to hide her from you. I hand out flyers and prepare people for the induction. I don’t know exactly what happens in the induction, but I never see them again.” He gasped for breath. “Please.”

“Very good,” I said, and loosened the rope around his ankles so he could rest his feet on the floor almost comfortably. “Jonathan?”

“How big is Privvain?” said the rebellion’s leader smoothly.

“It’s not very large anymore,” said Craig quickly as I caressed his cheek, the bloody knife only a few inches from his eyes. “It used to be more than two thousand, but by the fall of the old resistance it had been reduced to about 80 people.”

“Are most of these members of the old nobility?” asked Jonathan, moving to begin bandaging Craig’s bleeding arm. I grinned inwardly. Jonathan understood exactly what I was doing.

“No, only twelve,” replied Craig, watching me as I moved my knife gently down his uninjured arm without cutting his skin, leaving little swirly patterns drawn in his own blood. “There used to be more of them, but during the resistance days, there were purges.”

For the next fifteen minutes Craig gave out locations and names of Privvain members. He was incredibly talkative; I knew that the drug I’d given had begun its first effect. He explained recruitment techniques and other things that helped Privvain locate people with the mutated gene. When we’d exhausted that topic, Jonathan moved on.

“Is Andrea really dead?” he questioned.

“She’s gone,” said the captive guiltily. “Krissian has her body though.”

“And who is Krissian?” asked Jonathan casually. Craig’s eyes widened and he pressed his lips together tightly, shaking his head.

“Craig doesn’t want to tell us, Jonathan,” I said mockingly. “Isn’t that unfortunate!”

“Look, tell me what I want to know,” said Jonathan urgently. “Everybody voted on what to do with you, and the General gets to do whatever she wants with you if you don’t talk. Is that what you want?” The captive shuddered but remained silent. Jonathan stepped back.

“He’s yours,” he said apologetically. I grinned and gripped Craig’s neck again until he passed out. Together Jonathan and I tied him back down for more waterboarding. I carefully put another small pill under his tongue and watched it dissolve. Then I woke him up, the knife in my hands carving neat little lines down his cheeks. He stared at me, frightened, as I crouched three inches from his eyes.

“You picked the wrong person to defy, Craig,” I told him, licking the blood from the blade, “because I really love pain—your pain—and I really love causing it.” His blood was salty on my tongue, making me slightly nauseous, but from his expression I knew that the vicious action had had the proper effect.

“Shall we begin?” I said. “Let’s start with ten seconds, alright?” I bared my teeth as I put the towel over his head. He panicked but tried to stay calm, though he was almost hyperventilating. I began to pour the water slowly, but instead of stopping at ten seconds, I waited for twenty. He screamed, but I held it.

“There,” I lied. “Ten seconds wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jonathan knew what I’d done, but wisely said nothing. His eyes held appreciation.

“Let’s try twenty now,” I said cheerfully, clapping my hands together. I glanced at the rebellion’s leader, and he understood my signal.

“Of course,” he drawled. “If you told me what I wanted to know, I’d try to make her stop.”

“I’d stop if you asked me to,” I said as if affronted. “I share your room and I’d hate to have to sleep on the couch.” Craig watched us, coughing and shaking. He was bloody and terrified. “Anyway, let’s get started.” I slowly put the towel over his face and began to allow water trickle into the wet cloth. This time I kept pouring water, kept pouring and pouring until he was screaming.

“Please! I’ll tell you,” he gasped out, convulsing as his flesh tore farther. “I’ll tell!” I jerked the cloth away quickly.

“Talk!” I ordered. He coughed, trying to expel nonexistent water from his lungs.

“His name is Lord Michelangelo Leonard Krissian,” he wheezed. “He’s the head of Privvain, and he initiated Andrea. He was the one who paid for President Anderson’s campaign. He put the hit out on you.”

“If you knew,” asked Jonathan, “that you could ascend by killing one of us, why didn’t you ever try?” His voice was light, belying the anger I could see in the way he clenched his fists.

“I can’t!” replied Craig. “I’m no killer. I couldn’t kill Elizabeth, and I certainly couldn’t kill one of you. Lure you into a trap, maybe,” he admitted, his voice almost hysterical now, “but never kill you.”

“More!” I ordered, pretending to cover his face again. He freaked out, shrieking that he knew more, and Jonathan pulled me away.

“Let him talk,” he said roughly, winking when Craig couldn’t see.

“Thank you,” he said. “Krissian became an elder because of the original Resistance. He was a mole,” The captive explained. “He corrupted about half of the members, and once he’d destroyed the resistance, he had all of his puppets killed. Because of him, your parents were captured and executed.”

“So what else?” asked Jonathan, still holding my arm.

“He has a London Headquarters, but I don’t know if he has one in America.”

“How do we find him?” I asked dangerously.

“You don’t. He finds you,” came the reply.

“That’s not good enough,” I warned.

“I don’t know anything else,” said Craig desperately. “I don’t know more.” His eyes were glazed and his speech was beginning to be slurred.

“Tell me!” I screamed, getting into his face. I pressed my hands to his throat, feeling the blood pulse below my hands. He cringed.

“I don’t know anything else!” he whimpered. I signaled Johnathan to leave the garage for a moment.

“He’s telling the truth,” I said once we were alone. “His pulse was fast, but didn't jump. Anything else you want to know?”

Mom Guilt

“Mom doesn’t cook anymore.” My daughter said that to her grandmother. Mom asked Catrin what she wanted for dinner, asked what I usually cook for her, and that was her answer. “Mom guilt” never takes a break.

I quit my job when my first son was born. I wanted to be at home for him. I didn’t want to miss all of his “firsts:” first step, first word, first day of school. I got to be there for all of it, and I loved it! It was so fun I continued being a “stay-at-home-mom” for sixteen years. But I still found plenty to feel guilty about. I didn’t keep a spotless house. I didn’t brush the kids’ teeth enough. I didn’t volunteer in my kids’ classes. And I didn’t finish up my college degree.

Three of my sons have autism. Now there’s a source of Mom Guilt! Fifty years ago experts blamed moms for causing Autism. We were called “Refrigerator Moms,” because we were so emotionally cold to our children. But it wasn’t true. Eventually the experts figured out that Autism was a neurological issue, and that no amount of maternal warmth could cure it. I promised myself that my boys would grow up knowing they were loved more than anything. I scoured the internet for reliable information, lobbied for Special Education support, and tried every half-reasonable treatment suggestion for my boys. As our family planned the move from Washington State to Utah, I emailed ahead to the schools so the staff would be ready for our kids. And yet…Mom Guilt left me wishing I could have done more. I should have bought a service dog sooner. I wish I knew how to channel their OCD behaviors into more useful activities. I really wish I had more time to spend with my oldest son, the one without autism: he really needed time to be himself, not just the big brother.

There came a time when I had to get a job. I was blessed to be hired at an elementary school so my hours matched those of my children. I never wanted my kids to be home without an adult. I wanted them to know I cared about them enough to be there for them. Even so, I missed my baby’s first day of school. Guilt! I got home two hours after they did. Guilt! I finally gave in and bought them all house keys. Guilt! There was no end to what I could feel bad about.

Now I’m in school. I love it! I am learning so many new things, and finding out I’m not so bad at it, either. It is great helping people find their “voice” on paper, and seeing them start to enjoy written composition. But I don’t cook anymore. There are some days when I don’t get home until after 8:00 p.m. It was one of those days that my daughter said those words to my mother, the ones that fed the Mom Guilt.

I am so sick of Mom Guilt! I want to just shake it off, like those first beautiful snowflakes that fall from the autumn sky. I want to stomp it into the ground, drown it in the shimmery mirror-puddles on the sidewalk. I want it to fly away with the migrating birds, but not come back in the spring.

Moms like me want to give everything to their children, do everything for them. I wanted their lives to be carefree. I wanted to stop every bully, prevent every disappointment, and “email ahead” so the world would know how wonderful my kids were. But life doesn’t let you do that, no matter how hard you try.

I’m not sure, though, that I would change how anything worked out. Frustration and failure are necessary for true success and joy. My children are intelligent, healthy and happy. They are learning to work out their own problems.

And they still love me, even though I don’t cook anymore. I’ve got it good.

JROG!

So in the interest of writing whatever I want, I have a question as to the specificity of the topic of this blog. Is it TRULY whatever I want or is it whatever I want to write about tutoring? As I am currently audience-less (until this blog has already been posted and you read it…in which case I’m already gone) I am assuming I won’t get an answer to those questions within the next thirty seconds, especially since I haven’t tuned my ESP for months.
Consequently, it is my intention to sit down and play video games for several hours…Just kidding. Since my Junior Recital is coming up next Tuesday and I can’t seem to think of anything else, I think I’ll ramble about that for a bit. I’d let you protest, but as I was saying earlier about this blog already being posted by the time you read it…
Anyway, as some of you may know, I am a Music minor. Apart from being crazy, I also play the viola. For those of you who are not familiar with the Music program, I will tell you what exactly a Junior Recital is. Basically it’s a requirement to fulfill my minor in which I have to play at least 30 minutes of “me” music. This means that I could play a couple movements of a Concerto, Sonata, a Suite (which is actually one thing that I’m doing…but I’ll get to that in a minute) or anything else that’s just me (or me being accompanied by a piano) for 30 straight minutes. Because my roommate loves me and also has to fulfill this requirement for her major, she will be joining me in a Junior Recital of Gloriousness.
In case any of you care, or are familiar with these composers, I’ll give you a general rundown of the program. First she will be playing a Bach fugue, followed by me playing a Bach Suite (six straight movements of Bach! Whoopee). Then she will be playing a movement, I can’t remember which one, of the Barber Violin Concerto. After that I will play the Rondeau from the Stamitz Concerto for Viola and Piano, then she will play two movements of a Prokofiev Sonata (so jealous that she gets to play Prokofiev, by the way. That man is one disturbed genius!), and I will play the first movement of the Fantasy Pieces by Mr. R. Schumann. Topping off this marvelous event will be a Duet by Mozart (K. 423, 1st movement).
These pieces will be followed by a general nervous breakdown, tears of relief, and a sad realization that we both have to go back to school the next morning. Hooray life!
Now I could tie the preparation, anger, and frustration involved in learning pieces for a recital (or even learning pieces in general) into the writing process quite easily. Both involve creativity and a constant effort, and, especially in my case, the final product still may not be exactly what you’re looking for. Also, playing comes as a talent, just as writing does. Some people know how to do it and some people do not, but that doesn’t mean that they can do it well or don’t have to work at it to make themselves and their efforts better. Hey look at all the parallels I’m linking! Perhaps this blog was about tutoring after all!

As Promised an Essay on the Different Cambers of a Snowboard: my write whatever I want blog

Ok so snowboard cambers. We should probably start out with the definition of camber. Camber is the portion of the snowboard between the bindings that is curved upwards to give the board flex, pop, and the ability to turn. Flex is how much the board can bend. Pop is the tension created by pushing the camber down, and when released in a jump causes a spring like effect, giving the snowboarder more air. Keeping an edge on a snowboard is how to turn. To keep an edge the camber has to be pressed down, or engaged, to keep the edge of the snowboard in a straight line on the snow. If a cambered board is lying flat on the ground the mid section of the board will not touch the ground.

There are three main types of cambers: camber, reverse camber, and zero camber. Camber is the original, and the one listed above. Reverse camber is, instead of the board being curved upwards between the bindings, it is curved up outside of the bindings, and in some cases, depending on the manufacturer, the entire board is curved up completely curved up. In the case of a reverse camber board lying on the ground, only the very center section would be touching the floor. The benefits of a reverse camber board is that instead of pushing down on the center of a board to keep an edge, the tail and nose are pushed down, making it easier to turn, and have more control. Another benefit is that because the nose is so kicked up riding powder is much easier compared to a cambered board, where the rider has to lean back in powder to stay up. The down side to reverse camber, no pop. Zero camber is the middle ground. If a zero camber is lying on the ground the entire board, except the very tips of the nose and tail, touch the floor. A zero camber board stays up better than a camber in powder, but not as good as a reverse camber, and it has more pop than reverse camber, but not as much as a camber.

The history of cambers. Regular camber has been, and still is, the go to shape of a snowboard for the entire length of snowboarding. All but two manufactures’ entire line consisted of cambered boards up until this season. Last year Lib Tech and Gnu released a revolutionary snowboarding technology, the banana board, or btx, the first reverse camber. Lib Tech and Gnu are owned by the same manufacturer, so they worked together patenting this technology. Now every serious board company has some sort of reverse camber board. They got away with stealing the idea by slightly changing angles and changing the name, calling it names such as: reverse camber, anticamber, or rocker. There are only a few zero cambers on the market right now, seeing as they are the kind of a mediocre mix of the two. Most companies only have one or two reverse cambers on their line, the rest camber.

The debate on camber versus reverse is a pretty hot topic. Companies are getting involved, offering the whys and why nots. Pros are on both sides, some of the best riders sticking to the original camber and others that are equally talented, saying reverse all the way. The conclusion is still really up in the air, because this is only the second season of reverse camber, and most snowboarders have yet to give a different camber a try. My opinion, even though I have yet to try a reverse, I will really like to try one out, but I will probably stick with camber. Because, hey, it works and has worked for the past thirty years, why change it?

Weird MLA Teachings

Oh boy, where to begin on odd ball things I have learned about the Modern Language Association, or for abbreviated purposes MLA. There are so many. I do not know where to begin. Everything I have learned about MLA is weird. MLA is weird. It has all the rules to follow, and is very particular in the following these rules. An example of this is, after a period on the works cited page there is only one space, not two. If the space bar is hit twice after a period on the works cited page, the works cited page is now incorrect, and the student deserves a grade deduction.

Oh, wait was it supposed to be wrong things I learned about MLA? Haha. Ok scratch that. The only wrong, and weird, thing I can remember learning about MLA is back in my English 1010 and English 2010 classes. I had the same professor for both of the mentioned classes. She taught me that in MLA you have to cite everything that is not common knowledge. And, wait it gets better, if it is common knowledge no citation is required. Mmm… What? First off, what the H is constitutes common knowledge? That is a toughie. Next, if I have to cite everything that is not common knowledge my paper is going to be full of quotations, and my works cited page will be at least three times as long as the actual paper. So, if I look something up and use the contents of what I looked up in my paper, but I decide it is common knowledge, I do not have to cite it? If only I could yell obscenities at her for teaching me this.

I am pretty sure that I only have to cite information I looked up, whether it is a book, article, journal, internet site, Wikipedia, the newspaper, or just some random dude I talked to on the street, and used in my paper. I only have to cite sources I used, common or not. Is it just me or does this make a little too much sense?

A fine example of the stupidity of this teaching follows. I could sit down right now and write a decent five to six page compare and contrast paper on the different cambers of a snowboard. Do you doubt me? I will do it just to prove you wrong! Anyways, I could do the entire thing without looking up a single fact or source, and it would be correct in every factual way. Also, it would be very informative. The differing cambers of snowboards are definitely not common knowledge. Most snowboarders do not even know the difference, or even what camber is. If snowboarders do not know then it is quite safe to say that no non-snowboard would have a clue as to what camber is. I may be wrong, but this would then not be common knowledge at all. But it is in my knowledge; I already know all there is to know. I learned everything by devoting my life to snowboarding. I spend many hours on the mountain and in the shops. I did not have to look anything to write the paper, so I do not have to cite anything! Take that English teacher!

Formatting Sucks

The first time I encountered MLA was in a junior high English class. We were given the assignment to write a five page research paper, which was to include a minimum of ten sources to be cited correctly in MLA format. Not only was this an overwhelming assignment for a junior high student, but I find this experience still haunts me to this day. After hours and hours of class instruction about MLA and even a Thanksgiving break to work on this assignment I was still completely clueless as to what I was doing. Without hope of any further explanation, I was forced to learn MLA citations by following examples provided in a handbook. I did well on the assignment, yet today I still expereince some mild shell shock at the thought of it. Little did I know that this experience with MLA would be one that I would repeat several more times throughout high school and in college.

Was all this worry and fret really necessary in order to learn MLA? I have always thought it was my fault I hadn’t learned MLA the first time. Now, after seeing all of the different handbooks used to reference MLA along with the different editions and new rules added with the passing years—I refuse to blame myself. Could it be that none of my teachers knew the real rules of MLA formatting? Is it possible that since they had varying views of MLA I was affected? I have concluded that this must be the reason so many of us are confused by this “uniform” format. I am relieved that I am not the only poor student who has experienced confusion with this topic. This is what I propose as a solution to avoid this mess in the future.

If teachers aren’t going to know and follow MLA formatting exactly they shouldn’t even bother telling us that we are learning MLA. Instead, it would be better if they explained that there is a format called MLA, but to just do your assignment this way for points. This would eliminate so much confusion and frustration on everyone’s part. I don’t honestly believe that any of my previous English teachers wanted to confuse their students. However, I do know that there has been a serious lapse in the way MLA has been taught, and now the students are the ones who suffer.

What are some of the weird ways I have been taught to format citations? I can’t think of any specific oddities, but I do remember following several different handbooks as I was instructed to “do it just like this.” I guess this means there is not an easy way to fix this problem. When I am faced with explaining MLA to a student I will offer the knowledge and pamphlets we have, but I will also be sure to tell them to follow what their teacher has instructed because as we all know they might have their own set of rules to follow.