July 2, 2013

July 2, 2013

Ignore the .14159

During the train ride to trivia night, TheBoy and I were discussing maths. We needed a break from the nonstop news orgy of the past week. Paula Deen, the Texas filibuster, and the SCOTUS rulings alone would all have been blockbuster stories, but when they all happen over the course of a few days? Information overload, universe. Take it down a notch.

So we were talking about calculus, and I mentioned that the only thing I know about calculus is Euler’s number. Recently had to log that up when I was trying to determine what a logarithm is. (My math knowledge stops at the very beginnings of trig. Which I sum up as “Cosine, tangent, and the other one.”) Furthermore, for us laypeople, Euler’s number is approximately three. Just like pi. Approximately three. I’d like to think that this single-digit approximation would be lauded by most of the population, but the people I tend to encounter seem to get Pretty Snippy when I mention it so WHATEVER.

Three. It’s a magic number.

Sorry. Had to do that. It’s in the contract for people born in 1983.

Talkin’ ‘bout my generation Speaking of my generation, at least two news stories recently disparagingly pointed out the travesty of Millennials responding to the courtesy “Thank you” with “No problem.” Unbeknownst to us, this is completely and totally offensive to everyone everywhere. Because HOW DARE YOU intimate that whatever you did to elicit thanks would have been a problem.

[Yes, I did just finish listening to “Three Is a Magic Number” and clicked over to “I’m Just a Bill.”]

Baby boomers, let me mention a couple of things. First, it’s a tad self-centric to assume that our response, whatever ‘tis, has anything to do with you. My go-to is actually “Sure,” but after this whole kerfuffle I’ve started just half-smiling and half-grimacing. It’s the thought that counts, you guys.

Second, being offended by succeeding generations is kinda that way things work. Your parents weren’t thrilled when women started working outside the home, men grew their hair out, and black people got their own bubblers. Their parents weren’t thrilled when women started voting, the workday was cut to 8 hours, and people took down those “Irish Need No Apply” signs. My generation, in turn, will hate when our kids* insist on robotic enhancements in both eyes instead of just one and insist on flying the hovercar at 40 kph over the speed limit. It happens, is all I’m saying.

Third, we should all really be saying 别客气.

So let’s just agree to disagree and discuss things we have in common, like how ridiculous this cronut craze is but how delicious the cronuts themselves probably are.

* And I mean that collectively because no babies here.

0 Fish in a Sea of Diet Coke: