Monday, July 15, 2013

The Regurgitating-inator

Incase you are wondering about the title, it's Phineas and Ferb inspired. You know, the show Phineas and Ferb. Well if you have seen it, you would understand. I love that show.

But I am not writing this to rave about kid shows but rather to talk a bit at length about my brain. Yes, my brain (I can almost visualize that look on your face). Now, I am going to have to take help from your imagination. Imagine a trashcan. It's filled with rotten stuff, stuff you wouldn't care about. Now, if it is a trashcan and is a very responsible one at that, it would take care to keep it's "priceless" contents buried within itself, and take its secrets to the landfill. What would happen if such a trashcan crossed a vacuum cleaner that blows things out instead of sucking it?

You get my brain.

Some wise guy said that he imagined his head as some sort of a filing cabinet, very organized, neat and informative. Well, mine's not. It's filled with the most useless kind of information (and incidentally, did you know that pigeons can do math?) and it is gifted at shooting these useless scraps of information at some poor souls who have had the misfortune to be listening to me (for more details, refer previous blog post), like some horrible travesty of a cat coughing up fur balls. But I don't do it all the time. And I am not saying this to assuage my guilt ridden conscience either. Some of the stuff I come out are quite useful. I have a tendency to remember pieces of delicious gossip (but I don't gossip, heavens no!), but for some sad reason, I cannot, for the life of me, remember what my Chemistry textbook tells me about the p - block elements. And I seriously don't care. I don't see the point in learning a million different ways to make the same compound, as I have told anybody who would care to listen, since it does not make my life any happier. My brain simply refuses to bother storing something as useless as that. No, it stores things that bother no one else. Remember me saying that people don't know half the time what I am talking about? Yeah, they might talking about something very innocent and something they say sends my head into an overdrive spilling information (I use the word "information" for want of a better word) mostly relating to stuff in Physics. Oh, and by the way, you might want to check out the Many Worlds Theory -it explains a lot of things, even though many scoff at it. But you know what? It gives people the mistaken impression that I am intelligent and good at physics, and I have been brandishing my test papers at their faces, giving them solid proof that I am not. I want to write an anecdote here, though ( I hope you haven't shut down your computer yet thinking "What the hell is she writing?"). In one of my exams, they asked to describe the working of a potentiometer when it is trying to measure the internal resistance of a cell. I wrote one page describing how exactly a decent potentiometer has to work in such a case, even drawing a potentiometer circuit that looked nothing like the one in the textbook. And I got 2 and a half out of 3 for it. Obviously, I showed everyone my answer script and absolutely gloried in their shocked reactions. Zoubia even pointed out to me indignantly that I didn't have the resistance box in my circuit (shame). Like I cared. I preserved the paper in any case to keep reminding myself that I am not altogether useless. Anyways, I spend two hours the next chance I got learning everything about potentiometers.

But here's another thing. I don't remember my cell number. Every time someone asks me, I recite it and get slightly muddled up, looking at Soorya for help. And she'd give me a slightly exasperated, slightly amused expression each time and helps me out. What sort of a person doesn't remember her own phone number?

Yours Doofenshmirtz-ly,
(sorry, too lazy to check the spelling)

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