stupid math problem

i think that i have gre posttraumatic stress disorder. nora and mari are preparing to take the test sometime this winter, and their ceaseless vocabulary drills have me dreaming of my own gre test. this evening i've been haunted by a really tough question from the math section. it goes something like this:

during his stay at robbins, andrew spent most of his time in one of three apartments, two 4-person apartments and a 2-person apartment. if no one who lived in a 2 -person apartment is currently married, the editor lived with three men who are currently married, and the engineers only lived with philosophers or other engineers, what were the majors of andrew's roommates? and for extra credit, what does this have to do with the other andrew?

major	2006 occupation	2006 marital status
1 biology	1 researcher	1 married
1 english	1 editor	1 single
3 accounting	3 accountants (2+ cpas)	2 married, 1 single
1 history	1 barista/editor (ee)	1 single
3 engineering	3 engineers	2 married, 1 single
1 philosophy	1 manual laborer/webdesigner with an mdiv	1 married

actually, i don't quite know why i made this table. as i prepared to discuss the other andrew, i was thinking something like "wow, except for erik and steve, everyone who lived in my robbins triangle is currently working in the same field as their majors. that's pretty impressive." and then, "i wonder if there's any correlation between major and marital status in this cohort." (gosh, i'm a nerd, and there's not) and finally, "i hope people (joel) aren't angry that i haven't talked about the other andrew yet."

(758 to go)

my flatmate

andrew david. "matt basinger's favorite painting" moma, nyc.

skilled practitioners of the written word tend to use images that lack a prescripted meaning and thereby enrichen a text with unexpected layers of complexity. we call this ambiguity (or 'what-the-crap-does-this-meanness'). but in the wrong hands, ambiguity can be dangerous. if unintended, it can confuse, mislead, or frustrate readers. this is particularly true in everyday conversation, where we spend about a 1/5 of our lives trying to make sense of something that somebody else said. and sometimes we get it right.

but when we don't it can turn out a lot like this:

a few hours after summitting mount pilchuck, mari, mark, nora, whitney, and i piled out of a hobbling subarua and into the welcoming arms of a friendly marysville tire angel. the les schwabb employee brought great tidings of free popcorn and one hour tire repairs. however, despite the cozy appearance of the les schwabb reception area, the feminine contingent of our hiking party took off in search of cheap value village deals. mark and i tagged along behind until mark was finally smitten by a drive-thru coffee shack. we strolled up to the window and mark ordered some kind of a mocha. as the barista made gurgling sounds inside the shack, mark told me about airline security.

but apparently talk of tsa bored the barista, "what'd you two do today? where'd you come from? so you walked here from seattle?" and then the doozie, "and how do you know each other?"

"we live together," mark chirped happily.

"oh, you're dating?" she asked.

no!

no, we're roommates, that guy that i live with is my roommate...

(816 to go)

andrew moves to robbins

in september of 2000, i joined jonathan, brady, and danny in a two-bedroom attempt at apartment life. like any self-sufficient city-dwellers, we cooked in our own kitchen, lounged in our own living room, and squatted on our own toilet. very adult of us, we thought. but despite our self-reliance, i've since decided that our apartment was the collegiate equivalent of a half-way house. in order to lessen the shock of independent life, the university furnished each apartment with a security blanket--well, really it was more a security rug than a blanket, and it sat in the entryway, a metaphysical appendage of our front door. indeed, it was the dorm doors of robbins that kept us insulated from darkness of the real world.

forgive me. i just finished thomas pynchon's the crying of lot 49, and i'm afraid that his wacky, nonsensical style has somehow seeped into my blog. let me offer (and then dismiss) a quick spu tutorial.

students at the college of queen anne often refer to their school as the spu bubble. they lament the university's cultural composition (primarily conservative caucasian girls) and urge one another to pop free of the campus confines and explore more diverse seattle haunts. while at spu, i worked across the lake at a market research center in bellevue, and because the phone-room at northwest research group (it's sad...i still remember the number: 1-800-545-5909) was a haven for cultural diversity (and crazies), i never felt too passionately about spu's lack of hetergeneity. still, when speaking vaguely of doors and their ability to separate one from the real world, i understand that most spu-affiliated readers (after shrugging their shoulders in bewilderment) might speculate that i am satirically referring to robbins as an academic hotel california. the doors hem you in; they are everywhere (everywhere!). you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave. or something like that.

they'd be wrong.

(note to self: don't employ this trick again--it's word-wasteful to spend so much time talking about what you don't mean).

(beth's note to myself: stop preluding)

during the past three years i've lived in a house and a pair of apartments. i've chatted with my neighbors about soccer, stolen cars, and Jesus "being some crazy, mixed up sh-t, man," but i've never peeked inside their homes, stared at their fish, or even considered stealing their milk. in robbins we were protected from the anonymity of this real world. the doors in robbins were always open, inviting us into communion.

and it was there that i finally met the other andrew....


andrew david. "jello 1 -- basi lays the trap" robbins, seattle, wa.
by the way, those are matts not andrews.

total robbins apartments (i.e., neighbors) that i entered unannounced: 6+
total post-spu apartments/houses (i.e., neighbors) that i have entered unannounced: 0

the monkey tree story

i don't really have much to say tonight so i thought i'd post a ten-minute nonsense story. i'm missing beth at the moment, so it's mostly about her (and me and a tree and a surprise guest). all of the pictures in the story are by matt basinger.

andrew and beth happen to like trees. when the weather's nice, they even climb trees--big, green, sappy trees, sweet smelling apple trees, and even tropical palm trees. however, there is one tree they don't climb. it sits silently outside of andrew's house. the limbs look so inviting, says beth. no, says andrew, remember what the landlord said. andrew leans back in the grass, scratches his chin, and bursts out in a deep bass "you may climb any tree on this lot, but never, no, never, climb the monkey tree."

as they sit and consider the landlord's words, a squirrel tentatively hops from the neighbor's carrot patch toward the tree.

"oh, no," says andrew.
"oh, yes," says beth.

the squirrel leaps from the grass onto the bark--zap! with a sudden flash the squirrel is transformed into a wreaking pile of ash.

"that smells disgusting," says andrew.
"yeah, let's leave," says beth as she wrinkles her nose.

the couple quickly purchases a last-minute deal on expedia.com and flies to new york city. as the plane lands, they are so overcome by the beauty of the cityscape that they forget all about the monkey tree and the recently deceased squirrel. "look!" cries beth, "it's the brooklyn bridge!"

after they arrive at the airport, andrew and beth scurry to the bridge and begin to kiss (see below). as their lips lock, a smart-looking pedestrian turns and watches. he adjusts his glasses in order to get a better view. "hmmm..." he thinks.

as andrew kisses away, beth suddenly senses that something is amiss. she opens an eye and spots the intelligent looking pedestrian.


beth whispers to andrew, "it's matt."

"what?" he asks mid-kiss.

"it's matt," she says.

"it's me," says matt.


after smiling for awhile, matt takes the couple to his home in morningside heights. "this is my wife, jacinda," he says.

everyone smiles. "we know jacinda!" exclaims the couple happily.

sure enough, it's jacinda. she asks everyone about the kiss and then feeds them bright green salad from a monkey tree.

THE END