In my class on Wednesday, I passed back some assignments I'd graded, and then I fielded some questions from a student about her grade.

Student: Why did I get marked down right here? (pointing to a clearly wrong answer with the correct answer written beside it in my handwriting with a different color pen)
Me: Umm ... because your answer was wrong.
Student: But that girl got it right. (pointing to no one, as everyone else had gone home by then)
Me: She had this exact answer? (pointing to the answer that she'd written and I'd crossed off)
Student: No. She had this. (pointing the correct answer, written in my handwriting in a different color pen beside her answer, which was was crossed off)
Me: Umm ... I wrote that.
Student: Oh ... Well, then why did I get this one wrong? (pointing to the next question, where I'd again crossed off her answer and written the correct one beside it)

Not everyone should go to college.

I feel like I should be posting something today. I also feel like I'm going to be late for work if I don't go iron my clothes and then take a shower. I also feel like feeding a child carob cake on his first birthday is borderline child abuse. Anyone know the statute of limitations on child abuse?

I was at the gym the other day, and as I was leaving, I was walking behind two young kids (age 8-10) who were on their way home to dinner. Here's their dialogue.

Kid 1: I can't wait to get home. We're having my favorite food: baked pasta with a red sauce. What's your favorite food?
Me: Pasta with red sauce, what's your problem, kid?
Kid 2: Umm... Ummm... Steak! No, that's not what it's called.
Kid 1: I like pasta. And pizza.
Me: That's better.
Kid 1: And brisket.
Me: Brisket!? I don't think I've ever even eaten brisket!
Kid 1: And corned beef. I love corned beef.
Kid 2: Yeah, that's it! Corned beef! From Zimmerman's.
Me: Wait, what!? What's happening?
Kid 1: Are you from Ann Arbor?
Kid 2: Yes.
Kid 1: Me too.
Me: Oh. So that's what it's like to be the child of a yuppie...

I don't know how many of you looked at my sister and brother-in-law's new peanut, I mean baby, but I noticed that, when you magnify the picture of the ultrasound, the kid already looks a lot like a certain uncle to be. It's grainy, but it's uncanny really. I took the liberty of giving you the enlarged version below.

Every once in a while, I get a migraine. A lot of people say they get 'migraines,' but I'm not talking about a headache here. I mean that, every once in a while, I get a MIGRAINE. They usually hurt so much that I have to go to sleep. When I wake up, the pain is typically a little better, but I still feel like I've been hit in the head with a baseball bat. This dull ache usually lessens over the course of a few days--almost like recovering from being hit in the head with a baseball bat.

Anyway, before every migraine, I have a weird visual phenomena that's lets me know the pain is coming. Typically, it comes in the form of a jagged line of light that cuts through my visual field on the right side of my body. It's super annoying, and I usually can't wait for the pain to come so that it will go away, and so that I'll be sure that I'm not going blind. Almost always, it interferes with my vision for about an hour, goes away, and is replaced by the headache.

On Saturday, I'd finished my reading for the day (7 hours worth), and Sarah and I were headed to the mall to wander around. Halfway there, a jagged flash of light slashed through my left visual field; this one was spectacular, accompanied by a rotating ball of fire. Although the visual artifacts had never come on the left before, I knew what was coming.

As usual, the vision problem lasted for about an hour. But during that hour, I did wonder whether I was actually having a stroke, not a migraine. My fear started when I began having trouble seeing people's faces and reading signs: I knew they were there, I just couldn't make them out. Later, faces looked like Picasso paintings. And I mean EXACTLY like Picasso paintings. It was like I was in an art gallery. A disturbing, disturbing art gallery.

It's actually pretty scary to consider that you might be having a stroke. I even told Sarah that, if I started having trouble communicating or my face started sagging, we needed to go to the hospital. But at the end of an hour, the headache came and the vision problems went away. No stroke. Just a regular old baseball bat to the head. When I thought about it later, I realized what had been happening.

See, visual signals on the left are typically processed by the right side of the brain. That early artifact on the left was likely indicative of a problem on the right side of my brain (i.e., a migraine = swollen blood vessels; swollen blood vessels = impaired functioning) . The right side of the brain is theorized to be in charge of visual processing and facial perception. No wonder I couldn't read very well or make out faces. I even found out that there's a neuroscientist who likes to argue that Picasso's cubism was the result of migraines.

If only I could paint!