There are a lot of things about life that don’t make much sense to me. I could list hundreds of them.
For example, I don’t understand the importance of learning calculus. In the grand scheme of things, only about 1.7 percent of us will ever apply calculus in the real world. (I made up that stat. Not because I’m too lazy to research it, but because math makes my face hurt, so I just make up numbers willy-nilly. I choose to believe it’s use of my writer’s licence.)
I also don’t understand why coffee from a Keurig tastes so much better than coffee from a regular coffee maker. (I don’t have to understand it. I just have to enjoy it.)
You can just color me confused when it comes to the following things: the media, how they get the little marble in the spray paint can, the process of bread-making, most conservative politicians, and the purpose of the M+/M- key on a calculator. Oh, and can someone please tell me who first looked at this weird fruit and decided it was probably edible?
|I look at it and think, “ALIEN!!!” (source)|
(That’s a Rambutan, apparently. Grown predominately in Malaysia. It’s name literally means “hairy.” Ew.)
Anyway, I spend a lot of my time scratching my head, pondering the universe, how it works, and why people do and say the things they do and say. Usually, I can come up with a plausible reason for something. Occasionally, I have to throw in the towel and just “agree to disagree.”
But sometimes, something is so mind-bogglingly confusing that I just can’t stop obsessing about the reason for its existence.
Case in point: the poke app on Facebook.
|Hi. I’m your friend. And I’m going
to virtually poke you in the eye now. (Source)
For the life of me, I cannot figure out why this social media megalord feels the need to revert us all back to kindergarten–the only time in our lives when “poking” is socially acceptable behavior. Once upon a time, while wandering back to your classroom after lunch, a poke was like a hello, how are ya, how’s your family. As adults? It’s likely to start a fight.
Seriously. Think about it. When was the last time somebody poked you (since you turned 6) that wasn’t the beginning of a fight?
(Yes, tickle fights count.)
Let me just put it this way. Poke fights landed my brother and I in big trouble when we were kids. And my mom didn’t mess around. We didn’t get sent to our rooms or grounded or beat with a broom. When Adam and I were fighting with each other, we were forced to sit on the couch, side-by-side, holding hands.
Which is why I only ever poke him on Facebook now.
It’s like long-distance sibling rivalry.
Oh, wow. I totally just figured out the purpose of the Facebook poke app. Gee, blogging is so enlightening, isn’t it?