This brain is not good. May I have another one?

This is long, rambling, incoherent, and probably not very interesting, but writing it is more fun than working on tomorrow’s lectures.

My friend and her mother had this running gag that came from a foreign language class. In the unit on “Going to the Store” there was repetitive exercise that went like, “This melon is not good. May I have another one?” “This apple is not good. May I have another one?” “This carton of milk is not good. May I have another one?” The two of them were always cracking each other up by dropping this into casual conversation with different items that needed replacing. “This weather report is not good. May I have another one?” “This man is not good. May I have another one?” And so on. I adopted the practice, also. Came in handy when we needed a little mental break while studying. “This calculator is not good. May I have another one?” And, as in the title, “This brain is not good. May I have another one?”

So today has left me feeling that my brain is not good, and I want another one.

This morning I got into the car. I had a new insurace card with me and it had to go into the glove compartment. I was putting my bookbag into the back seat. The frost on the windows was thick, and I was already trying to figure out where I put the scraper. It was also sunny out, and I was putting on my sunglasses.

Now, I’m a creature of habit and ritual. I do a vast amount of everday stuff on autopilot with no conscious thought whatsoever. Including taking my glasses case out of my purse, swapping my glasses for sunglasses, and putting the case back in the purse. I do this without thinking one or two times a day. But this time I had to mess it up, by thinking. I was thinking, “Gee, I’m trying to do a whole bunch of things at once. I’d better make sure to put my glasses case back in my purse, or I might misplace them!”

So, guess what happened. I got to my office, and of course without thinking, reached into my purse to get my glasses case. And of course it was not there. Goddamnit. So I carefully searched my purse. I checked all the pockets in my parka. I went through my bookbag for good measure.

I schlepped back out to the car and searched for the glasses. I looked on the seats. I looked on the floor.

No luck.

I carefully retraced my steps. I remembered putting on my sunglasses. I remembered thinking that I should remember to put them into my purse. And I don’t remember what happened after that. It’s like they popped out of existence, as far as my brain was concerned. Stupid brain.

I schlepped back to my office and searched my purse, my bookbag, and my pockets again. I also looked all over my desk and on the floor, even though I knew that I was reaching into my purse the moment I entered the office and hadn’t had time to take them out.

At that point I remembered that I’d brought my insurance card out to the car. I remebered putting it into the glove compartment. Did I put my glasses in the glove compartment? I never keep them there. Then again, more than once I’ve found the remote control in the refrigerator. I schlepped back out to the car. This time I opened the passenger side door, and rifled through the glove compartment. Checked the seats again. Searched the floor again. Under the seats. Between the seats and the center console. Nothing.

I resigned myself to calling my husband to have him check the driveway. I must have dropped them in the driveway. Oh dear God, what if I’d put them on the roof of the car? I stood up, and in doing so, noticed that my glasses case had fallen down between the passenger’s seat and the door. I must have tossed them onto the passenger’s seat and not been paying attention or . . . aiming . . . or anything.

Whew. So I had my glasses.

But my day continued in the same vein. I entered grades this morning. Entering grades is always a delight. You can’t fix a grade once it’s entered in the system. If you make a mistake, the paperwork to fix it is a royal pain in the butt. And I just find grading stressful. I always feel bad when I enter a bad grade, even when I know that the student is a total slacker, and I’m always terrified that a student will come to me to complain that they have a B+ instead of an A- and I’ll discover that I made a stupid mistake in everybody’s grade and . . . and . . . and . . .

Well, anyway, I entered all the grades, and then double checked them for each class. Amazingly enough, I didn’t make any mistakes! If there’s one thing this brain is good at, it appears to be entering grades accuarately. I had five different sections to enter. I finished the fifth section, double checked it, stretched, had a sip of coffee, patted myself on the back for a job well done . . .

. . . then closed the window instead of hitting “Submit.”

Damnit damnit damnit damnit!!!

So this brain is obviously defective. I can’t believe how shoddy neurological worksmanship is today. I demand that my brain be replaced by a working model, immediately!

Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: Igor, would you mind telling me whose brain I did put in?
Igor: And you won’t be angry?
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: I will NOT be angry.
Igor: Abby someone.
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: Abby someone. Abby who?
Igor: Abby Normal.
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: Abby Normal?
Igor: I’m almost sure that was the name.
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: Are you saying that I put an abnormal brain into a seven and a half foot long, fifty-four inch wide GORILLA? IS THAT WHAT YOU’RE TELLING ME?

Sorry, first thing I thought of! :smiley:

But… but… the very thought that “my brain is defective” came from my brain. If my brain is, in fact, defective, why should I listen to it when it tells me that it is defective? Aieeeeeee! Now I’ve gone and done it. My neurons are all exploding, just like when Mr. Spock talks the computers into logical paradoxes.

Never try to teach a brain phenomenology. It doesn’t work, and it annoys the brain.

Sure, send the brain back. But don’t whine to me when you find out somebody spit in your new one.

Yanno, Podkayne, if you had a working brain - you wouldn’t have to worry about misplacing your glasses. <nodnodnodnodnodnod>

Alas, I’ve yet to find an aftermarket source for brains in working order.

I remember a couple from high school. They weren’t from a class, but from a friend. No idea where he got them.

At The Barber Shop
‘You have cut my visage!’
‘I have NOT cut your visage!’

‘This health shake is made with brewer’s yeast! I vomit.’

Friend 1: So, what kind of brain d’you want?

Friend 2: [Mishears “brain” as “train”] Oh, I’m not comfortable with really fast ones. I’d like a slow one, instead.

Friend 1: Snickers

That was the first thing that came to my head when I read the OP.

This comes from a book called Items from Our Catalog by Alfred Gingold. It is a mock L.L. Bean-style catalogue with such items as Thinsulite Papal Vestments, Inflatable Cheese Slice, and Euthanasia Dog Bed with QuietusFill[sup]TM[/sup].

This phrase is from an Esperanto Phrase Book (which may, in fact, be the only item in the book that is actually available in real life; also, the Esperanto title of the book is correct). Other sample phrases include “I am suffering from (snakebite/avalanche/anomie). Please help me.”

(If you’re wondering, it would be, “Cxi tiu saniga laktokoktelo enhavas biergiston! Mi vomas.” and “Mi suferas pro (serpentomordo/lavango/senidenteco). Helpu min, mi petas.”)

Here’s a possibility.

You think not finding your sunglasses was bad? I’ve seriously looked for some items for 10 minutes only to realize I was holding the damn thing in my hand the entire time.

This morning I opened the driver’s side door, I tossed my PB&J sandwich onto the passenger’s set, and watched it bounce suprisingly high (boyoyoyoinngggggg!) and land between the seat and the passenger’s door.

After a few more experimental throws, I determined that the passenger’s seat possesses the quality of exceptional boingy-ness. So that explains how my glasses got down there.

::munch, munch::

Tastes fine to me.

“Brain and brain. What is brain?”

How on earth did you get flubber into your car? And why was it only installed on the passenger side?

note to self - do not accept rides from Podkayne, she may be working on an passenger-side ejection seat

Want to switch brains? opens up head, offers

<pokes at brain skeptically>

How many miles did you say this one had on it? And it was only used by a Young Earth Creationist, you say? Hmm… Looks like it’s got a bit more stress marks there than I would have expected…

<enjoying watching Kythereia twitching as he keeps poking around her mind>



Hey, that tickles! :smiley:


Darn - at the risk of turning this into a flirt thread - I’m kinda wishing the Breeze were back in operation already. 'Twould be very easy then to suggest a meeting for dinner or lunch some time.

I mean, after playing around in someone’s brain, you ought to be able to say you know their face, don’t you think?

Hmm… what does this do? Oh. Sorry.

Sewing machine, Mrs. Nesbitt!

Ow! What did you–

suddenly flops over