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While I have spent a semester absorbing myself in understanding the transmission of sound from various sources and how it propagates in free or constrained settings, I have also been sniffing the various scents and airborne odors that travel from their source to my nose. I recall that I willfully and originally went about this in order to enjoy foods and drinks to a greater level (it worked). But, then I continued further to just whatever I was around.

Apart from foods, people are the second best thing to smell. The intrinsic smell of each person combines elements of lifestyle, background, and expectations. Perfumes wish for appreciative awareness; a hefty musk could suggest a long day of physical work; and yours truly certainly smells like coffee at almost any hour of the day, a story in itself. What’s amazing is that the human sense of smell is so poor in comparison to other mammals, dogs frequently having more than one million times the capacity to detect a scent.

This has been a simple pleasures semester, without a doubt. I was at the gym earlier this week and was confounded when I saw both men’s locker room doors shut, something that never occurs. I turned to the help desk which is located directly across from that entrance; they said that it is open and that I just had to open the door. I started to laugh with a curious delight, thinking of how odd it was that the doors were shut when they never close. I had anticipated that the help desk people would somewhat chuckle, even if just at my inability to understand what was going on. But they stared at me without a word, one even with a jaw slightly ajar showing an uncomfortable notion present.

Some people take life far too seriously and in some cases that is me. At the same time, I seem to find amusement in the peculiar. Tonight, I am going to smell my dinner with renewed clarity and then laugh heartily because everyone poops.

Once or twice per week, my friend, Jon, and I eat a D2 lunch, Virginia Tech’s Dining Program’s supposed claim to fame. Honestly, the D2 vegetarian selection is respectable and the occasional immaculate concoction will emerge from the all-you-care-to-eat mix.

Today, I found some sweet potato fries and Waldorf salad, both of which my past D2 vegetarian experiences were not familiar with. The Waldorf salad was interesting - I had heard of it before but had never given it a chance. I thought the yogurt in the salad was interesting… strangely not tasting like yogurt.

So, I chance to look up Waldorf salad on my Dashboard dictionary widget, and I discover that it is “a salad made from apples, walnuts, celery, and mayonnaise”. Mayonnaise? Really, wouldn’t it taste so much better with a very light amount of yogurt substituting for that lard? Perhaps I could remix Waldorf salad in the near future in order to clear my conscience of the sour taste. Trying to imagine a voluntary consumption of mayonnaise is borderline horrific.

Once you see that jar of fat in high school Phys.Ed & Health, you’ll think differently about mayonnaise.

To return my diet to normalcy, tonight I will whip together the most plain vegetable soup I could conceivably assemble. How sweet it is.

I made myself a latte in the Starbucks-style - in other words, too much milk steamed far too long. This type of drink reminds me of those vibrant high school years when I frequented the Barnes & Noble in order to grab some occasional Frappucino or mocha. Those vibrant years are carrying on through today, something I am ambivalently thankful for.

The semester classes are done and exams are in full swing. I allow myself periodic sentimental segments to pause and reflect, taking my recent history in a new perspective. My tactic of novel reading is to trailblaze from cover to cover then move onto new territory; however, I forget so much of the content using that method. By stopping, right now, and pausing … and then thinking of the newly acquired past of the semester, I may see something I hadn’t previously spotted, may give birth to an unexpected epiphany.

Wednesday afternoon, I went to speak with Dr. Kraige, possibly one of the most distinguished professors I have come in contact with at Virginia Tech. I was in his Dynamics course one year ago and after that final exam, I met him in his office to introduce myself. I hadn’t the opportunity to do so before then due to an extremely stressful semester’s load, so our first personal meeting took place a week after the last class.

But he already knew who I was. He told me my grade without looking at the records - roundable to triple digits without as much as a nudge. I was ever so impressed by his holistic acumen and class presentation; talking to him on an interpersonal level was equally inspiring. Before I left and shook his hand, he offered to write me any letters of recommendation I needed in the future.

Wednesday afternoon, I went to speak with Dr. Kraige to get a letter of recommendation for my graduate application. He knew who I was and we had a great catching up conversation, his formalities of chatting showing their signs. He had aged a year and so had I - was my aging more noticeable than his? If anything, I was just as childish with awe being around this tier of intellect than I was on the first occasion.

It is difficult to put yourself in someone else’s shoes. Does everyone think the way I think? Do all other thoughts get base analysis with surface-level attention to detail? Why don’t I find sitcoms funny like many people? Do people see things happen once or can they mentally recreate a scene as well as the next person?

Certainly, the most transparent look someone can have is their complexion when staring - the moment when all guards of social norms are let down and the interior self firmly takes a hold of facial expression. Ironically enough, it seems that many people stare in the same fashion, muscles relaxed and mouth slightly ajar. However, those who differ from this baseline are obvious and their dispositions are readable like a Dr. Seuss book.

It’s that time of the semester for the reminiscence. I encourage you to do the same thing.

During my most malleable years, on days off from elementary school or times when I was too sick to learn appropriate grammar and maths, I was sent to Sister Wooldridge’s house. We called her “Sister” because my family originally knew her from an old church we used to attend and the habit of referring to other church members as official siblings was still common. As far as I can remember, most of the days I went to Sister Wooldridge’s house were caused by some sickness that truly debilitated me or made me want to fake the other half of the story in order to skip those painful, mandatory recorder lessons in music class.

Imagining staying at her place, however, the memories of childhood return. The first house I remember her living at sported an aged, partially-rusted, hanging chair on the porch. During warmer days, I remember taking my blanket to that undulating surface and falling asleep in the mild afternoon weather. I remember an upstairs room where, on at least one occasion, I played “dress up” with your granddaughter (was it?) and I recall having no useful approach to tying a neck tie.

At another house, one I believe you had unfortunately inherited after a friend’s death, I remember the living room with unusual detail. Were all of the walls made of glass? I think they were, for the most part. It was a sunroom, of sorts; and luckily enough, I remember there being yet another hanging chair ready for me to rock myself into dreaming. With the peaceful view of a green backyard, there was no resistance in me to ward off a restful slumber.

At this new house, I would watch The Little Rascals until my eyes became heavy. You would bring me peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches cut into four triangles that I could manage. I would wander through the room filled with Elvis Presley paraphernalia with wonder and awe, a room you kept in prime shape in respect to your friend who had passed - this was her shrine handed down to you. I recall that attic having a perfect semblance of one from Are You Afraid of the Dark? episodes, but with the pull of a cord the undiffused light would reveal the pleasantly antiqued truth, a transformation from fright to fascination.

Sister Wooldridge, I heard you left us. Yet, your history will remain written and embedded into at least one child’s mind. Let me tell you of my best memory of going to your place:

Of the many times my feverish self was dropped off with your care, I remember the sandwiches, I remember the resting, I remember the Little Rascals, I remember the Matchbox cars and Playdough; ironically enough, I do not have a single memory of feeling ill.

I am convinced that the worst type of sociable people are those who belittle the accomplishments of others. Be it out of indifference, ignorance, or insecurity, those who tarnish the jewels of the successful are a horrendous and disgraceful lot. I only mention this because I started reading Atlas Shrugged, as my book to help me push through the end of the semester, and there are a few characters that make me angry enough to write something down. Reading very large and dynamic novels as the semesters end allows me to come back to a relaxation that is continuous and unabated in satisfaction, despite unpleasant studying and finals. FYI, or something.

The Winds of Blacksburg Fall 2006 Edition arrived this morning and left as recent as minutes ago. Walking across the drillfield to an afternoon class, my body was in pain. As the wind went over my face, my eyelashes were being pulled and strained, the strangest type of irritation, almost an interrogation-worthy tactic. An attempt to cover my face from that onslaught actually created a vacuum which made my eyeballs bulge, or at least feel like bulging. So much turbulence was created by merely standing still that you had to take a sharp angle with the ground in order to maintain balance. Look at me use these aerospace-wind-tunnel-esque terms!

Next semester, I am, ironically enough, taking an Aircraft Performance course. I figure that my best fall back for careers is the imminently popularized private space-exploration and vacation industry. Seriously. I would be on the front lines with that. Alongside that Performance class, I have Robotics; after that will come Propulsion and then many more geeky alternatives.

Time for a return to my studies and a slew of Star Wars dialogue to continue scrolling through my consciousness.