Word: Excogitate

excogitate

[eks-koj-i-teyt]

verb (used with object), ex·cog·i·tat·ed, ex·cog·i·tat·ing.

1. to think out; devise; invent.
2. to study intently and carefully in order to grasp or comprehend fully.

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Frank furiously poured over the textbook.  He read and reread each line, willing his mind to greater understanding and familiarity with the material with each pass.  And yet it was not enough.  There was still some information that eluded him.  Evaded his every attempt to grasp it.  His eye twitched.

               “You know, you’re going to have an aneurysm or something, right?” Victor, Frank’s roommate said.

               “Quiet you.  I’m trying to study.  Which, by the way, is what you should be doing.”

               While Frank sat hunched over the college provided desk in the shared dorm, Victor lounged on the bed, puttering around with his phone.  And Frank could see that he was browsing through his social media feeds, rather than using the device for more constructive purposes.

               “Eh.  I never put much stock in studying.”

               “And that’s why you get such mediocre grades.”

               “Not my fault.  Not really.  I mean, if you’re going to learn something, then it’ll happen the first time you’re taught it.  So really, it’s the teacher’s fault if I don’t do well.”

               That got Frank to look away from his book for more than a few seconds.

               “That…that’s just blatantly not true.  It’s been scientifically proven that that’s not how learning works.  It takes a lot of repetition and effort to really learn something.”

               “Says who?”

               “Says a lot of people who spent a lot of time doing research and experiments with the express purpose of understanding cognition and how the brain processes new information.”

               “Sounds like a lot of people who didn’t have good teachers and wanted an excuse about why it took so long for them to learn stuff.”

               “That’s just so wrong in so many ways.  They’re people who are very smart.  Way smarter than me, that’s for sure.  I’d say if anyone knows their stuff, it’s them.”

               “Meh.  Bad learners then.”

               “Bad…learners?”

               “Yeah, you know.  People like you who need to study a lot because they didn’t get it the first time.”

               Frank had no idea how to respond to that.  Was Victor, a guy who was barely making a 2.5 GPA, calling him, who had a 3.8 GPA, an idiot?  He could barely even comprehend how that could be possible. 

               “You know what, this is pointless.”  Frank said, turning back to his book.  “Finals are coming up soon, and I need this stuff to be fresh in my mind.  But hey, if you want to skip studying and fail everything, be my guest.”

               “Oh please, you don’t need to.  It won’t help anyway.  All that stuff you’re cramming in there will all leak out the moment you start taking the test.  The only stuff that’ll be there is what you learned the first time the subject was covered.”

               “Well, that and everything else I took the time and effort to study and understand while you were doing nothing.”

               “Uh huh.  Hey, how about a little bet.”

               “I don’t make bets.”

               “Come on, it’ll be fun.  We’ll see who gets the highest score on the finals.  $20 to the winner.  Sound good?”

               “It sounds wholly unnecessary.”

               “You say that because you know you’ll lose.”

               “I won’t.”

               Frank sighed and looked at his educationally inept roommate.  It was an easy $20, certainly.

               “Okay, fine.  If it’ll shut you up, let’s do it.”

               “Awesome.”

               “Good.  Now shut up and let me study.”  

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Studying is very helpful, as long as you do it right.  Cramming day (or night) before a test probably isn't the best way to go.  And yet, we all do it without fail.  Procrastination FTW!

Word: Pasquinade

pasquinade

[pas-kwuh-neyd]

noun

1. a satire or lampoon, especially one posted in a public place.

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The thin pile of colored pages was dropped on the table.  There they sat, unmoving.  Principal Beston crossed his plump arms and glared at Taylor, who sat in front of the expensive looking, but still cheap, desk.

               “Do you know what this is?” Principal Beston asked.

               Taylor looked at the older man in confusion.  “The school paper?” He said.

               “And what is in the paper?”

               “The news?” He couldn’t help but think how weird old people could be.  It really was a mystery to the 16 year old.

               Principal Beston let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a grumble.  “On this page in particular.” He said.

               His finger pointed to what passed for a comics page in the small, student run newspaper.  Really, it was just three strips and a computer generated puzzle, but it was better than nothing.  And among that small selection was the inaugural entry into Taylor’s new comic strip.

               “The comics?”

               “Correct, Mr. Hawthorne, the comics.  More specifically, yours.”

               “What’s wrong with it?”

               “What’s wrong?  Everything is wrong.  It’s rude, disrespectful, offensive and inappropriate.”

               Taylor looked at the three-panel comic.  It was a satirical look at high school life that, with the term satire used loosely.  It was the kind of safe, banal humor that was seen in national newspaper comics.  He could probably get nationally syndicated with it, if he cleaned up the art a bit.  There was definitely nothing rude or offensive about it.  Well, the bland humor might offend someone, but not many.

               “Why?” Taylor asked simply.

               “It makes fun of this great institution and those who work here, that’s how.”

               One of the characters in the strip was indeed a teacher loosely based off one of his own, but that was about it.  That character only appeared in one of the three panels, and was not the main focus of the strip.  And it was not even making fun of the teacher in question.  Not really anyway.  Maybe a little, but nothing terrible.  He had even cleared it with the woman, and she had gotten a kick out of it and said it was fine.

               “How so?”

               “It paints teachers in a poor light.  Makes them objects of ridicule and leaves them open for insults and disrespect.”

               “What?  No it doesn’t.  And even if it did, so what?  It’s satire.  It’s supposed to make fun of stuff.  Nobody’s going to take it seriously anyway.  Pretty sure there’s only, like, three others outside of the newspaper club that’d even read it.”

               “And that is three students too many.  You will not publish any more of these sad excuses for comic strips, and I want to know who approved the inclusion.  Certainly it was not a teacher employed here, so it must have been another student.  Unless you were working alone and snuck it in.”

               “Actually, it was Mrs. Keller.  She thought it was nice.  And Ms. Green-Hall said it was okay too, and she’s the one I based the one I used as inspiration.  She thought it was cleaver.”

               Principal Beston’s eyes widened in shock.  “I will have to have words with those two.” He said quietly.  “But my decision still stands.  You will cease the publication of this horrid, insulting comic before it gets out of hand.  I will not have this…this insult to such a fine institution around where anyone can see it.”

               “Okay, fine, whatever.” Taylor said with a sigh.  He was not particularly invested, since he had only published one strip so far.

               “Good.  As long as you understand, we have an agreement.  You are dismissed.”

               Taylor stood and turned, waiting until his back was to the principal to roll his eyes.  He headed for the door and was about to open it, but a new thought came to him.  He paused and turned.

“You know this isn’t going to go the way you think it will, right?”

“What?” Principal Beston said, raising one eyebrow.  Taylor was momentarily impressed by that, but did not let it dissuade him.

“People love satire and hate censorship.  Think about that.”

And with those words, he left the office, leaving his principal to think.

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It's true.  People hate censorship, even when it has merit.  I mean, look what happened a few years ago when the US government tried to pass internet censorship laws.  It didn't go very well and had people in an uproar.  That's not to say all censorship is necessarily bad, but it does have to be used intelligently.  Something like this is probably not the smartest way to use censorship.  

Word: Spagyric

spagyric

[spuh-jeer-ik]

adjective

1. pertaining to or resembling alchemy; alchemic.

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              Rown looked around his new environment.  The library stood behind him, a squarish building made of fine, red brick.  Other buildings stood around him, made of metal, stone, or brick.  Never the wood he was used to.  People wearing clothes he had never even considered walked around, few of them giving him so much as a second glance.  That suited him just fine.

               His heavy wool clothes were too warm for the current climate, but he would have to make due until he could obtain the current fashions.  What he found most interesting was how cool the library had been, and how many books were stored inside of it.  He had enjoyed the climate and learned many things from the books.

               The main thing he learned was how far this era’s alchemists had fallen.  They did not even call themselves alchemists, shortening the term to chemist.  Rown found that appropriate, since chemists were but a pale shadow of a proper alchemist.  They did not even understand what alchemy was.  They thought it was the pursuit of turning lead into gold, or finding eternal life or some such.  It was ridiculous.  Well, not the lead into gold thing.  That was possible, but nobody actually did it.  If they did, it would cause economic collapse, so only the truly desperate alchemists did so.

               But the chemists of the modern day could not even work a simple transmutation.  They were content to simply mix their ingredients.  Rown doubted any of them even knew about the material voices.  Without that, they were barely scratching the surface of the craft.

               That did not mean they had made no advancements.  He watched a person talking on what he had learned was called a cellular phone.  It was a remarkable thing, to be able to talk to people around the world.  The technology had advanced quite a bit since his day.  Even in the realm of chemistry, they had developed means to work around what they lacked.  It would be interesting to find out what he could do with his alchemic skills and modern chemistry equipment.  Rown himself was especially eager to work with the device called a centrifuge.  He imagined it would solve many of the things he used to struggle with.  After all, just having the skills of a true alchemist did not mean he could do everything. 

               Rown walked along until he found a young man reading a thick book.  He approached the man and cleared his throat to get the youth’s attention.

               “Excuse me, young man, could you tell me where the chemistry laboratory is?”

               “Uh, I think it’s that one.” The man said, pointing at a squat white building with large windows.  “Don’t know what room it is though.  You’ll have to find a chem major for that.”

               “And you are not?”   

               “Engineering.” He lifted the book so that the cover could be seen.  Its title was indeed one that indicated one who worked with buildings.

               “Ah, I see.  Thank you for your time.”

               Rown left the confused youth to his studies.  So much knowledge in one place, he mused.  He could only imagine what boons his alchemy could bring this new, modern world.  And what the world could add to his own skills.   

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I guess alchemy can be used to travel through time?  Or many he just kind of put himself in stasis or something.  Meh, it's not really important.