On Summer in the City

Greetings, reader-type people!

I moved in yesterday to THIS lovely space:

That's right -- I'm living in a single (well, a single room in a suite) for the next eight weeks while I work at school.  I'll be spending the summer in Richmond for the first time ever, which is both really exciting and kind of bizarre.  As you can tell, I am clearly doing fun things all the time since I am clearly not blogging ever at all ever.

But I'm actually looking forward to the chance to get to know myself and this area/city a lot better over the next few weeks -- I'll get to experience what an actual 40-hour work week feels like (and figure out if I'm cut out for it at all), and hopefully get to spend time with some of my favorite people when I'm not at work.

Looking forward,
Rachel Leigh

On Data, Logic, and Summer Camp

Ad hoc, ergo propter hoc.

Forgive me for taking Philosophy classes when I was younger. Forgive me for being a dork about logical fallacies. And forgive me for the fact that I am always, therefore, hesitant to assume that just because two things have a numerical correlation, they must be related.

This fallacy translates to "with this, therefore because of this." It is probably the most irritating, in my opinion, of all fallacies, and I have to note a problem here. A consulting/research firm called Hunch released survey information recently that showed a correlation between kids who went to summer camp and kids who have seen a therapist and announced that "Hunch users who went to summer camp were 13% more likely to patronize a therapist."


http://hunch.com/explore/prospect/report/?e1=671884&e2=785033

Excuse me, HOW are these related? At all? Yes, I went to summer camp. And yes, I have sought care from a therapist. Do I think the two are at all related? No. There are about 30 different factors that, quite honestly, contribute to seeking a therapist aside from attending a summer camp.

First of all, there's the possibility that a student who was sent to summer camp was sent because both parents were working which, admittedly, could cause some emotional instability in a child needing more attention. But, quite frankly, I'd attribute this correlation to what is actually a positive factor: the kind of parent who would send their child to summer camp because they want what's best for their child is, in my opinion, also probably the kind of parent who would more likely advocate that their son or daughter seek help when they're struggling with something. Which, I think, ultimately shows a more positive environment than a negative one.

Hunch presents this information as if going to summer camp is in some way emotionally scarring. And I'm sure it could be, as much as going to the circus can be mentally scarring for a child with an irrational fear of clowns or going to visit a family member can be emotionally scarring for someone who has been sexually abused. It doesn't mean that going to the circus or visiting family are universally scarring experiences. But if this little piece of survey information, framed in the logically unsound manner it has been, gets out, parents may decide to stop sending their children to summer camp.

And I can tell you that the summers I spent at camp are some of the best memories and healthiest experiences I have ever had, and it bothers me that a company that specializes in statistics and analyses of human behavior could so blatantly misguide people about the data they're presenting.

Irritatingly yours,
Rachel Leigh

On Extended Breaks and Razor Bumps

It has been over a month and I have yet to impart on you, my darling readers, any fun, moderately offensive, or sarcastic commentary on life, the universe, and everything.

I blame this partially on graduation and the rather hectic weeks leading up to it, partially on personal issues and illness, and partially on somewhat of a lack of things to say.

Part of me felt the need to blog anyway, but I found that nearly every time I tried, what surfaced was mostly just a commentary on whatever entry I had read that day on The Seventeen Magazine Project [http://www.theseventeenmagazineproject.com (which, while now finished, has been followed up by a new project run by the same somewhat fascinating mind, http://www.teenagerie.com)]. I found that while my interest in reading and frequenting other blogs increased and became more consistent, my ability to come up with somewhat original content was slightly hindered. (To be quite frank, the comments about my blog being apologetic, pseudo-intellectual, and offensive certainly didn't help).

I am (hopefully) proud to say that I am (hopefully) back, as the summer between senior year and college shows the potential for many reasons to rant and rave for a couple of paragraphs on a regular basis.

One of my more personal problems with the summer season is, I feel, actually pretty common. In all honesty, I do not like shaving. In fact, between razor bumps, cuts, dry skin, and general time consumption, I find it to be the least enjoyable part of my summer. Do not mistake me, I find smooth legs to be as entertaining as the next person, because soft skin is more touchable and fun. But summer finds me in need of shaving...pretty much everywhere. Bathing suits mandate a clean bikini line, t-shirts and tank tops and such require well-groomed underarms, and shorts, skirts, swimsuits, and pretty much any clothing suitable for 90 degree weather demand shaved legs. I, like many girls, find this whole process annoying and also find that, 9 times out of 10, my knees are still stubbly after shaving.

And you know what I've noticed? The only people who really seem to care are other girls or the ill-shaven themselves. The people asked to marvel at a well-shaven leg? Close female friends. The person most likely to comment on your hairy knees? Yourself. The one most likely to comment on your bikini line? ...Okay, a lot of the time that's a guy. I've just noticed that, assuming that nothing is absurdly grotesque, the only person who really cares about your shave is, well...yourself. So maybe it's not such a huge deal after all. No one gives a crap about your hairy knees. Go in peace.

Back and better than ever (hopefully),
Rachel Leigh