Today I had an interesting comment made about me. I was making some French toast with one of my friends, and I was wondering how much of this to put in, how much of that, etc. She turned to me, exasperated, and exclaimed “Sam, you are such an engineer!!” That comment would warrant shouts of pride from some people, and outright weeping from others. I was being anal, I wanted to know how much milk to put in, if we should measure the cinnamon, and she completely didn’t care. She told me to pour, and that she’d tell me when to stop. So I did, and she did. It was simple, no measuring cups, no unneeded steps involved, just pour, then stop when it feels right. It rather surprised me how much aversion I had to her simple steps. I wanted to know: 1/2 milk 1/2 eggs? Or was it 3/4 eggs and 1/4 milk? What the ratio damnit! It’s all part of a bigger picture, part of something inherent in my being. It’s the fact that I’m a guy. I want the damn numbers, give me a number, and tell me what you think and why you think it, none of this “feeling” crap. Another girl at a different time told me that she thinks I would be a waste if I didn’t take art classes, or something non-technical, she didn’t want me to end up as “just another sad engineer.” What’s wrong with being an engineer? Because numbers are only part of life, they are the non-living part, and it scares me greatly that I’m not used to living without them.