Eric "TI-87" Johnson

Last night my heart-rate reached realms that it should never reach without being aided by the gates of hell or the throes of passion. What is usually considered to be merely a can of Vanilla-Flavored Root Beer transmogrified before my eyes into a recipient filled with nothing other than hate for all that is good and electronic, by virtue of me tipping it over my laptop. My reaction to the spillage was much akin to that of a careless father hitting his child's head against the ceiling while throwing him in the air. I was scared, confused, guilt-ridden and somehow convinced that picking it up in the air, shaking it and speaking in a calming voice would make everything better. Diverging from the cracked-baby analogy I then proceeded to lay the laptop on a thin bed of rice and try to remember which god did the whole Apple Products thing. This rumination was short-lived, and I soon started wishing there was someone nearby who could help. I was in dire need of receiving advice, being "calmed the fuck down" or at least panicked-with in loud indoor-inappropriate voices. Eric Johnson has always been a prime candidate for delivering those three.

"Juan, what have you done and where is your living room."

I present to you the above picture, not so that you know what the namesake of God Guitarrist Eric Johnson looks like, but in hopes that, despite having been digitalized and resized, you are able to perceive what lies beyond that skull. It is not merely a brain, it is a receptacle for physics, used for the common good. As a token of proof to the positive externalities this Gandalf-The-White Mater bestows upon its surroundings, I would offer up the events that led to the collective passability of NYUAD Semester 2 Physics Final. The very memory shakes my being, as every electron in my body cowers in shame at having even their most intimate properties questioned and examined so fiercely. As you can assume from my previous post, I was braced for disaster.

However, there was hope. Using nothing but a pair of whiteboard markers, a study room with whiteboard walls and all the physics he could master, Eric was able to fashion a room affectionally referred to as Physics Mecca. Along the walls lied every principle of electromagnetism and relativity which we had learned throughout the semester, and we all undertook our pilgrimage to answer the long-debated question "fucking magnets, how do they work." The room - he - delivered.

To end the description here would already give you an idea to why I found him worthy of mention, yet somehow this man has found a way to incorporate an incredible music taste, saxophone virtuosity and the practice of "sporting," which is still a mystery to me, into his hypothetical Mad Person Resume. Though I've seen each of these or a combination thereof in many different people, he is outstanding because he does not hesitate to share, whether it is his knowledge, good humor, music or secret stash of bacon. Eric Johnson never says a commonplace thing, but burns, like redheads often do, from all that's contained in his head.

“People who don't Think probably don't have Brains;

rather, they have grey fluff that's blown into their heads by mistake.”
-Winnie the Pooh