Nuttier than squirrel poo.

I had class again on Thursday morning. It was much more... normal, I guess. I purchased a recorder for two reasons, first, if this crazy professor of mine comes out with any other gems of psychosis, I want to have it on record, and second, it's good for studying to have the lectures at my fingertips. You know, I need a good nickname for this professor. Toto. Yes. Professor Toto.

Anyway, I recorded lecture (with permission, mind you), and it was disappointingly uneventful. As people got up to go, I switched my machine off. It was only AFTER I switched it off that we were informed the squirrels of the DC metro area were starving this winter because of a dearth of acorns resulting from unfavorable weather. Collectively, the class blinked. Apparently, Dr. Toto's neighbor was leaving food out for the squirrels, Dr. Toto had amassed hundreds of energy bars from the myraid of races completed over the years, and were these energy bars safe for squirrel consumption?

The class blinked again.

I said, "Eh, old Powerbars, methadone, what's the difference?"

Dr. Toto looked askance at me.

"Oh, you know, a few years back people got in trouble for feeding their methadone to the squirrels in the city."

Dr. T. said, "What?!?! ...Oh, you're from NY." Dismissing wave of the hand.

"Yes. And so are you."

"Well. Still. I may put food out for my squirrels. I don't want them to starve to death!"

Dr. T. is indeed, as the phrase goes, nuttier than squirrel poo. Certainly this winter's squirrel poo, at any rate. To quote Sex and the City, squirrels are just rats in cuter outfits. I have this image in my head of the crazies I used to see in the Bronx and Washington Sq. Park in Manhattan proper feeding the local wildlife. (Local wildlife that could in many cases open a shock-cord tied metal garbage can in less time than it'll take you to say "fuggeddaboudit" even though they lack opposable thumbs.) Prof. Toto is 3 showers, 8 secondhand grubby shawls, and one metal shopping cart away from being one of them. I say the DC area squirrels need to *ahem* grow some NUTS. HAHAHAHAH.

And isn't the UK having a problem with too many grey squirrels outcompeting their native red squirrels for food and resources? Why not ship them to Prof. T's backyard?

Guilty pleasure.

I never was a Goth chick.  

I did manage to spend a good deal of high school stomping around with all my hair chopped off in army surplus pants and wife beaters.  On other days, I never bothered to get dressed or take care of my hair, or occasionally, I deigned to put on a pair of jeans and a sweater.  But occasionally.  Very occasionally.  

It was a rebellion against all the perfect girls who wore Juicy Couture and very expensive jeans and shoes and had the perfect hair.  My hair was never perfect.  I couldn't be perfect.  I wasn't allowed to have preferences in clothes either, because we couldn't afford to.  ...Or my parents were worried I'd turn into a total priss.  This fear of theirs lasted until I chopped off my hair and stopped wearing women's clothes.  My mom told me I was dressing like a lesbian, at which point I informed her so was she.  To her credit, she didn't get angry.  Instead she discovered Kohl's, which works for her because she's 5'8" and older.  It didn't work for me because at the time I was 5'10" and no bargain priced clothes ever fit you in you're a girl and really tall.  

But in the interim between high school cluelessness and my college education, I figured some things out for myself.  The surprise was that I never got into Goth or new Victorian.  Not only because I wasn't one of the cool kids, but it surprised me in retrospect because I loved The Secret Garden when I was little.  And when Jane Eyre was forced upon us sophomore year in high school, I fell madly in love with that story too.  The idea of large, old, buildings, with meandering passageways and ridiculous intricate details at every turn was fascinating.  The idea of secrets - family mysteries, hidden passages, and false walls/doors/drawers/etc. - was captivating.  What could lie behind the distracting bulwark of curliques, woodworking, brooches, and overgrown rose bushes?  

And this has continued into my neophyte adulthood, when I became embarrassingly obsessed with Harry Potter.  I think it's got to do with discovery and discernment (so maybe it's good I chose scientific research, no?).  All the magic, the juxtaposition of real and fanciful, modern and archaic, and logic and willpower.  Something like that.  

So when I read about this new steam punk thing, I was like, "DUUUUDE."  And I love it, especially the computers some crazy person modified to look like wood and inlay and tubes and piping.  I've seen the countless brooches, earrings, necklaces, cuffs, and other baubles people have made from watch parts, gears, and pins.  They're all quite beautiful, but so few of them work, and that's what really fascinates me, the ones that look like some odd gadget but really do something, like tell time, allow me to check my email, or let me teleport through space at the turn of a gear.  I'd never do myself up like some of the more hardcore steam punk types.  I feel like I'm a little too old for all that characterized dressing.  

But I am a little sad that I missed my 14 yr old window to be a crazy person... I'll just have to wait until I'm 60 to wear spats, I guess.  

Urgh.

I am taking The Very Last Class I Ever Have To Take. This would normally be cause for celebration, and truthfully, I try to remember it whenever I'm feeling particularly resentful. But today, the first lecture, reminded me why I hate my department so very, very much and why, if I ever do graduate it will be an accomplishment ten times over because I have stacked my committee against me in an astronomical way. One of my committee members is teaching this class.

First of all, not the worst of personal information, but personal enough information was disclosed by said instructor about a student who was present in front of the whole class. The student respectfully said that it was inappropriate, they did not appreciate it, and they left the room. Then the instructor babbled on for a while after they left justifying their (I don't want to disclose gender) actions. I hope the student files a complaint.

Then they're going on about this textbook that is allegedly "fun to read." Just so much FUN. I'm thinking of what I classify as a fun read, and it ain't a mathematically focused text on statistical thermodynamics, that's for sure. And then they went on about this impossible program we're going to have to use to graph HW problems and how we won't be able to use anything else. Oh, and they won't lend out the cd with the program on it because they feel guilty about sharing it when they only bought 4 copies, and it's only available on the chemistry computer lab computers, which is useless if you have labwork to do during the day. And at night? Well, you're just going to have to stay at school where people get mugged, robbed, and sexually assaulted, assuming the computer lab doesn't just close.

Why not just tell us we have to write all our assignments in ancient Greek to really tie our hands?

But all that aside, we had a mini lecture, too. During that lecture, we saw figures from a paper dealing with a new antibiotic. It showed the antibiotic's activity on wild type bacteria, which have pumps that pump out harmful substances from the cell, which is partially how bacteria can be resistant to various drugs. I noticed they tested bacteria lacking the pumps, and I asked why they even bothered if they were concerned with antibiotic efficacy in wild types, because that's what people would be infected with, anyway. It was made clear that my question was not welcome. The fact that I even had my hand up was obviously a surprise. I got a bullshit answer. The fact that it was obviously bullshit made me very pleased with myself.

I plan on asking every question I can think of in the same spirit of how this individual treated me during my candidacy exam (which was miserably, bordering on inhuman).

In 1.25 hours, I have accumulated so much stress. I see this person standing up there, lecturing us, obviously smart, but so wacked out of their mind. Where do they come from, the people like this? How do they manage to have relationships with other individuals and procreate? Why aren't they weeded out of the gene pool simply because no one can stand them long enough to have sex with them? (Apparently they can stand them long enough to have sex with them... at least once, at any rate.)

No wonder I gained 15 pounds in this shit hole. But the upshot is I really value my boss in light of who I could be working for. I'm aware enough to recognize that even though my second favorite committee member is occasionally brusque and rude, this person ultimately means well and I've earned their respect by being bright, questioning the right things, and performing well. So, no matter hwo much I hate my current instructor and wish they'd just disappear into the ether, I know they won't. I will have to deal with this twice a week at 8 AM. It will suck like nothing else, but it's the only way out.

Knees and toes, knees and toes

I'm sitting at the table in the part of my lab where we have a microwave, a fridge/freezer for harmless buffers and lunches, and not one but two coffee machines on a counter where we unofficially take turns leaving cookies and other treats for everyone in the lab.  Why am I sitting here and not at my desk?  Because my desk is less than 3 feet from the wall, the labbench is practically behind my head, and I can't sit there for long comfortably.  

I can't stretch out my legs at my desk.  I didn't realize how much stretching my legs out plays into my ability to think properly.  This is another good reason for me to not wear skirts.  I hate having to keep my legs crossed/together when I'm preoccupied with something other than sparkling conversation, drink, and food.  

Actually, when I took the electronic GRE's (entrance exams for graduate school), I stretched out my legs and kicked the surge protector plug out of the wall.  The computer promptly shut off, so did my heart, and I had an internal silent meltdown/panic attack/stroke/apoplectic fit.  A long story short, everything worked out; they were able to get my exam back, I was able to finish it, and the rest, as they say, is history but I had a few really terrifying minutes there.  

All because I had to stretch out my legs.  

If I was really good, I'd figure out a way to sue the school for non-ergonomically correct practices...

You stay classy, America!

Can I just say, I was very impressed with Obama's speech, comportment, and the whole thing.  He could have taken the snarky route (I would have expected that from John Kerry), but he didn't.  He gave the political version of coach-speak.

What do I mean by that?  I mean the usual, "We're going to give it 150%.  We're going to stick to the fundamentals, play our own game, and we're going to move the ball/puck down the court/field/arena.  The more goals/baskets we get, the better.  We'll play a tight defense, try not to let anything past us, and stick to what we know best, etc."  Kind of like that, just with politics.

Anyway, it was good.  Including everyone - Christians, Jews, Muslims, Hindus, and nonbelievers - was totally excellent.  Obviously, the whole thing is based in the Christian religion (perhaps another reason why we'll never live to see a Jewish president), but acknowledging that everyone of all faiths is responsible for the country was a very good touch.  Kind of a "this may not be what I personally believe, but that's no reason for me to disregard your contributions."  Spot on!  

Oh, and I particularly liked the bit about science.  It's definitely something to look forward to, this having a president who believes in science.  There are things of which I'm skeptical.  I do wonder how he'll handle things like Iraq, where an immediate sudden withdrawal of troops will absolutely not work, but having this uneducated view of the Iraqi people and refusing to learn about their cultural psychology, customs, or traditions has gotten absolutely ridiculous.  And the tax reform.  I wonder how he's going to do it, now that those upper tier tax brackets Obama wanted to tax the pants off of have been decimated by the financial crisis.  

Oh, and the benediction?  I chuckled at the rhymed ending, didn't really get it, but then I read this excellent and explanatory posting about the origins of the verse.  And I thought, ok, different generation, different perspective, and it made sense why Rev. Lowery said what he said.  Racist?  No, not really.  Grinding into the dirt a nasty rhyme from a different time?  Yeah, much more likely.  

And just so everyone knows, the Chief Justice messed up the oath of office - or as Senator Diane Feinstein said, the "oaf" of office - in his placement of the word "faithfully."  Not Obama's fault.  You can check me on that.  Props to Obama for waiting for the CJ to get it right and smiling.

You know, speaking of verbal gaffs, everyone hates Bush now.  I think he'll be remembered in history as having a bit more going for him.  People have seemed to forget he is responsible for the lack of any follow-up attacks by any terrorist organizations, likely helped in part by this ruling stating that wiretapping by gov't is indeed legal in cases where people are suspected spies.  Anyway, read the article.  Of course there are openings for abuse by those in power, but I have a feeling it's done more good than harm, given the absence of new 9/11's.  

Ok, that's the end of the political stuff for now.  

On to fashion!  First of all, can I just say that I LOVED Aretha-Queen-of-Soul Franklin's hat?  So old school, so badass, and so glamorously classy.  And has anyone else besides me notice that no matter what the new first lady is wearing, HER SHOES NEVER MAKE HER TALLER THAN OBAMA??!?!  Hahahahahah!!!  I'm about the same height as Mrs. Obama (techinically a fraction of an inch taller), and check out her footwear!  Never more than 2-inch heals so she's never taller than her man!  I know that game... But she looks sharp.  I like her style.  Very Washington, DC acceptable, but excellent choice in colors and designers.  Seriously, unless you have some tint to your skin, that dress color will make you look like hell.  Mrs. Obama, if you ever manage to work ONE Roberto Cavalli piece into some public ensemble, I will be so impressed.  

In the meantime, if anyone spots her in higher heels, please alert me.  I will eat it up.

MLK, Inauguration

These next two days are seriously Black Power days.  Today is MLK day, and my university is more closed than it's been due to winter break.  Tomorrow is the inauguration, and I will be damned if I am going anywhere by car or public transportation.  

Aside from America being supposedly "done" with outwards racism (which we know is total bullshit), and our decades-long period of collective white guilt being over, its an excuse for DC to throw a party.  You know, I never felt guilty about being white for several reasons.  Number one, my people weren't deemed "white" enough for the Nazis or the KKK.  Number two, more than 50% of my relatives were trying to evade people who actively were trying to exterminate then in Poland and Russia during slavery and the decades after.  Number three, over 75% of my family was killed off during the Holocaust for being Jews.  At least the slaves were deemed more useful alive than dead.  Number four, many of my family members were turned away from universities because of the "Jew quota."  The universities decided there were too many Jews graduating.  Despite this, several of them got in anyway because they were just THAT badass.  Then there were the kids in the playground who I beat the shit out of for calling me a dirty Jew or a kike.  

Long story short - too late - I never felt guilty for being white or privileged because we've worked our asses off for every stupid little thing we've ever wanted - like that whole staying alive thing.  But the upshot to it all is that I really get why American blacks are so tickled by Obama's presidency.  He's one of their own.  And they should be as happy as they are because it's essentially a guarantee that the man in charge will not do anything to specifically hurt them.  For a group that's been persecuted and held down for no reason other than their skins' melanin content, they absolutely should be celebrating.  

That being said, the Jews have been in the US longer than African Americans, and we haven't had a Jewish president.  I'm not sure if that's because of the constant anti-Semitic buzz that's emitted worldwide from any number of countries - developed, developing, or otherwise - or because the Jews are smart enough to say, "Oh, hells no.  Why would I bother with that shitty job?"  

It would be interesting to have a Jewish president.  Not in terms of religious solidarity, but more in terms of philosophy.  The reason I say this is that Judaism is possibly one of only two religions that does not condone dying in the name of religion - there are no Jewish martyrs - or killing others again in the name of religion - there is no jihad or any loopholes for a "crusade."  Also, it dictates that if you can save your own life and/or the lives of your family by pretending to not be Jewish, you should do so.  There's an incredibly high value placed on human life, more so than any other religion out there.  The fallback Jewish toast is l'chaim, or "to life."  Also, it holds questioning even the most erudite of Jewish scholars by the most uneducated person as perfectly acceptable.  Funny story about this; there are strict sects of Judaism that do not allow women to become rabbis, but the Reform movement is more accepting.  When they first allowed a woman to become a rabbi, the leaders of the more strict sects said a woman belongs in that job like an orange belongs on a Passover Seder plate.   (There's no orange on a Seder plate.)  So people started putting oranges on Seder plates to thumb their noses at the establishment.  My point is along with a very high value on life, there's also a very high value on thinking, questioning, and arguing.  To achieve the end of built-in curiosity, there's ritualized questioning in the Passover celebration, to be done traditionally by the youngest member of the family.  The last point I want to make is it's the only Judeo-Christian religion that sees sex as an unequivocally good thing.  There is even a small by-the-way that states that even sex out of wedlock is ok in the presence of true love.  I've always been impressed by that, personally.  There are more reasons why I think it would be healthy for the nation to have a leader that identifies with Jewish philosophy, but those are my personal top three: high value on life, learning, and humanity.

Judging by the way the reporting for the most recent Arab-Israeli conflict is panning out, I tend to believe the lack of a Jewish president or VP is a result of anti-Semitism.  Why have so few Israeli civilians been killed?  Because the government encourages building bomb shelters and making sure every civilian has a gas mask. I have pictures of my aunt, grandfather, and cousins sitting in their bomb shelter in their pajamas all wearing gas masks because the air raid sirens went off in the middle of the night.  The Israeli army doesn't set up missile/mortar launching sites adjacent to hospitals or schools, which is unfortunately what Hamas does.  It's really quite awful.  If you're a reporter, are you going to report a functional government taking care of its people in the face of explosives falling from the sky?  Of course not.  You're going to go to the wretched masses moaning in the streets, whose government uses them as pawns to achieve their end of destroying Israel.  The human-interest stories sell.

And it kills me, reading these articles that focus on "What's wrong with the Israelis?  Only eight missiles fell today!  Why don't they stop shooting?  They're so belligerent."  I love it.  Only eight.  Can you imagine the US' reaction if even one missile made its way from Canada and landed in NYC?  Never mind our government, how would you react if even one missile hit your town?  Would you want the government to sit by passively, or would you want them to step up, fight back, and make it stop?  

It's funny.  The Arabs and the Jews were totally cool with each other before England came in and fucked it up.  The Brits promised the world to both groups, couldn't deliver, washed their hands of it all, and left, leaving the dirty brown desert people to fight it out amongst themselves.  And so it rages on.  I think the world is scared of Israel.  It's populated primarily by one of the most hated-on groups in the world (the Jews) who have been the victims of attempted genocide since the beginning of their existence.  Everyone's ok with it, everyone likes the Jews, as long as they're the short, scrawny, glasses-wearing kid with the big nose, who the all-American nice guy can protect to score points with the hot chicks in the schoolyard in return for the answers to last night's algebra homework.  

But while no one was looking, the Israelis got stronger.  They ordered fighter jets from the US, sure, but they requested them with their own modifications, and pretty soon the US was buying from the Israelis.  You know that kid?  The really nice little one who was stuffed into the lockers freshman year in high school?  Over the summer he got bigger and stronger, and the same bully tried the same shit.  The bully had his teeth knocked out and his nose broken first day of school.  Ultimately, I think this is why people are afraid of/hate Israel.  They know schoolyard politics, which is the same as world politics just with suits.  But I get the feeling we're not so keen as a nation on Israel anymore because the country is getting too strong, too smart, and too adept at handling its own self-defense.  Hence, we have to hate someone, and seeing as hating melanin-rich people is out, anti-Semitism is - literally and figuratively - the new black.

Well, there's going to be a hell of a time in DC tomorrow.  And I hope African Americans really party it up because they should.  Obama as a leader... well, truth be told I don't think he's as awful as the right says, and I don't think he's as great as the left says.  I don't agree with his socialist leanings and I'm not looking forward to getting swamped with taxes once I get a real job, but I think it's time we had someone other than a good ol' boy who doesn't believe in science as president.  Time will tell.

Musicality

So I highly recommend Anthony Hamilton's album "Soulife" for hot and heavy make-out sessions.  It goes really well with wine, dim lights, and evenings.

Walk for a... what?

You know what pisses me off slightly every time I hear it? These commercials of people talking about how they're Walking To Find A Cure for a given disease. Really? Walking to find a cure? Do they expect to find it sitting at the finish line?

Why don't they have "study to find a cure," as in do well in biology, chemistry, and biochemistry so then you can be a research scientist and actually do something tangible, direct, and real to "cure" the disease du jour?

But you know, it is so freakin' UNCOOL to be a scientist, whereas donning a stupid ribbon, hustling your friends and family for money, and then proceeding to walk in circles is totally the rage. First of all, unless you're an Olympic track star, getting someone to pay you to walk in circles and get nowhere is a ridiculous concept in and of itself. If it were modified, and say, we got a health insurance premium deduction for going to a gym regularly, it would be ok. But begging people for a few bucks so you can walk in circles? Sorry, no.

There are times, and this is one of them, when I start to think that some totally hot scientists need to do a scantily clad/nude spread in Esquire, or some other stupid rag, party like rock stars, and jazz it up so that we get some attention. Or someone should write a television show about the ups and downs of research science, and use grad school/research science as a setting for more sex, drugs, drama, and crazy shit. Sound familiar? Oh right, that's what Law and Order, Scrubs, House, Nip/Tuck, etc. do for other formerly geeky professions. It'll make science cooler, more people will do it, and then there will be more scientists in America, and we'll lead the world in scientific innovation. The current issue is all the scientists are coming here to get educated, and then taking their education back to wherever they're from. America has innovation out the wazoo, but we're seriously lazy entitled fucks who can't be bothered to live life without the television telling us what to do.

But this whole feeling good by not doing anything real about it - Walking To Help Find A Cure - strikes me as kind of bullshit. It's like... why not just skip the walking and those bloody stupid ribbons, donate some money, and get on with your life? Tutor some kid in science, or whatever gratis. That'll go farther.

I have no idea why, but these group feel-good sessions make me want to vomit. Maybe it's just because those of us in the trenches, like graduate students *ahem*, research scientists, and professors, as odd as some of us are, we're the ones doing the real work and we get absolutely zero glory, credit, or hot groupies giving us oral sex.

Lyrics of the moment.

These are currently my favorite lyrics:

"...So crack a bottle, let your body waddle

Don't act like a snobby model

You just hit the lotto..."

From some Eminem song.  No idea what it's called.  

Concrete Bunkers

I work in one.  A concrete bunker, that is.  My lab, along with being located in a really shitty part of Maryland, has no windows.  Initially, it seemed like a good thing; not being able to see out into the shit, but I've decided it sucks.  Part of it is that my desk is too small for me.  I can't stretch my legs out.  If I back my chair up so I can, I'm in everyone's way because then I have my back against the lab bench.  Usually it doesn't matter, but if I'm sitting there writing which is what I've been doing for the last two days, I can't even look up and see out the window, or down the hall, or even across the lab.  I stare at concrete barely 3 feet in front of my face.  

Like I said, it sucks.  

So I took myself to the student union in hopes of scoring a nice cup of hot tea and installing myself in the coffee shop, which has huge windows and good-sized tables.  No dice.  Why?  Because in typical fashion, the university has closed its most useful parts (like the coffee shop), leaving the shittiest bits open (like McDonald's, Chik-Fil-A (or whatever that revolting place calls itself), Steak-Escape, etc.).  But I managed to find a chair, table, and I'm pretty comfortable.  

Now, I have a question for any writer types who read this rag.  What do you do when you get all installed in a coffee shop or whatever, you've got your tea/coffee beverage of choice, the computer is open, you're ready to go, and all of a sudden, you have to go to the bathroom?  Seriously, do you gather your accoutrements, put your coat back on, shove your hat, scarf, and gloves into your bag, take your drink, and awkwardly lurch into the bathroom, dropping something that you'd rather never touch the floor of anywhere but your apartment?  Or do you just develop an oversized bladder/colon?  Or do you turn to the least skeezy looking person in a 4 foot radius and ask them to watch your stuff, hastily stuffing your wallet into your pocket in case their respectable appearance is a front for robbing broke student types in coffee shops?  

Questions for the ages, people...

Back to school, back to school...

Vacation was over this Monday. I am writing a paper so I can get published and be all cool like that. And by cool, I mean totally the opposite. Actually, I got back to lab, and after the niceties of "How was your holiday?" were exchanged between my PI (principle investigator, academic science equivalent of "boss") and I, he asked how I did in the class I took.

I took this class taught by one of my committee members (my second favorite committee member besides my actual boss) who is as bizarre as they come but slightly less bizarre and downright nasty when compared to my other committee members. Towards the end, I got caught up in the insane quantities of grading of the class I TA'd for said boss, and I ended up turning in 6 out of the 10 HW assignments I had to do 1-2 days before the final. Somehow - I don't know how - I managed to hold 'abject terror and anxiety' at bay, only briefly succumbing at times to 'low-grade panic.' That's roughly the difference between a red terror alert (where we're supposed to carry at all times pitchforks and torches, or gasmasks and baseball bats, or garlic and crosses, I forget exactly what) and a green terror alert (which involves subtley eyeballing anyone on the subway carrying a bag of any kind or wearing a coat who isn't an obvious shade of white).

Anyway, my PI asked me about how I did. I told him the truth. "I.... didn't look. ... Yet! I didn't look yet." He starts chuckling. "I was on vacation! I didn't think about it! I was relaxing!" I get a full out laugh, then he suggests I check sometime soon. Turns out I got an A. Haven't told him yet, but yeah. An A!

Seriously, I think he keeps me on as his student for the entertainment value. The way I see it, if I don't get a piece of paper from the university telling me I'm either on academic probation or my career as a grad student is over, that's fine with me, and I don't give a shit. Biochemistry is particularly draconian. If you get below a B in any class, you're on academic probation. There is no averaging your GPA, and if you slip up again, you're out of the program.

So, everything is back to normal. I managed to get myself a parking space for this upcoming semester that's closer than a 10-minute walk to my building, which will hopefully make the 8 AM class I need to take a tiny bit easier. At least there's less of a bleary-eyed stagger between my car and the classroom, which means there's less of a chance of me spilling precious drops of the inevitable mug of coffee. Happily, though, my 8 AM class does not interfere with 50% off bottles of wine night at one of my favorite bars. Hellz to the yeah, people.

Oh! And my insurance goes down by $200 because I've turned 25 this upcoming pay period! Huzzah! And there are Saturday morning fencing practices at the club, followed by lunch and drinking, so really, everything is quite nice.

My Mom

My mom is silly.  I spent Chanukah at my parents' house in NY, and over the phone last night, my mom was like, "There's one picture of you where your face looks really bony.... are you all right?"

I then asked her if my face looked excessively bony at any other points during my stay, and she balked, "Well... no..."  

I then posited the possibility that it was the lighting and angle.  "Well... yes..."  

This is also the same woman who thought Danny looked skinny, and I should take charge and feed him more.  The only change in him since we started dating?  He now wears pants that fit his body.  

Be-All End-All Cholesterol

So, the NY Times recently put out a very interesting article.  It deals with people who get a diagnosis of a serious life-threatening disease and suddenly become uber-athletes because using their bodies makes them feel like they're doing something, anything, that may give them a few more years alive, or at least makes them feel like they're getting something out of the time they have.  

The individuals profiled include a diabetic, someone with brain cancer, a breast cancer survivor who hardly exercised a day in her life, and someone who was a regular in his hospital for recurrent cardiac issues.  And they all reached the conclusion of "hell, I have this body... it's not always going to be here... might as well make the most of it!"  

Don't you think we should strive to arrive at this conclusion a tad before we're right about to kick it?  I mean, it's commendable to reach it at all, but, well, I think people can do better than that. 

Ever since I was old enough to register these things, my dad was on cholesterol and blood pressure meds.  He's 6'2", 180 lbs at his heaviest, and eats like an Israeli - tons of veggies and fruits, olive oil, lean meats, etc.  There's no explanation except genetics.  That's it.  He could get more exercise, but he walks at least a little bit every day.  I always was and continue to be his mini-me.  I look like him, I act like him, I like the same foods as him, etc.  There's a pretty good chance that along with having exactly identically shaped feet, we also have identical genes for blood pressure and cholesterol management.  The former has given me textbook perfect gait as analyzed by running specialists, and the latter will likely put me on cholesterol and blood pressure meds by 30 or 35.  

That's how it is.  There's also a nice cocktail of colon cancer, stroke, and diabetes on both sides of my family, so there's that as well.  My relatives die in their 80's, but still.

In high school, I remember thinking, "Well, there's no way out of all that... I might as well give my body the best fighting chance to avoid all this crap for as long as possible."  I was 5'9" and barely 120 pounds at that point, and it never entered my head that because I was skinny, I was home-free from all this health stuff.  I had a biology teacher in high school who lost his father when he was 17 to a heart attack because he had uncontrollably high cholesterol.  My teacher was slim and ate well, but he had the same thing.  He was treating it with meds, diet, and exercise because he didn't want his son to suffer the same tragedy.  

It's very foreign to me, this absolute idea of skinny = healthy.  Skinny = a higher chance of being healthier longer, but there's nothing absolute about it.  And, you know, anyone might keel over at any point, or get a diagnosis of cancer, or some equally tragic thing, but I've always found it easier to be able to do the best I can so if that's ever me, I can say, "Hey, I gave it my best shot, and imagine how bad it might have been if I didn't try at all."  

So, there's all that heavy shit.  But it's infinitely easier to deal with if you sit down and really give it some thought.  And science and nature aren't perfect, either, so we're equipped to deal with moderate assaults.  Civilizations have been imbibing alcohol, getting sick, and eating weird things for thousands of years, yet we manage to reproduce and live.  Instead of using lead as a sweetener or bloodletting, we have aspartame and Botox.  We're a pretty silly bunch of animals, that's for sure.

(To stick it to evolution and nature, what's with all the junk DNA?  There's all the retroviral DNA we've accumulated over the course of time for no apparent reason mixed in with our functional DNA.  We have SO MUCH junk DNA it's ridiculous.  The energy expenditure in replicating it all along with our functional DNA when cells divide is astronomical.  But we keep it.  It's there.  For some reason or another.  No one knows.  Nature and evolution are big nebulous terms we like to throw at things we don't understand.  (The difference between science and religion is science continues to poke at the misunderstanding and religion is content to let it lie.))

So, you know, all anyone can do is their best.  Nature is weird.  We're weird.  It's a total crapshoot, so absolutes never did work, they never do work, and I don't see them ever working in the foreseeable future.  

I'm going to the gym.

Who wants to leap buildings in a single bound?

Oooh!  Me!  I do!

So, I'm going to start doing some of these exercises I found on my friend's blog.  (I also take fencing lessons from him.)  Because I would love to leap buildings in a single bound, it stands to reason that I want legs like a US Olympic fencer.  Tim Morehouse is featured here.   

Check it, yo.

Video 1

Video 2 

Video 3

Video 4

Stretching

There are two things that may happen when I try this.  I will either bust the crap out of my quads and hamstrings, or I will grow massive giant leg muscles.  Because, like, dude!  Olympic-level personal training!  In the public domain!  That I can manipulate to fit my strength!  

Is it ridiculous that I get really happy when I see things like this?  

The cold harsh reality...

The cold harsh reality of the Population Council phone call wasn't as cold and harsh as I anticipated.  It wasn't as rosy and wonderful as I hoped, either.  Instead, it was Reality, which tends to exist somewhere in the middle.  I was informed that my idea is indeed interesting, and if contraceptive biology is a field I'm really interested in, I should keep in touch and call them when I'm ready to graduate!  

Which is certainly positive!  The guy I spoke to was very impressed with my blind emailing at the very least.  Being a persistent-borderline-annoying individual pays off, people!  

Then I went to Macy's and got a really long nice sweater for $20.00.  Speaking of Macy's, I tried on some DKNY.... who is able to wear DKNY?  Does anyone who reads this wear that?  Because I want to know what kind of body you have.  Donna Karan always looks great on the hanger and then when I try it on, I'm left thinking "w....t.....f....."  I'm sure it looks fabulous on someone, and I want to know who, exactly.  

After that, I went to fencing, and I thoroughly enjoyed my lesson.  A good unproductively productive day.  :)  

I am a rattling mess of crazy.

So, I have this idea for an alternative form of birth control.  No, seriously.  It's nonhormonal, nonsurgical, reversible, and relatively long term.  And... it targets the male.  Hahahah.  Actually, I stumbled across some papers my first year of graduate school from some old research done in the 70's and it all looks so cool, easy, and side-effect free.  I'm completely aware that last point may be moot after a few years of research, but thus far, it appears to be non-teratogenic (meaning it doesn't induce mutations in DNA) and serum levels of testosterone appear to remain normal.  

Serum testosterone levels remaining normal is a huge stumbling block with other male-target contraceptives.  Knock the serum testosterone too low for sperm production, and all of a sudden men experience a huge drop in sex drive, they gain weight, sprout manboobs, they get tired, and the clinical trial is dropped.  

But my thing seems to avoid this!  

Hence I bullshitted and talked my way into the Population Council, part of Rockefeller University (which is the be-all end-all place for biomedical research; I'd rather be there than Harvard any day of the year) via blind emails and telephone calls.  They were my one yes in an infinite sea of snubs, outright no's, and people ignoring me.  

Everyone is interested, but no one has the money.  Everyone, from professors to tech startup people at my university says this has great potential and I should start working on it NOW, but no one has the dough.  Typical.  

So I sat quietly for a year, and then I met the head of the NSF (National Science Foundation) who is the big shot of all the big shots for science research money.  I walked up to her, asked her outright "What should I do?", she waved her magic wand, and fairies wearing lab coats and goggles appeared, and handed me a slip of paper with an email, which as it turned out, went right back to the Population Council.  They whispered in my ear to drop her name.  Two more people later, and I got an email this morning from someone offering their cell phone number and saying I should call them!

My first reaction:  FUCK.

Second reaction:  FUUUUUCK.  Maybe if I don't call this will all disappear.  Oh shit.  A person.

Third reaction:  WHY THE HELL DO I WANT THIS TO DISAPPEAR?!?!!  I WORKED MY ASS OFF FOR THIS PHONE NUMBER!  Oh no.  I'm turning into a scienstist.  Hells no.  I'm calling.

Fourth reaction: Fuck fuck fuck.  Where are ALL MY PAPERS?!!?!?!?!    Fuck!

Then I ransacked my drawers and muttered fuck to myself some more.  When I found all my papers and copies of patents, a brief triumphant lightening bolt pierced the panic and excitement because HAH, never throwing anything away JUST PAID OFF.  Then I spread everything out on the kitchen table, promptly knocked Danny's apparently full cup of cold revolting espresso from this morning all over the chair, said fuck a few more times for good measure, and took a few deep breaths.  My phone call went to VOICEMAIL.  

The harsh cold reality will probably be more deflections and turning me away to go work somewhere else.  If I realize this, then I can still hope that when the dude calls me back, he'll be like "Here's a job for you.  We love you, we love your ideas, and let us pay you tons of money to work on what you love while living where you love," and "I Believe in a Thing Called Love" by The Darkness plays in the background because cheesy power guitar riffs would rock at a moment like that.  

Argh.  The suspense is killing me.  I have to go out or else I'm going to explode in a million pieces, and that'll be an even bigger mess than the espresso.  I really, really, really want a position at the Population Council after I graduate.  They are right on the water in the 60's on the east side of Manhattan, and I really, REALLY want to do this project, especially if it takes me there.

Anthropo.... scientist?

I've never completely understood Anthropologie.  I say understood because I always feel like I'm missing something when I walk in there, because nothing appeals to me.  While I'm gawping like an idiot, brainy-looking, dark-rimmed-eye-glass wearing ladies with immaculately straight perfectly tousled pixie and short ironic librarian haircuts go hunting in the racks,  and I'm standing there thinking, "derrrrr...." in a monotone.

But there are some things that no matter how much explanation I got, I would never ever understand.  Like this amusing number.  It looks pretty cool at the get-go, but then you get to the hem.  It is buttoned wrong.  I don't care how smart Anthropologie shoppers look; your cardigan is off by a button.  

Why the hell would you want to look like a scientist??!?!  With your perfect specs and hair  and girlishly quirky tastes, WHY would you aspire to that level of peculiarity? 

...Maybe that's why it's on sale...?

Concert!

OMG!  One of my favorite bands EVER is going to come to the DC area at the end of March!  They got visas!  

Balkan Beat Box!  

I caught them live once completely by accident in the courtyard at the National Geographic building in DC.  It was a swampy humid DC evening, and Danny and I were wandering around.  I was busy biting my tongue as complaint after complaint over the lack of random bars in DC rose to my lips - "I mean, shit!  What do the people in all the stupid office buildings DO when they're done with work, and want to have a drink before dealing with the hell that is rush hour here?  Or what if they hate their spouses but believe in those 'Marriage works' billboards* and need to self-medicate?  This makes NO sense!  What about people like me who are walking around and want a nice, cold, refreshing glass of booze?  Fuck those newfangled flex fuel cars, I run on ethanol!  etc." - and suddenly, we saw the sign.  

And they were handing out free bottles of water.  Thanks, National Geographic!  

We found a space in the courtyard close to the stage, because damn my eardrums, I have to be close to the stage. I love being sweated on by hot sexy musician types.  When a medium sized crowd was assembled, BBB took the stage by way of a small parade through the crowd wearing masks and playing various percussion and reed instruments.  They warmed up the crowd, and then started to really jam.  Imagine Israeli, Palestinian, reggae, Balkan, and hiphop musical styles had an orgy, conceived a child, and emigrated to the lower east side in Manhattan.  Danny and I got down, because woo!  Jews with rhythm!  Music with an incredible beat!  And dirt and sex and soul and melody and grit!  Of course there were all the new-age world-music weirdos on the side who weren't bumping and grinding, but it was all their loss.  

Balkan Beat Box has possibly the WORST transition from live show to recording I have ever heard, but take my word for it; their shows are huge totally awesome dance parties because they have incredibly talented musicians.  It was funny, reading another blog entry today about music; how a reticence for purchasing unknown musical samplings may be symptomatic of something deeper.  For me, it was symptomatic of being broke and fearing retribution from the music industry as a result of illegal downloads, but now there's Ruckus.  Ruckus is only good if you're enrolled in a participating university (and it isn't compatible with macs!  fuck!), but it's something.  (I fully intend to download enough music during my time in grad school to offset my student fees, at the very least.)

But speaking of musical cautiousness, I have no idea how to get people besides Danny to come to the concert with me because I can't describe BBB music in a truncated fashion.  Actually, when I first got to grad school and I didn't know any better, I tried to get some of my contemporaries (colleagues?) to come to a Gogol Bordello concert with me.  They all glanced awkwardly at their feet and mumbled that Gogol Bordello was "too weird."  Whaaaaaaaat.  Tickets were $15 at the time.  I mean, $15 to go on a wild adventure and see something totally new and wacky and make friends and drink???  But then I learned, and the truth of it is I have very few friends period and absolutely none within my department.  And it all started with me happily broadcasting my musical tastes and the fact that I like things that are neither distinctly American mainstream nor American alternative.  Whoops.

Maybe having conservative musical taste means you don't make people uncomfortable...?  Who knows?  Either way, I will be gittin' down on March 31st to some crazyass music, and I will be sweaty, happy, and fulfilled.  :)

*There really are billboards here along some roads, I-95 included, that say "Marriage Works."  It's not as bad as the random bible quotes further south, but dude.  Dude.  I find it odd, hilarious, and sort of sad... why do they have to advertise?

Mah Car

Awhile back, my (big) little brother decided to be simultaneously gainfully employed and get bachelor's degrees in psychology and computer science.  He is my (big) little brother because the bugger decided to grow until he was 6 feet 3 inches tall.  I can no longer tackle him.  He can throw me over his shoulder.  It's a little embarrassing.  

But anyway, when he decided to do everything all at once to make sure he really liked working with computers, he wanted to live back with my parents.  Ok, they said.  But then they suddenly needed three cars because my mom teaches art, my dad fixes elevators, and now my bro needed to go to class and work.  I had been driving my parents' old car around Maryland, a gold 2000 Ford Taurus station wagon with a large dent in the passenger side door, a left sideview mirror that dangled from wires once every year or so (marine epoxy kept it more completely attached to the car the rest of the time), and a radio antenna that made a wretched groaning noise whenever it retracted.  And the front passenger seat had a stubborn seatbelt I referred to as my kidnapping seatbelt.  Very few people could undo it themselves.  I liked this car.  No one would EVER steal it, which is a legitimate concern when you go to school in a place where 4 Honda Civics were stolen/stripped for parts in a month while parked in campus parking lots.  

This was the Marauder Wagon II.  The Marauder Wagon I was a maroon Ford Taurus station wagon from 1987 with no hubcaps, automatic locks that couldn't be manually overridden because they had fallen into the door for no reason (maybe they were tired?), broken air conditioning, no parking brake, and the molding had fallen off in one place on the outside and one place on the inside.  Both Marauder Wagons were steal-proof.  Ford is not known for making cars that one can soup up and drag race on deserted highways.  

But when my brother needed a car, there was a good deal of hemming and hawing.  My mom drove her small pickup truck - along with teaching art, she also runs a gardening program at the school, my dad drove his Honda CRV, and I had the Marauder Wagon II.  My dad said, "I think it's time to get another car.  HungryGrad, would you like to get a new car with us, so we can get a sweet 2-fer deal?"  I said, "Let me think about it."

(Cue more hemming and hawing, on my part.)

I said, "Ok."  I had been sinking about 1-2k a year into repairs for the Marauder Wagon II, which were irritating me because they really add up.  Every time I saw my savings start to creep up, BAM.  Something else broke.  Like my starter motor.  Can't start the effing car without a starter motor, can you?  Nope.  And the ball joints.  Wouldn't it be nice if I was driving down the highway and my front wheels popped off the chassis?  Hells to the no.  They were all things like that, things you can't ignore by turning the radio louder and convincing yourself that just because you can no longer hear the odd noise over the gangsta rap it no longer exists.  

So, I got a Toyota Corolla.  Just like everyone else in the US.  It's dark grey, which is completely unexciting.  Toyota does some completely shitastic colors, and if anyone is a worthwhile candidate for a neon yellow/magenta/pumpkin orange/green and sparkly vehicle, it's me.  I rarely go more than the speed limit, so police have no interest in me.  Cruise control is my friend, and I like saving gas.  But Toyota is run by a bunch of morose stuffed shirts, apparently.  

But even though my car is grey, and it's just like everyone else's, I don't like having a car without a name.  I figured, hey, it'll come to me.  I'll figure something out.  Calling the last two cars I drove Marauders I and II was ironic and gave the cars an edge belying their soccermom-tastic chassis.  It made their dents and nonhubcapness badges of badassery, not signs of their eventual scrap metal destination.  

This is a bit of a crisis.  I don't know what to call my car!  Arrghhh!

Danny has a used Scion xB which we call The Bread Truck, or The Toaster, or The Car We Have Yet to Take Out of the Box.  But my car, my little grey car, I have no name for it.  

Maybe I'll call it Skeezix.  

Hmmm.

Organization! Organization! Sis-boom-bah!

In yet another hopeless attempt to become more organized, I am going to bring all rants that apply to graduate school, personal angst, my lack of anger management skills, and pretty much anything else besides food .... here.  

Despite this unnatural attempt at cyberspacial cleanliness, I assure any and all readers that the humongous pile of dirty, semidirty, and clean clothes remains to the side of my bed, and the bag stuffed full of junk mail with my personal information that I intend to shred/burn at some later date will continue to become more stuffed.  The bed of crumpled receipts, folded papers, emergency pads, and gum wrappers will remain in the bottom of all my bags.

Also, the clutter on my desk at work will likely not shift until I graduate, which is pretty funny considering I always had the second messiest desk in grade school.  It was a balancing act of supreme precision, achieving a relaxing level of crumpled papers without crossing the line into the dangerous territory of having the contents of your desk dumped out onto the floor in front of all your classmates by your teacher.  Old habits die hard.  

Actually, I was always kind of jealous of those girls who had the coordinated pencil cases, binders, folders, pens, pencils, scissors, etc.  We always had salvaged remains from the office buildings where my dad fixed elevators, and let me tell you, corporate America does NOT indulge in Lisa Frank or Hello Kitty office supplies, the heartless bastards.  And my brother and I weren't allowed to use permanent markers because of the fumes, and we were forbidden from doodling on the binders anyway, because if we messed them up, we wouldn't have any new things for the following year.  ...Not that they were new when we got them, or would they be any newer the next year, but ours was not to wonder why...

So, a long story short, I've always been terrible at organization.  I don't have a calender book, yet I somehow manage to remember everything despite terrible forgetfulness.  Imagine how smart I'd be if I actually wrote the stupid things down and freed up all that brainiacal hard drive.  Instead of starting there and doing something concrete that might actually change my life for the better, I'm starting here!  In cyberspace!  Doing something that neither benefits my current research nor my future!  

But it makes me happy, and it's better than nothing, no?