goddamn new year

As I sit here on the cusp (appropriate term given this is indeed the pointed or barbed end of the year) of New Year's Weekend I am struck by the utter waste that has been 2005. I finally tucked in to an unpleasant lab job I've been avoiding (recreating a database lost when my lab hard drive crashed a couple of months ago) and to do it, I had to go through my lab notebook for the year. Seeing all that work, most of it unsuccessful, has been depressing as hell. There's little for me to celebrate this weekend -- as my family's been saying, it'll be good to see off 2005, and hope next year'll be better. But don't I feel this way every New Year's?

once bitten and twice shy

For two of the last four nights I have dreamt that my career as a graduate student was in jeopardy because I was a successful contestant in a reality show singing competion å la "Making the Band" or "American Idol". In both cases, I had made it to near the end of competition, but the stress of trying to get lab work done was preventing me from getting dance routines down and lyrics memorized, and I was on the verge of having to quit grad school in order to give myself the best shot at impressing the shadowy P. Diddy character running the show. In the first dream, there was a vignette my dreamself witnessed in which one of my labmates explained to Zena why I had not been in lab a lot recently, to which she responded, "Why does no one tell me these things?!?".

Last night I hostessed (?) my third lab Christmas party since moving to SF. Unlike past parties, this time I made just about the right amount of food, but grossly overestimated the amount of drink...I guess people are more responsible now, or are simply disinclined to get tipsy on mulled wine and schnapps-laden cocktails? As a result, I now have a ridiculous amount of alcohol in my place, complete with a liter of Grey Goose that is too big to shelter in any piece of furniture I own. I suppose I will have to have another party of hard-drinkers soon, lest I succumb to alcohol poisoning in an effort to decompress my liquor cabinet....

december tidings (a.k.a. rushed ramblings)

December is probably my most frustrating and exhilirating month of the year. I've got my birthday, my brother's and grandfather's birthdays, Christmas, New Year's, and this time, the meeting of the American Society of Cell Biology, my brother's graduation and mother's annual holiday shopping stay all in one month.

My birthday was lovely -- commencing with a great French dinner in Palo Alto with Hannah, I went ice skating at the Embarcadero Center (starting off with Chevy's margaritas doesn't hurt), went for Moroccan food at Aziza (fantastic "specialty cocktails"), did some shopping, and some very foolish people gave me some very nice gifts. Ever practical, the gift from my family was a new microwave.

My apartment is about 60% decorated for Christmas. The tree is nearly done but there are some lights yet to be put up...I love having my apartment filled with colored lights and candlelight and warm scents of nutmeg and pine.

Last night I would have done more decorating but after consuming pizza and pinot grigio at Zena's two-story suite at the Marriott, I ambled to my favorite scuzzy MUNI stop at 5th and Market, waiting for the #27. We let the first bus go by when one of the first passengers to board discovered a large pool of sticky blood at the back of the bus. Yum. I then got caught in a remarkable conversation with one of my stop-mates, a diminutive looks-older-than-she-is "half-Irish, half-Scotch" "forensics student" who bore a shopping bag with what appeared to be a stuffed whale inside, tongue lolling. I'd try to describe her further but I'm afraid it'd end up reading like a Zagat review, peppered with incredible phrases bounded by quotation marks. Suffice it to say, "Jenny" the "one-time rock n' roll singer" who "knows Keith Richards" but also "taught Anthropology" and now "can't keep a retail job" but finds ways to "travel to all the Ren Fairs" (I assume she means Renaissance?) kept me "enthralled" all the way to Sutter and Leavenworth. "We'll meet again, I'm sure."

Tonight I am very much looking forward to meeting up with Susy (it's been a year and a week, I'm afraid) for dinner. I was so surprised to get her email on my birthday that I accidentally swallowed my gum. Not only am I looking forward to catching up with her, but I can't wait to see how her Edwardian has shaped up in the last year.

a fine bouquet

I have long planned to publish my treatise on the wiles and wisdom of scotch, but that'll have to wait until I'm actually drinking scotch and posting at the same time. However, I thought I'd share a little revelation: if you happen to leave a little bit of scotch in your glass and leave it out overnight, the next day take a sniff at the sludge left behind. Seriously. It's fascinating...you'll smell the "notes" of the scotch. Mine had distinct smoke, chocolate, and what is probably best described as dirt odors. It was lovely; not that I'm not aware of these components while I'm drinking my favorite fine beverage, but freed from the warmth and luxuriousness of the liquid itself, it's easier to name them. I might just have to test several kinds of scotch to see if I can detect their differences....

if I had a million dollars...

...I would buy a whole lotta books.

While perambulating through Borders on Saturday evening, I was suddenly struck with a new understanding of why people spend hours reading in a bookstore rather than make a selection, purchase their tome, and read at home: they can't afford the price of books these days. There's much public grousing about the ever-rising cost of movies, but they're a bargain compared to a book. Even paperbacks are costlier than a movie ticket. Granted, if comparing satisfaction/minute/cost, clearly a book's a better deal. But for those of us that scramble through books like Wal-Mart shoppers at 5 a.m. on Black Friday, reading becomes an awfully costly enterprise.

of landfills and garage bands

Garage (not garbage) bands first: check out Chrisser's temporary band site for goodbye matt (yes, that's the name they chose). It may be operating sporadically as it's renovated, but stay tuned for more news from the funk-punk front.

Next, I'll pose a question that has been bothering me for quite some time. It resurfaced recently in conversation, so I'm writing it here now in case I'm on to something:
For the benefit of the environment, where should paper products used as facial tissue (may or may not be kleenex) go:
a) in the garbage?
b) down the toilet?
c) in the paper recycling bin?
What is the most environmentally sound option? If anyone has an idea, or knows to whom I could address this question of world-shaking import, please let me know.

jen and the art of scooter maintenance

Okay, so this is flirting with deteriorating into a scooter blog, but my Vino's the only thing working semi-reliably in my life right now! I find myself daydreaming about how to best keep my chrome clean of fingerprints and whether I should buy a rear basket or wait until the hard top cases are available...and I am looking forward to participating in the SF Scooter Girls' maintenance day which is now t.b.a....and I let out an undignified squeal last night when I found my scooter's license plate had arrived in the mail.

Though my little scooter's not worthy of the highway, I've been fantasizing about hitting the road for a little trip. The nice weather doesn't help, nor does Euan's recent perusal of my empty sketchbooks. This is obviously not the best time of year to go kiting off to lord-knows-where between school, holidays, and all the other stuff that seems to pile up at the end-of-year, but now's when I seem to need it most. Just pack a bag, and go. I know this a perfectly natural impulse, but it oddly becomes overwhelming in the late afternoon, about the time that most people go for a coffee. 'Round that time, my mind gets very restless (a very different kind than 'round midnight) and I contemplate where I might go. Drive north or south? Are there any discount plane tickets available? How many days could I be absent before anyone would notice?

comings and goings

Despite a recent conversation in the lab concerning faddishness of the blog phenomenon, I continue to post, in the hope that those of you who read this occasionally find occasional amusement. If this isn't the case, then for Pete's sake, people, go out and get a life. Or go do a Sudoku puzzle.

Sunday: Bryan and Dave took me for a great ride on my scooter. They got me all pumped up by watching a motorcycle track race, then we hit the road, going through Golden Gate Park, cruising through the Presidio, and then trailing down the Great Highway to end up at the Daly City DMV. It was a gorgeous clear day, and I felt foolishly queenly being escorted by two hot rods manned by PhDs. Ridiculous. But fun.



Later that night, I met up with ex-Regent now-lowly-grad student-but-fabulous Jodi at the Claremont for drinks and dinner. Jodi has such an effortless charm in such places; it's no wonder that she was conversing with an investment banker when I arrived (who bought her a glass of wine and plate of calamari) and when we left, we'd had some free shots and were receiving life advice in the form of family anecdotes from a "developer" who hinted at major connections with both the LA music industry and Bay Area sports. It was lovely to see Jodi and well worth the trip across the bay.

Monday: My first day as a scootercommuter went well. I bussed to UCSF in the a.m. and Bryan drove my scooter in, so I just had the trip home to manage, and I did it just fine. Dad IMed me some last-minute advice and I gave him a call after I made it into the garage. I then jumped in the car and waited about 75 minutes to get on the Bay Bridge -- fun fun -- so I could go to Stockton to hear Chrisser's yet-unnamed band. It was worth the trip. They are still a little raw, but there's definitely talent there, and it was entertaining to meet, finally, the rest of the crew. Stay tuned for samples of their music, and perhaps some band-naming. Anyway, I had plenty of music in my head to keep me awake for the long ride home.



Tuesday: Scootercommuted both ways! I don't know why my eyes tear up so much when I ride (no it's not fear or joy, though I do feel a little of both when I ride) but every time I ride, it's more and more comfortable. (BTW Dad called late to check up on me.) And fun. Speaking of which, I heard from Hannah, back from Korea and now in the south bay. We'll try to meet up this weekend, and I can't wait to see her.

Wednesday: Another successful ride to/from UCSF. Unfortunately, I won't be able to ride for the next two days as I have all-day meetings at UCOP in Oakland. I have also joined the San Francisco Scooter Girls, a club of fab scooter chicks that meet for scooter mentorship and drinks and rallies. Should be fun, and I look forward to receiving advice from some experienced riders. I ordered a jacket based on their recommendations today; can't wait to get it!

frabjous day

Day 2 on a scooter:

As I had only ridden a little around Golden Gate Park on Tuesday after Dave drove my scooter up from San Mateo, I thought today would be as good as any to get some more solid scooter experience. I drove Bryan home at 5 o'clock to pick up my scooter and off I went to seek adventure and lots of stopping on hills so I could feel more comfortable on the scooter before venturing home to Nob Hill. Here's today's path:



1. Left Bryan's at 42nd and Noriega and drove one block down to the gas station to fill 'er up. I think it cost me less than $2. When I went into the station office to ask for a receipt, the cashier gave me a very odd look, so I left.
2. Drove down to Lawton, where Bryan said I would encounter a fairly steep hill after crossing 19th Avenue. I got up the hill just fine (though I did smell my exhaust quite a bit) and wound my way down to Kirkham.
3. Drove up Kirkham to the back lot behind UCSF next to Health Sciences West. I called Heidi and saw Alana as she was going home, so I spoke to both of them a little bit. Heidi approved of the scooter's style.
4. Went back down the hill, turned onto 6th and called Fred -- of course he wanted me to come over. So I took 6th to Lincoln, then diverted onto Frederick, where I got to swerve around a large pickup truck that suddenly decided to parallel park. I turned onto Stanyan, and drove up to Fred and Janet's place on Fulton.
5. I visited with Janet and then Fred, who of course wanted to rev the engine. I tooled around the block once so he could get a look at the scooter in motion but had to pass him slowly because a car was stopped a little beyond his house. No wheelies.
6. I drove down to Fell, where while waiting for the light to change so I could turn right, a scooter behind me honked at me. I thought he might be being friendly, but then he went around me and the car in front of us to jet ahead to turn right. Oh well.
7. I took Fell onto Lincoln, where I learned I need to practice right turns some more -- it is difficult to right countersteer (press on right handlebar) while also engaging the throttle. I swung wide but stayed in my lane, at least.
8. Ever the thrill-seeker, I took Lincoln all the way down to Sunset, despite heavy traffic and road construction. I survived, and probably then hit my top speed thus far: 40 mph. I turned onto Sunset, crossing puddles and MUNI tracks on Judah (even my helmet got a little wet), then went back to Bryan's via Noriega.

All in all, I was both exhilerated and a little intimidated, but I feel much more comfortable on the scooter all ready. I will likely go on another practice session tomorrow, but I am already looking forward to my regular scooter commute! I was out for about 90 minutes today all told, so I think I'll be able to handle 20 minutes each way between home and school as long as I find a comfortable route.

curious night

Shortly after my last posting, I had an interesting evening. First, I received a call from my brother to tell me that our parents were in a car accident on I-80 on the way from Sacramento to the Cal football game. They weren't hurt, but the car sustained enough damage that Dad and the CHP officer helping him had a hard time figuring out how to get the car started again -- I guess hybrids have some sort of engine cut-off that happens in the event of an accident, but apparently they made it work and the car moved again. And kept on moving towards Berkeley, because lord knows you can't keep my family from a football game!

I rushed home from lab to change and then headed off for dinner with friends. I was the first to arrive (funny, that) and in the meantime got a call from a UC Davis campus newspaper reporter wanting me to comment on Davis' withdrawl from UCSA. Hm, hadn't heard that one! I gleefully forwarded the reporter on to the new UCSA president, and offered my apologies for not being able to offer her my comments, though I would have definitely have loved to do so. Oh, I do so not miss the drama. I really truly don't.

During the course of dinner I received a very great compliment, perhaps one of the best of my life, when someone who I know to be quite opinionated, overly frank and critical, and rather snobby told me I was one of the few people she considers to be "special". And no, not in the Forrest Gump or Quasimodo way, you nasty cynic. Of course, this made me blush (no the sangria didn't help) right down to my décolletage. Which was in rare form last night, if you'd have asked me or anyone else within 20 feet.

I rounded out the night by going to Mónica's housewarming party. I managed to get there despite said sangria and having left the directions in the lab (thank goodness I have a decent memory for directions and a great sense of direction). It was quite an eclectic group, mainly Stanfurd people, but I did meet a Cal grad now working in the lab of someone who once worked here at UCSF (dainty redheaded orthopedic-type) and a new UCSF student in the PSPG program. To my great surprise and admiration, she transformed herself in the course of the evening from a typical first-year grad student to a non-nerdy wonder when she sashayed into the main room in a lavender swirl of veils and beads to perform some bellydancing. And just before I left for home, I was waylaid by a tipsy man with his girlfriend draped upon him, who pronounced, "You're funny!" and then launched into a convoluted and protracted prediction of my future, from which I could only glean that I was going to wear pearls and live in a manor when I'm forty-five. He didn't seem to appreciate my amusement at his efforts, so I excused myself as quickly as possible and headed to wish Mónica good-night.

cooling off

As I was buying my scooter today, I had the opportunity to experience that curious sensation associated with a large purchase. I'd already written the big check (not used to spelling out such large amounts, I used too large a hand in writing the check and had to cram in the last bits on the check line) but then came all the extra forms to sign, including one stating my acknowledgement of California's lack of "cooling off" laws (the existence of which would allow me . As I signed this form, I did find myself in a peculiar physiological state -- I was flushed, speaking quickly and excessively, and could feel my heart beating in my chest. It wasn't as if this was a random, unplanned purchase; I had researched and thought this out quite thoroughly, and I was loath to wait until the weather turned less pleasant to accustom myself to my scooter. It was time. Yet when making the purchase I felt I was in the throes of a sparring match, or skydiving, something...the adrenaline surge was impressive, but totally illogical. What is the source of this reaction? Why do we feel that way when we spend a lot of money? What primal instinct is being triggered by large transactions? Is it the rush of a successful hunt? Or the panic of being stalked? The feeling is an odd blend of elation and fear, and in the case of my scooter purchase, it lasted for quite a long time.

Here's the scooter:



Isn't it cute? I opted for the blue one after seeing the silver one in the daylight -- the silver was just a little too light, and reminded me too much of the family minivan in the 80's. The blue is much flashier and will hopefully get attention in traffic. I bought a cool space-agey looking helmet, too; of course, now I find out they come in other colors than black (I probably would have picked white, for safety's sake again) but black will do for now. It has removable cheek pads and a cool opening design.



Next up: bringing home the baby

mr. inverse paradox

I occasionally go through periods of time (often associated with my hormones, I'm sorry to say) when I get in a bit of a funk over my love life, or lack thereof. It doesn't help that there have been a score of hookups/weddings/babies/breakups/breakdowns (not necessarily in that order) in my social sphere of late, whilst I remain merrily unattached/single/lonely/free. I mostly -- no, 96% of the time -- don't care; I am content with who I am, and revel in the surety of my self-knowledge and freedom to change my life as needed. Yet occasionally, I wonder if I'm not missing out on something...why do so many people want and need some significant other in their life? Have I been so warped by my previous circumstances (and yes I suppose you ought to read between the lines of my previous post; I have before admitted to a inclination towards the"M" word so I shouldn't be loath to admit it in this space) that I'm not fit for that sort of existence with another decent human soul -- just the feline?

No, no, Sesame Street and the Days of Our Lives have ingrained in me, in all of us, that there's someone for everyone somewhere out there someday. Right? I have living proof of that upstairs in my early-morning boinking neighbors, the female (I think) half of which I met last week. Eew. Crud, if they managed to bump into each other successfully in this whole wide world (and with great regularity since) then sure as hell there's some one somewhere out there someday waiting for me. Unfortunately, it's just going to have to be someone who will both worship me and be indifferent to me, someone who can see the unending potential for humor in life but be a bit of a sadist. Someone who's my inverse paradox, if you're into yin/yang (not the Twins).

I've apparently met my male equivalent, but he's now engaged to my dear friend Hannah. I wouldn't want my male equivalent (even thought he's quite a nice and lovely guy) anyway. But what does that say about me? (or Hannah? :0) Yet I will assert to my lonely last day on earth that it is wrong and wrong again to be with someone just to be with someone. That's why I'm fine, 96% of the time. All I have to do is get through these next couple of days of hormone-laden angst. Time for the whiskey. Time for Billie Holliday. I will never, ever find someone. Time for a long walk on the foggy Embarcadero. Time to buy...my scooter?

freedom and bondage

I have long been known for my slightly superhuman patience. I think often people confuse patience with calm, or serenity, or confidence. Frankly, I don't think any of these terms apply to me. I fall somewhere between "glutton for punishment" and "masochist", depending on the context, of course.
Take today, for example:
1. I woke up this morning inspired to get my motorcycle learner's permit. This meant I had to go to the DMV without an appointment, stand in line to get a number, take an unflattering picture, stand in another line, and take the written test. Though I'd studied the motorcycle handbook diligently, I'd failed to remember that I would also have to take a general knowledge test, which included the age/weight requirements for child safety restraints and the restrictions on trucks bearing hazardous materials. Then I had to wait in another line to have my tests corrected. After two hours of mild mental discomfort and some excruciating people watching, I left with my permit in hand.
2. From the DMV I went to the lab to start another round of Southern blotting. The last blot was tantalizing yet not definitive enough to justify sending off cells for blastocyst injection at three grand a pop. So I'm doing it again, and hoping I get better results before the weekend.
3. When I got home I had enough energy left for a little exercise, so I donned sneakers and iPod to hit the streets. I ought to have known within a block that: 1) the fog and wind were going to make it less than pleasant and 2) the inhaler ought to have gone along for the ride. I found I needed to jog a little more than I usually do just to keep the sweat warm on my body. Even so, I wound my way up and down the hills of my neighborhood, and managed to avoid the usual confrontation with the man with the two vicious Bichon Frisé in Huntington Park. When I came home I tried to do push-ups with Charlie swishing his tail in my face.
4. I finished the day on the phone with my brother, talking scooters and song lyrics ("We Miss You, Vanilla Ice" is Chrisser's band's latest song), drinking the too-sweet berry juice on sale at Cala, cut with the last of my Grey Goose.
5. Now I'm writing this silly blog, musing on being torn between freedom and bondage, between wanting things we'll never have and appreciating what's within easy reach. To me, freedom is the right to recklessly pursue the unattainable, even if it's illogical and in the end, disheartening. Bondage? That's what one perceives when accepting the constraints and realities of one's life -- there can be a comfort and security in bondage that one never feels in freedom. In this scheme of life, many people find it impossible to discover happiness. Perhaps it's those of us who lean in one direction or the other that find it happiness easier to achieve.

motorcycle machinations, computer catastrophes, and an admission

road to a scooter, part two:

Though I had no problem at all with the classroom portion of the motorcycle safety course, I knew I had a significant learning curve to navigate when it came to the on-bike portion of the course last Saturday. I donned helmet, gloves, boots and bandana in the wee hours on Saturday morning to jump on a seen-better-days motorbike and learn the basics on a wet and foggy school yard. For never having sat on a bike, I was pretty pleased with my fearlessness and ability to balance the bike on little swervy maneuvers...but I had an awful time executing the concept of clutch, shift and throttle. The clutch was sticky and difficult for me to "read". I killed the engine nearly every time I went to move from a stop -- quite embarrassing. My fellow students were all sympathetic, but as I was only one of two with zero experience, they all were clearly able to handle the rapid pace of the course. To my surprise, one guy was asked to leave the class around mid-morning for not handling the bike well on a cone-swerving exercise. Gulp. I knew I was on the chopping block when the instructor described the second-to-last exercise: alternating between 2nd and 3rd gear whilst going around an oval track. I couldn't, for the life of me, feel when I'd shifted from 2nd to 3rd if I'd been successful, and there's no gear indicator on the dash controls. So what would happen is I'd think I was in 3rd, then downshift, and being only in 2nd gear, I'd end up in neutral. I struggled for three laps before I was called in to the middle of the circle for a check-in with the instructor. I tried to explain what I was experiencing, but he simply advised me to be easier on the clutch and be more aggressive with the throttle and then told me to "Go Go Go!" again. I tried my best, but I knew when I was the last person called back in to the staging area that I was toast. And indeed, I was asked to leave the class, "but come back and re-do it when (I) have more experience." I left, a little humiliated, definitely tired, and with a sore left hand.

The more that I thought about the experience afterwards, the more frustrated I became. I have to say that I did have fun at moments that morning, getting up to speed, dodging little orange cones, but I wasn't pleased with the way the course handled me. Given that I was the rawest of beginners, it was frustrating to know that we had "blitzed" through that morning's exercises -- it was only 10:45 a.m. when I was asked to leave and they only had one more exercise to go, even though the class was scheduled to end at noon. I really could've used that extra time, and maybe I would've figured out how to use the clutch properly! Wouldn't it have been even better if an instructor had been able to pull me aside for a little extra help, given that this was my first clutch encounter after 16 years of driving? For $200, I'm not sure I got my money's worth.

Last night I called my insurance company to find out whether passing the course would make a big difference on my scooter insurance, and thankfully, it wouldn't. The GEICO gal was very funny, though, when I told her my tale about the course. She was so infuriated by my experience that she was going to report it to her supervisor as a cautionary tale. I guess I have some justification to be frustrated, and I will call the school to find out how to make the most of the experience, and the money I spent.

Unfortunately for my father, the experience did not deter me from owning and operating a scooter.

lab meltdown!
Yesterday my lab computer died. It wasn't pretty. I don't even want to think about what files might have passed away into the byte-night along with the hard drive.

Please, please, for the love of God, back up your computers, people.

credit where it's due
Please allow me to offer most sincere apologies for the omission of acknowledgement of Ms. Behonick's superior song-identification skills in a previous posting. Without her unique abilities, I'd spend many days frustrated by my inability to identify the pop culture-crap in my head.

an ode

Awakening (especially on Sunday mornings),
I have to marvel at
the extraordinary geometry of the breast.
Or, I suppose, the study of breasts
would require calculus;
the representation of volume being filled in space
is best summed up in a curvy equation.
When I lay on my side I imagine
the equation for that breast shape would
be impossibly complex to integrate.
How convexing.
Perhaps an engineer could do it better knowing
the outside has everything to do
with the organization of the inside.
No, when I turn to my back again
geometry seems the simplest way to go.
But now thoughts turn to biology
(since I study these things for a living)
and with a hint of smugness I thank my grandma
for the genes her legacy that make
these subjects worthy of contemplation.

i'm all about cocktails

(photo from today's San Francisco Chronicle)


This well may be the best quote I've ever had in a newspaper (and this year, I've had a lot!)...CLICK HERE

helmet? check.

I am turning into a motorcycle/scooter geek. First-class. I find myself turning my head at any passing bike or scooter, checking out the brand, guessing the year/model/engine size. Oh God, what have I become?

Today I received one of Dad's helmets (Dave says helmets really only have a lifespan of 4 or 5 years; let's hope that's in active years of use, not shelf life) which will probably end up being too big for me but it's better than nothing. Mom contributed an old pair of leather riding gloves. New boots, borrowed helmet, old gloves -- now all I need is something blue and I'm ready to, uh, commit myself to a new vehicular relationship.

Song of the day: turned out to be Debbie Gibson's "Foolish Beat". I repeat: Oh God, what have I become!

revving up on the road to infamy

No, no piercings or tattoos yet, but today I signed up for the Motorcycle Safety Training Program down at the South San Francisco Adult Education school. I've been assured that the program is designed for don't-even-count-as-a-virgin-type fledgling motorcycle riders, so I'm gonna give it a go. When I signed up, a young man (ok, pimply teenager) was also signing up, so I have a feeling this won't be a new heretofore untapped venue for Making New Friends/Meeting People in the Yahoo Personals-sense. Sorry, girls. Thursday I'll sit for the classroom portion of the course, and then on Saturday and Sunday I'll be on the bike. Gulp.

On Friday I went to check out the school and then visited Mission Motorcycles to check out another dealership and get a third opinion. Mainly, I had a few questions about engine capacity and power; but the secondary reason was to see if I'd get too psyched out by the whole thing. When the man helping me showed me the bike I'd likely learn to ride on, I felt a little intimidated but also a little excited, so I suppose that's a good place to start.

Today I received the boots from Zeppos. Pretty fantastic site, I might add, for wasting oodles of time. However, they arrived today (Monday), I placed the order on late Wednesday night, AND they ordinarily send via express but didn't in my case because I had put a "box" in my address (which their system interprets as a PO Box and thus automatically diverts to USPS). Quite speedy, considering. The black boots from my previous post are a "go" -- the others are far far too large, and won't support my ankles as well. They'd be awfully cute for other purposes, though...(sigh)....

Tomorrow, I'll pick up a helmet from Mom somewhere off of I-80 (wherever we meet will likely involve sustenance - yay!). I could borrow a helmet from the motorcycle course folks but as my father said, "It's probably nicer to keep the germs in the family". Well said.

Next stop on the path to earning the title "Motorcycle Momma" (dubbed thus by Peter and Fred): Paper test at the DMV!

daughter underestimated

He should never have said it. I'm not so childish or rebellious as to do it to spite him, or prove him wrong, but I can't help but admit to a little voice inside crying, "I'll show you!!", fist in air, pouty lower lip....

He told my mother that I'd never attempt the motorcycle safety course. Ha.

P.S. The boots I ordered come tomorrow. If all things were equal, which would you prefer? There can be only one.

out of it

Why do I feel so out of it today? I'm totally out of touch. Out of whack. Out of energy. Out of my mind. Must be the crazy weather we're having today.

Sunday I spent blissfully lounging at home; I changed from pajamas to sweats and back to pajamas again. I had a lovely long talk with my friend Heather, whom I've not spoken to in ages. It was really wonderful to catch up with her, and to hear about her New York life. Not that she was high strung before, but she sounds more at peace with her life, more comfortable and happy, than I've ever heard from her previously. How comforting it is to know your friends are content! And to top off the day, I ate a Lean Cuisine and watched the Emmys. Yum!

Last night I went to Foster City to watch Deb (mentioned in a previous post) take part of her black belt exam. Her school is VERY different from what I was used to back in my days of practicing Tang Soo Do. To my eyes, it was a chaotic, unfocused process ("When are they going to do forms?") but by the end I could see some inner logic -- the tests, some the same, some different for each candidate, were tailored to the strengths and weaknesses of the red belts. Unlike my experience, the test seemed to incorporate more mental/logic challenges than just the physical challenges of strength and stamina and technical finesse. Actually, the finesse bit seemed to be lost in favor of the mental games, but it was still there (as evidenced by some technically difficult board/brick breaks and accuracy tests). Clearly, this school emphasizes mental development over other forms of self-improvement, and it was fascinating to watch. After the test was over, Deb generously invited me to dinner so she could decompress after the long test, and it was nice to catch her up on all the UCSA news and to hear about her latest professional challenges as a organizational strategist and conflict mediator. We ended up talking until quite late, so that I didn't get home until nearly one o'clock!

Hence today I've been in a strange mental state myself. Quite tired, a bit befuddled, frustrated with little progress in lab, and still achy from my inelegant slide down Jones Street in my $19.95 Payless vinyl hooker boots on Saturday night. Who would've thought that my mega-lunge would cause such a quadriceps catastrophe. Ouch. So much for a jog tonight.

Maybe the Emmys will be re-broadcast. Hm.

lazy goodfernothin'

Lately it's been awfully hard to get up in the morning. Charlie has now had about a good week and a half of sleeping through the night, and now is back in the habit of sleeping plastered to my side (and using his internal GPS to position himself as precisely at the middle of my narrow twin mattress as possible, near my pillow). So I am back to sleeping in odd positions, sometimes with a leg creeping up the wall, most often with Charlie's chin on my arm, so that when I wake up any bare skin is covered in dried kitty drool and little imprints from his fangs. In the mornings, when I stir in waking, he stretches an arm out at my face, toes spread wide, claws retracted, as if to say, "Don't even think of getting up yet" as he starts to purr. I swear he must emit some sleepiness-inducing brain-control at these times, because I often submit to his superior will....

It doesn't help that my morning routine is hardly exhilarating. Perhaps if someone were there to make me some Folgers at the crack of dawn, I'd be more inclined to jump out of bed. And I actually do consider myself a morning person. Or at least I used to (hard to imagine that I used to voluntarily show up at high school at 7:00 a.m. to sing in Madrigals). But now showering, putting my face on, getting dressed is all spent in dreadful contemplation of my first challenge of the day: finding parking in the Inner Sunset. Now that school is back in session it has been a waking nightmare to find parking around here. If I were willing to park around 16th or 17th Avenues, it might be a cinch; I could go straight there and merrily march seventeen blocks up the hill to work (at least the wind would be at my back in the mornings). Yet somehow I am not so willing, and insist upon the masochism of winding my way through the neighborhoods surrounding the Parnassus campus and searching for the elusive, non-two hour restricted, street already-cleaned parking spot.

Hence the comment in my last post, re: scooter. I could park for $23/month at the UCSF employee garage. It would be safe, easy to access, and I would be blissfully released from the misery of hunting for parking. Additionally, the wear-and-tear on my car (let alone savings on gas purchases) would be abated. And I wouldn't be condemned to the headaches and other physical hazards of MUNI, which now charges fifty cents more for each ride, if you manage to catch the bus you need after a fourty-five minute wait. However, when this idea was presented to my father, I could almost hear over the telephone his blood pressure skyrocket, so now I may have to abandon the notion for I'll not be the one to push him over the edge into strokeville. There are plenty of other people poised to do that. I suppose he wouldn't appreciate my other commuting option: hitchiking, either.

For Your Information and Reading Pleasure: Dani, whose pleasure it is to sit at my back for hours every day, has a new blog: findmydspot.blogspot.com.
Also check out the blog devoted to the arrival of Janet and Fred's Little Sunshine, Angela: littlebabysunshine.blogspot.com.

random thoughts: finances

What I would do if I won $20,000:
1. Pay my parents what I owe them (eek)
2. Get Charlie's "little" surgery over with (eek eek)
3. Paint the apartment/update bathroom fixtures
4. Buy a scooter for commuting
5. Go to NYC to visit friends and see The King of France live
And if I had anything left over...
6. Buy a new mattress. Definitely.

curses

How in the hell did I miss the bike race that took place in San Francisco yesterday?!?! It was just a few blocks from my house! Aaargh.

the trouble with charlie

Now, I promise you all that I am NOT a cat-obsessed thirty year-old spinster, and this blog is NOT and never will be a shrine to cutie-pootiness ("Oh, Charlie did the CUTEST thing the other day!!") However, as my profile declares, I do own a cat. Up until the weekend of the 4th of July, he was an extremely low-maintenance animal, affectionate yet as independent as an indoor-only cat can be. I write about him now, specifically, because he has been quite a consumer of my mental, physical, and financial resources for the last couple of months.

Charlie supposedly has FLUTD (Feline Lower Urinary Tract Disease). He developed the symptoms overnight; one day he was fine, and the next, he was crying and visiting the litter box every ten minutes, straining to pee. Long story short, after a half-dozen vet visits, a couple of diet changes, five different drug prescriptions, and a deobstruction procedure, he's still not right. His appetite fluctuates, he doesn't sleep well (therefore, I don't either) at night, and he still has crystals in his urine. If he doesn't improve significantly soon, I suspect we'll be signing up for a perineal urethrostomy. Yes, it's as bad as it sounds. I'm currently giving him (or trying to) 200 cc of subcutaneous fluids at home every day to see if that carries him through this. Yesterday I did it on my own, with some success (this involved wrapping him in a towel, sitting on the floor and poking his back with an 18-gauge needle, then keeping him as steady as possible while the fluid is administered. At least this resulted in some decent urine output yesterday (way to go, Charlie!) and a very much improved night's sleep for the both of us. But he's still not eating or drinking well, and I am dreading poking him again today....

Well, I should go off to the battlefield again, then head to the laboratory...again....

been too long...

I'm procrastinating leaving lab. How silly of me; it's Saturday night, my cells are fed. I could be going home to exercise, play with the kitty, CLEAN MY PLACE (must do quite soon), but instead I'm looking up silly things on the internet.

Last night I had one of those drowsy nights on the couch -- too tired to move (wash face, floss) but not exactly comfortable (Charlie takes up at least a third of the useable sprawling space). And lo, at 2:40 a.m. I was roused by a peculiar sound. At first I thought it was firecrackers going off in Chinatown yet I couldn't think of a holiday that would warrant middle-of-the-night noise-making. I creaked to my feet and went to the window. At least fifteen pops, accompanied by little flashes of white light, came from the building across the back greenbelt behind my building, somewhere behind the leafy tree that is the subject of a current neighbor war. Perhaps it was nighttime fogginess, but I could have sworn it was gunfire I was witnessing, and I must admit I got a little thrill from the thought. I very seriously considered calling the police, yet I waited at the window a good 10 minutes (ever notice how time flies when you're barely conscious?) and didn't hear the approach of wailing sirens nor glimpsed a shadowy figure break through the shrubbery in flight from the scene. And now I've googled and searched and I can find no mention of a Nob Hill shooting. Hm. I was already contemplating the outfit I'd wear to court when I'd appear as witness....

It has been quite a while since last I blogged; I've been in a bit of a zombie-like state since the UCSA Congress nearly two weeks ago. In addition to the ever-present lab to-do list, I now have to finish my UCSA file clean-up, and start the more painfully awkward task of reaching out to friends I've lost touch with in this year of my presidency. A few of the people who knew when my term would end have already contacted me, and it's been lovely to "reunite" with people I care about. I'm not quite sure how to explain to folks how much of my mental energy (and physical health) was consumed by my student advocacy work, but I will have to beg mercy and promise food and drink. Perhaps a dinner party? Hm. Must then CLEAN MY PLACE.

As I drove home earlier this week, a short story sprung to mind. Three (2 male, 1 female) dissipated (no, don't think "Friends") roommates (somewhere between Noe Valley and the Castro) and a mystery pregnancy. I managed a brief and comprehensive character sketch for two of the three protaganists before I crossed Van Ness. The plot was already becoming bogged down by trite social commentary and local flavor I've little experience of by the time I reached for the garage door button. Whew. I think I'll shake that one off, at least until I know what it's like to lunch at the café on the corner every day.

Time to head home now. I'll try to not pick up any more plot bunnies on the way.

too much karma

As of yesterday, 33 of 96 clones screened were positive. This is good. In fact, it's likely too good to be true, my gut tells me, though my brain can't excuse the possibility that I actually do have 33 positive clones. Dani says I must have so much karma built up that this has to be right. I don't know about that one -- I must be sensible or old-fashioned enough to not trust a karma build-up; though I can't bring myself to subscribe to the theory of limited good (that too implies some sort of intelligent design) I can't help but feel that a build-up of karma can only lead to a dearth of it in the future. Certainly I can see that I've been lacking in good science karma these past couple of years, but somehow the idea that karma-null run is over is scary too. Jeez. I might have to start being productive.

And then, not so obviously but apparent nonetheless, follows even scarier ideas, like what am I going to do with myself once I finish this damnable degree? What am I fit for? What's to become of me? I've no flower shop and Freddy to fall back on. I chose this path because I love the science, love working at the bench, but that's not a "forever" option for me. Perhaps I now suffer from an excess of options. And given my family's propensity towards indecisiveness, that means I'm frankly screwed.

Anyhoo, anyone want to place a bet on how many positive clones await me in the next 48?

sick again

Though self-pity is occasionally amusing, for the record, I really don't enjoy being ill. I spend more time than I care to admit being sick, and the sleep I lose when I can't breathe certainly does little to hasten my recovery. Yet I hate the feeling of being drugged, and my normal tendency towards insomnia combines to form a "perfect storm".

Charlie's been sick this last month too, so perhaps it's been good for me to be forced to slow down a bit. Hence, this little bit of time to write, and a little time to create (with some trepidation) a Friendster profile.

I think for many people, the greater misery of illness is the isolation that usually goes along with it. Fortunately, that's not an issue for me! No, the physical suffering is enough on its own, thanks so much. The claustrophobia of congestion and the foulness of phlegm are definitely enough for me.

Ok, now off to bed.

"...even when you win."

As a quite elucidative example of how my brain works, I will share a snippet from a much-loved book from my childhood that has been repeating in my brain since last I posted.

"Does one always feel a bit lost, the night after a battle?" Harry asked.

"Yes, even when you win," replied Jack.

Now, that might not be 100% exact, but pretty damn close.

I feel a bit in limbo, as Harry did...did we win? Torn between caution, hope, fatigue and giddiness, I await the results of the sequencing of my construct. Is it well and truly over? May I move to the next step? This last week I've revisited the disappointments of the past (in going through dusty notebooks to remind myself of how I'd screened ES cells before) and attacked the frustrations of the present (anal-retentive I may be, but I will order the tissue culture room as I see fit unrepentantly). It's been a welcome break from the roller-coaster ride repetitiveness of the last months, but I'm eager to move on.

As a nice (book)end to my week, I received the latest tome in my guilty-pleasure-reading series from Amazon on Thursday. Though it pained me to not finish it Thursday night (I was ridiculously sleepy, despite the pleasure of the book), I was quite disciplined and drew out its completion until this morning. Have I matured from my childlike gluttonous reading-style or am I simply getting old?

La Victoire

Churning stomach...tight throat...dry gritty eyes...tense neck...and above all, the blossoming of hope.

I think I've finally made my construct.

What a day, though. Yesterday, I got into lab before 9 a.m. and didn't leave until 1 a.m. because I was determined to figure out whether my latest cloning attempt had succeeded. At 1 a.m. I hurtled down the Judah hill, dejected and wind blowing against me as I trudged to my car parked way the hell on Funston. I was convinced my cloning had failed, yet again.

This morning I awoke early (given my 2 a.m. bedtime) to attend and speak at a press conference in Emeryville for the State Treasurer. He was gracious, my speech went well, and I was refreshed to be amongst little children who knew nothing of cloning, bacteria, DNA. I felt a little silly playing Vanna White to reveal the Debt Clock Angelides is hauling around the state, but no one seemed to find it as silly as I. I drove to lab afterwards, in no particular hurry, and started my day. I moved ahead with the next attempt, while setting up the last reveal for my late-night last-ditch effort to convince myself that yesterday's results were rubbish. In the meantime, I got a job offer -- somehow it was suggested that I impart my Great Knockout Cloning Wisdom to a now-former post-doc preparing to set up his new lab down in Florida, and he repeatedly offered to have me join him once I graduate. Ha. He said he "needs people who know what they're doing". Ha very Ha.

During the course of that meeting, I got an email from the post-doc I first started working with to make this knockout construct 3 years ago. Whose work I eventually discovered was completely wrong and held me back a year, spinning my wheels trying to make the thing he made work whilst it never could have. I haven't yet bothered to read his email.

Then, strangely enough, the late-night last-ditch test looked strangely positive. Hm. Desperately avoiding elation, I set up 3 more digests, and they too were encouraging. My guts were tumbling as I stared at the UV box-lit gel. I had Euan double check it for me, and I found I was near tears. I didn't tell him what he was looking at until he confirmed the positive news, and then I said, "You do realize what you're looking at, don't you?". As he scrutinized the gel again, I couldn't look at it or him -- I was torn between sobbing hysteria and stubborn skepticism. The next hours have been spent convincing myself to remain calm, thinking ahead to the next challenges, setting up a final test, talking to my parents (I cruelly kept the info from my father for the first 5 minutes of our conversation), and nervously accepting the congratulations of my lab peers.

I fervently hope they're right. I'm 90% sure, but need to do this final test. Peter said I ought to hug and kiss everyone. I just emailed Zena. Her response? "Alright!" My shoulders loosened a fraction. But I must make absolutely sure before I go home tonight. The culmination of over a year's work.

Alright, indeed.

the thousand-hour headache

As far as I can tell, I've had a perpetual headache since oh, April 2nd. April 1st was a pretty nice day, far as I recall, but it's been one big headache ever since.

Today I can add a muscle spasm in my neck to the mix. Last night I fell asleep sitting on the couch, leg crossed one ankle-to-opposite knee, with my right arm resting on the armrest (strangely enough!) and my head propped in my hand. When I awoke at dawn, the entirety of my right arm was dead numb and my left thigh was tingly-numb (it still is, even now). Clearly, whatever part of my brain ought to have relieved my body of that awkward posture so I could sleep without damaging blood loss was malfunctioning seriously last night.

Hence, the headache remains, and now the neck joins the party of pain.

I hope -- oh can I hope anymore? -- that the pains will ebb tomorrow with the results of the preps I set up today. Tonight I will await this result with all the anticipation of prom, a final exam, and, well, a female exam (only two of which have the potential to be pleasurable but in my experience never have been).

The champagne's on ice. The pipettes are poised for action. I know I've said it before, but this science business is enough to turn one to religion. Today I found myself perusing the Grace Cathedral website; if the first service weren't so damned early I might be tempted to stop in on my way to lab tomorrow just in case it does me (and my preps) any good. See? This stuff has given me a perpetual headache and a penchant for prayer. Save me, O Advil, and God, please let my cloning have worked.

sleep-aid

Is it possible to be narcoleptic and still be a fairly productive person?

I have a hard time getting to sleep at night, I wake up relatively easily in the morning, but I feel overwhelmingly sleepy all day long, yawn frequently, and fall asleep at my desk or bench or in meetings (what I remember Karin calling "micro-sleeps": second-long naps) with regularity. Anti-narcoleptic drugs are stimulants, and that would hardly help matters...so short of committing to regular nap-time in the library, what do I do? Do I simply suffer from the modern disease of overachievement?

moi

The obligatory blog self-portrait (ok, thanks Photoshop):

why I don't watch the news

Tonight's 11 o'clock news on Channel 7:
1. body found in backyard
2. oil shortage may lead to drilling in arctic wildlife reserve
3. officer shot and brain-dead; leaves behind 7-month pregnant wife
4. exchange student beaten
5. mother of six shot & killed
6. 73 killed in Japan train crash

Better news:
According to the SF Chronicle reporter I spoke to today, we're doing a good job with publicity for our higher education budget efforts. That makes me happy.

death of a dream

In another life, I would never be an actress.

Not that I haven't had my fantasies of the Broadway life, but doomed as I am with a breathy singing voice, a poor memory, and a tendency to blush at random, I haven't got a snowball's chance in hell.

I get my little shots at the big time through my advocacy work for the university. Yesterday, scores of students walked out of classes or held demonstrations to protest fee increases and budget cuts to higher education. In Sacramento, on the lawn of the Capitol, about 120 students held a mock funeral for the untimely death of the California Dream (in the Governator sense), and yours truly was (what do you call the emcee of a funeral service?) the one who set the tone for the event. Previous ideas had been, um, a bit more violent -- I asserted that tombstones marking the death of Californians' dreams would be morbid, yes, but perhaps more effective than a bloodbath. All in all, I think the press conference/event came off remarkably well; the coffin barely made it, and CSU San Marcos brought their Cougar mascot (where was Oski, you ask?), but the point was made. And as you'll see below, the AP picked up the story (Michelle calls to say, "Gimme a quote, Jen -- and, hey, are you going to be Student Regent next year?!?") and it went national (it's surreal to think that someone in London or Oaklahoma City heard my quote).

Silly? Yes. How silly did I feel when I saw the UC Provost walk past as we set up the tombstones? Quite, but it didn't stop me from running to her for a quick chat. But you never know what good a silly act might do. At least I got to stretch my acting wings.

And I didn't blush.


Students march, hold mock funeral to protest funding cuts
By MICHELLE LOCKE, Associated Press Writer
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
(04-20) 16:19 PDT Berkeley, Calif. (AP) --

College students marched and rallied at campuses across the state and held a mock funeral Wednesday on the steps of the state Capitol to protest cuts in higher education funding. The event, organized by leaders in all three of California's public higher education systems, was timed to coincide with a legislative hearing on education finances.

"Years and years of successive budget cuts have made it harder and harder for Californians to achieve the educational opportunity that they deserve and that made California strong in the first place," said Jennifer Lilla, a student at UC San Francisco and president of UC's student association.

The protest drew students from the 10-campus University of California as well as the 23-campus California State University system and the community college system, which serves 2.5 million students. Among other events, students marched in Berkeley, rallied in San Jose and paraded a student in a coffin in Sacramento to demonstrate their contention that the state is forsaking its long tradition of ensuring access to college. At the Sacramento protest, about 100 student "mourners" dressed in black bemoaned what they called the death of the California dream; some set out tombstones reading "R.I.P. Student Access."

UC student fees have increased about 60 percent over the past decade. They rose from about $5,200 (including miscellaneous campus fees) in 2002-03, to the present total of about $6,700 for a student with a full-time class load. CSU, which has 400,000 students and is the nation's largest four-year public university system, also saw a 60 percent fee increase over the last decade. As at UC, fees are going up again this year, to about $3,100 including miscellaneous campus fees. Meanwhile, community college, once free, has gone from $11 a unit two years ago to $26.

The fee hikes are part of a six-year pact worked out last year between the CSU and UC systems and Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger. Universities agreed to make cuts and raise fees in exchange for increases in funding starting this year. Critics say school officials should have fought for more funding. But administrators say the pact was a realistic path out of financial chaos that will help them repair the damage of several years of cuts. California's college officials say their prices are still a bargain compared to similar institutions in other states. But students say that doesn't account for the high cost of living in California.

Jason Spencer, a Cal State Sonoma student, who helped organize the protests Wednesday said money invested in higher education reaps a multiple-fold return to state finances by way of higher-wage earning college graduates and economic growth. "Higher education is an investment in our future," he said.

if you don't know how to google...

I've been asked for this, a lot. I don't know how much longer KQED will keep this online; does Krasny's show have groupies that listen to rerun programs on the internet?

Jen on KQED's Forum:
http://www.kqed.org/epArchive/R409290900

life coaching

I occasionally have days when I am reminded of the many directions my life has threatened to turn but, a choice was made, a path set, and I'm left to wonder about the "what-ifs". Many people dwell on the "what-ifs" years later, and some prohibit themselves from ever making choices out of fear of the "what-ifs"; I am thankful that I've come to a point in my life where I'm not pestered, only very rarely, by the "what-ifs". Today has been such a day.

In my student government role, I've been working a lot lately on interpersonal and organizational dynamics. In the last month, most of my non-science time has been consumed by this stuff. This morning, in the midst of a heavy discussion about structure and communication and introspection and such, it struck me how, despite my choosing a career path that ought to have kept me on a loftily intellectual feelings-free plane, I've once again found myself in the thick of another angst-ridden, emotional situation to resolve. Is fate telling me something? Had I consciously sought to deny my true calling of "the psychiatrist is in" I might start to wonder; but I acknowledged long ago that this seems to be an inescapable part of my nature, and only the environs will change. Friends, family, co-workers, strangers on the MUNI -- it doesn't seem to make any difference. I'm a repository for psyches. Or psychoses, if you're the sort. A vôtre guise. I suppose I'm fortunate, then, to have a poor memory, or else I'd be great at blackmail.

So now, at the end of another failure-ridden day in the laboratory, I ponder the sly job offer I received earlier today. Deb: martial artist, life coach, organizational consultant, sees in me an intuition for the kind of work she does, to the point that she mentioned to her business partner that I'd be someone to recruit. Well, that's peachy, but it doesn't solve my cloning issues! I suppose there should be some comfort in knowing that I've got a useful skill set, to use the corporate phraseology, but how do I reconcile this with the part of me that loves/hates my science? Can one be both intuitive/sensing or judging/perceiving? I've taken the Myers-Briggs test at least three times in my life, and I swear to you each time I've typed differently. Ultimately, it was irreconcilabilities in my own nature that turned me off to psychology; how does one divorce their intellect from their intuition? In me they are fused, refusing categorization.

I digress. What makes me "the most grounded person" to so many people? Even as I write this, my thoughts flit from frustration with my lab work, an evaluation of today, planning tomorrow, a previous night's conversation with my parents (during which I alarmed them, I think, when I said I was writing a blog)...hardly a focused mind. Just so, today it became clear to me that I should be thankful I'm constructed the way I am, and I can trust my choices in life. The paths I've eschewed (editor/psychologist/anthropologist/medical doctor/sane non-scientist) thus far I don't regret; the paths ahead are many.

Hm. I wonder how much life coaches make in a year?

cloning gods be praised

Thanks to anyone who sent a good thought; my latest cloning step worked. Now, just one more to go. Seriously, this molecular biology business is enough to make me find religion. These days, I find myself fervently sending wishes to anyone who might be listening, and it is starting to annoy my analytical self that knows, quite certainly, that solely diligence, with a dash of flexibility and creativity, will bring me my desired result. However, can it hurt to think that some cosmic force may have the ability to tinker with my benchwork, and thus my pious thoughts aren't so useless? Hm.

dumb things you do in the laboratory

I think I've found a new use for this blog...it will be something to occupy my brain when I've done something dumb in the lab...like tonight's fatigue-induced error: using the wrong buffer for my electrophoresis.

Today I spent most of my day in a meeting at the UC Office of the President...another day like today and I might be convinced that I'm not cut out for administrative life. If I hear the words "restructure", "affairs", or "strategic planning" strung together so many times in a discussion again, I'll start speaking in tongues. I've not seen so many grown people nodding their heads in unison since the Annie Lennox/Sting concert I attended last year. Slow blinks, head nods, murmurs and grunts of comprehension or approval...it's mass hypnosis or some sort of business body language that I've yet to learn. So strange. Strangest of all, I suppose, was the "oohs" and "aahs" my pithy comments elicited...what does that mean? Is it insult or praise of my logic and thoughtfulness? Hm....

The gel's done...cross your fingers for my cloning....

midnight musings

Multitasking as usual...I'm setting this up as I talk to my mother. No, we don't usual talk after midnight on a Saturday night, but maybe she's developing my insomnia.

I must emphasize, to both myself and to anyone who reads this, that this will not be dialogue-blog; rather, the title refers to something I either heard once or came up with myself (sometimes it's hard to tell): my definition of a loner. Most of my most profound (and ridiculous) thoughts come at night, when I am trying so very hard to turn off my brain that I might sleep, and the definition came very clearly to me in one of those rapid-fire thought states that comes, usually, around this hour: while most people have an inner monologue, the true loner has an inner dialogue.

Before I'm dismissed as quite cuckoo, this is not to say that my thoughts address my person (unless I have done something rather silly such as today, when I singed my knuckle hairs on two fingers when they came too close to the bunsen burner and my thoughts sternly reprimanded Jennifer for being a stupid clumsy idiot), but that the two to five threads of conscious thought that occupy my brain at any given moment, do, more often than not, cross and share paths and bounce off of one another in a semblance of a jumbled conversation. And, that most of the time, this is quite enough entertainment for me. I suppose, then, that this blog is somewhat of an experiment, to see if it's entertaining to anyone else.