ISleepInADrawer.com

Gravity

I'm recovering from a rather atypical weekend... spent largely on the phone with relatives or immersed in my own contemplative pool - trying to decide whether or not I can throw all aside for the moment and attend my father's wedding in two weeks... a decision will come tomorrow. In the meantime, I'm in debt to Eric, who broke the monotony this weekend by entertaining me Saturday.

But really, why rely on paragraphs when I have bullets at my disposal?

--A conversation with David (valued ex; beloved friend) revealed that his brother and sister-and-law have just started a family. For some reason, in the few instances where I've felt the need to give gifts for the birth of a child, I always give books. Well, with one exception (in which I gave two books AND a stuffed bunny that was beyond adorable). But anyway, for Dan and Gio's baby, I couldn't decide between three, so I got all of them: Go, Dog. Go! (one of my sister's childhood favorites), Goodnight Moon (highly recommended by Eric), and The Sneetches and Other Stories (my personal childhood favorite).

Paging Sylvester McMonkey McBean...

--But seriously, why must I buy books? The kid can't read. Hell, the kid isn't even potty trained or self-aware yet. Granted, my mom claims she and dad read to me "from the moment" she got me home from the hospital... but does that explain why I have this fixation of giving books to infants? And I wonder if the parents, seeing such a gift, really think, "A book?... [Insert infant's name] is two [expletive] days old!! A lot of good this piece of crap will do... unless we need a doorstop or cheap toilet paper." Lord/Deity, make me more practical.

--I don't know why. But I just had to rent it the other day.

--This morning at work, I was indirectly insulted at an Invitrogen product show for being "just a technician". Apparently, there's a hierarchy of staff scientists, post docs, graduate students, lab aides, interns, and so forth at the Hutch... and one woman in particular felt those at my particular level (or maybe just me) to be quite close to the bottom of the pecking order. Not quite the king's page - more like the one who wipes the page's butt. You get the idea.

--Anyway, insulted (and a little hurt), I grabbed a free Invitrogen bottle, several slices of pizza (these product shows always have oodles of free goodies and food to draw out the starving grad students - and I'm all for a free lunch), headed up stairs to my lab, paced back and forth a few times, let my face turn from hot pink back down to its usual white, calmly looked up a phone number on the internet, and called Prometric Testing Services in Mountlake Terrace and signed myself up to take the General GRE. So, apparently, fifteen minutes of rage prodded me to do something I'd ho-hummed about and tactlessly dodged for over two years. I finally signed up for it - in August. Now I just have to find a way to keep myself from cancelling it.

--I was also going to make inquiries about the Biology Subject GRE Test, but they were having technical difficulties with their computer systems and asked me to ring back tomorrow regarding How I Can Be Uncomfortably and Repeatedly Violated With that Particular Subject Test. More on that one later.

--So, let it never be said that James cannot make rash decisions. I'll show that b*tch from the product show... Then again, will she show me? After all, I'm the guy who had to spend six months studying for the ACT in high school. Ouch.

--Also at the product show, I thought I'd try out this whole "talking to people and making friends" thing, which seems to escape me time and again. I thought I could start up a logical conversation without:
A. Fixating on details that distract me from the general task-at-hand.
B. in Mixing sentences up words.
C. Coming off as "that annoying gay guy".
D. Sounding dumb, weird, hickish, generally uneducated, or drunk.
Yeah, to make a long story short, I flunked.
You see, I was wearing a sweatshirt with the Cheat on it; and, as I approached two grad-school-looking fellows, the particularly sexy one pointed me out and yelled, "Hey! That's the Cheat! From Homestarrunner!" I wanted to be cool, calm, and composed, striking up a conversation leaving me labelled a Smooth Operator... instead, I was able to blurt out a primate "Uhhhhh... yeah?" (while my brain really wanted me to say, "Nice sideburns..."). Later on, I tried to redeem myself by inventing an excuse to go talk to him and his friend, but the damage had already been done. The conversation consisted of three pieces of dialogue, followed by a hasty retreat on the part of Nice Sideburns Guy and his trusty scruffy sidekick.

--The immediate moments after this blatant social blunder were filled with a conversation with Amy, a former Hutch intern (like myself) who (unlike myself) actually applied to graduate school and is Doing Something with her life. Then, the Hierarchy Drama began (see above) and my time was filled with GRE registration. Only now, with it all behind me, do I see how utterly stupid I acted in front of Nice Sideburns Guy. "Nice Sideburns"?!?! Who the HELL has a brain that comes up with something like that?!

Perhaps I should just read more Dr. Seuss.

Posted by James at June 7, 2004 11:54 PM