ISleepInADrawer.com

Twilight

Overnight, Seattle was treated to about three inches of snow. Despite its abrupt departure (it's well on its way to melting), the city is in the grip of the Apocalypse. This is The End, apparently. Snow has fallen - the world doomed. Being from Illinois, I find this all laughable; but I must say, snow suits this city. The walk to the bus stop was so peaceful. (But, of course, that may also be due to the fact that almost everyone is staying home today. After all, why go to work if The World Is Ending? Weather wusses.)

So, snow in Seattle. And it is New Years Eve. As I was getting ready this morning, I succeeded in knocking over one of my CD towers, a pile of dirty clothes, and a pile of presumed old bills (I'm very organized, you know). The bills scattered everywhere; but one slip of paper, wedged between an old Visa bill and a bank statement, slid right to my feet. It was a list of New Years Resolutions, dated 1 January 2003. Talk about freaky.

So, let's see what I've accomplished.

Must-Do's of 2003
James, senior, Augustana College

1. Leave home; get a job at the Hutch and move to Seattle. [Corresponding plan for Chicago is also acceptable.] (HA! Did that! Six months at the Hutch and counting!)

2. Graduate from college with a B.A. in biology and minors in geology and chemistry. (This item was kind of a given. I'd only needed one more class to graduate at that point.)

3. Get another piercing in one of my ears. (Oops. Instead, I quit wearing the earring I had altogether sometime in early October... and I found out last night that the hole has almost closed up on me. Repiercing, anyone?)

4. Aside from the aforementioned new piercing, alter my appearance in some significant manner (preferrably for the better). (I think drastically new glasses count.)

5. See some scenery. (I think driving from Northwestern Illinois to western Washington counts.)

6. Ask at least three guys I "like" out on dates (preferrably not at the same time; doesn't matter how they answer). (HA! Asked four guys! I think this item's intent was to force James out of his Jamesshell/SafetyBubble... one of many ways I've tried to break myself of shyness.)

7. Take the GRE and apply to graduate school. (HA!!!! What a riot! I didn't even crack a GRE book!)

8. Find a nice guy to date OR accept my singleness. (This item counts as done! It has an "OR" in it!)

9. Help the environment. (I'll recycle this list once I finish typing it up.)

10. Turn my odd, awkward, pale body into a tan, sculpted, muscular, sexy marvel. (Hey, do I get credit for joining a gymnasium and retaining my big, sexy brain and boyish charm?)

7/10 items completed... which is a C. Hey, I'm doing about average here! I should simplify the list for next year, though... lower the bar by adding items such as "floss" and "aerobic respiration."

Happy New Year!!!!

Fame

Sunday, we took my sister around Fremont - Troll, Lenin statue, rocket, coffee, more coffee, moremore coffee, shops, Greek restaurant. At the Greek restaurant, my sister kept her cool when a famous person walked in and sat down one table away - Bonnie Bedelia.

You: "Who the hell is Bonne Bedelia?"
Me: "Ever seen Die Hard?"

My sister left early Monday morning (and I do mean early... one should never see the sun rise over the Cascades after being up for two hours), and now I'm back to my Normal Routine - relishing every minute of it. I suppose I've had too many visitors lately. Perhaps, next, I should do the visiting... I'm tentatively planning a Return to the Midwest trip in March.

Recapitulation

Maybe it's because I've had so many visitors in the past few months... maybe it's because the Holidays abound, and "everyone is always busy during the Holidays"... maybe it's because of the many Awkward Moments surrounding the divorce that've plagued the Family for the past ten months...

But whatever the reasons, my sister is the most exhausting visitor I've ever had. I think this means I'm a poor hostess.

Many thanks to Zach for coming around to many of the events for the duration of her visit. My sister departs Monday morning, but she's staying in one of my housemate's rooms for the moment. Thus, I have a few minutes to post Holidayness:

--Last Friday, the Yao family hosted all of Yao Labbery (minus two undergraduate technicians) and their families/significant others at their home. Food-a-plenty... homemade Chinese cuisine, in addition to the barrels and barrels of food brought by various members of Yao Labbery. (My meager pasta salad wasn't entirely snubbed... a victory!) Meng-Chao brought out his best wines. Yao Lab members held a randomized gift exchange. I had recieved the Xi family's gift and was in the process of unwrapping it when Xiaohui (Dr./Mrs. Xi) and Zhi (Dr./Mr. Xi) emplored me to trade with Marcella...

Xiaohui: "Oh, no James! Don't open it!"
Zhi: "Trade with Marcella."
Me: "Why?"
Xiaohui: "You won't like it... it's a girl's gift!"
Zhi: "Yes... girl gift. Not for you!"

The idea of a "girl gift" intrigued me more; and I continued to unwrap. But pleas from the Xis could not be ignored forever. Resigning myself to gender roles yet again, I traded with Marcella. It was a pair of glass bracelets - false jade.... SO beautiful. Of course, I was happy with the leaf-patterned frame I ended up with. But those bracelets call to me. They should be around my wrist! Alas.

--Today marks my sixth month anniversary working as a Research Technician I at the Hutch. I hope I've done Good Things, so far. I hope I've made a difference. Above all, I really hope Meng-Chao doesn't regret hiring me. I'll admit I can be a bit of a drolt sometimes; and I'm not the greatest at communicating - particularly in a Science Manner. But still, I hope he's confident in his initial (albeit hasty) decision to hire me.

--My sister brought a list of Seattle "Must-Do-Items." So far, we've hit: Seattle Art Museum, the Henry Art Gallery, Ethiopian cuisine, Theatresports, Capitol Hill, Nordstrom/Nordstrom Rack, Pioneer Square, Dim Sum lunch, bubble tea, Uwajimaya, Pike Place Market, Elliott Bay Book Company, taking the Tacoma to Bainbridge Island, Pho, Ivar's, 14 Carrot Cafe, and so on...

--Sunday, we'll hopefully hit Fremont and Gasworks Park. She departs early Monday morning. I hope I'm not a bad host; it's just been very tiring. It's great to see her and have her around, of course!

--For Christmas, Marcella and I hosted my sister, Zach, and several of Marcella's friends (Emory, Julio, Tala, Grainne) - with a special appearence by Chuck. My chocolate-chip-and-walnut-oatmeal cookies, brie/sourdough chimera appetizer, and roasted sweet potatoes somehow didn't taste awful... and actually went well with the lamb Marcella poured her heart and soul in to. All brought dishes; all brought gifts; all drank wine, played games, ate too much, and departed content.

--Christmas itself was quite profitable. I received DVDs, money, and gift certificates from my family. Meng-Chao surprised me by giving the technicians all gifts - mine was a sweater from Barney's New York! Holy sh*t!!!! At last, I can dress like a gay man!! The Yao family must be supporting the slow advance of my status in gay society.

More later. I'm off to dream of those glass bracelets. "Girl gift" my ass!

Reverie

Happy Holidays, world - whatever holiday (commercial or religious) you subscribe to.

My sister is here; we've been having a fantastic time... from her first Dim Sum experience to stringing popcorn for the tree. And I've been domestic - I have prepared several thousand million tons of oatmeal-and-chocolate-chip cookies for the dinner Marcella and I are hosting tomorrow.

More later. For now, I must wrap a few more presents, do some dishes, and get my bad-boy ass in bed! Update on Jamesness, including the loot I open in the morning (I'm a purist - no gifts on Christmas Eve!), coming soon.

Reprieve: Reloaded

In the face of a Low Blow, sometimes I get pissed. Vengeful. Hurtful. Rage. Think of Carrie and her ill-fated prom night.

And other times, in the face of a Low Blow, no matter how "insignificant" the incident might seem, I crumple. Hard. Complete.

As a result of a comment (to entry "The Temporary Replacement") left today at 3:50PM (PST) by "First Last" (false e-mail address of first@last.com; IP Address 66.235.2.161), I have decided to take a temporary reprieve from this website. We're not talking months and months, here. Maybe only a few days. We'll see. to delete the comment, give its sender the finger (and not in that good gay way), and move on with life.

I freely admit that my sense of humor is somewhat caustic, sarcastic, and definitely self-deprecating. But, the party at IP Address 66.235.2.161 chose an interesting button to press. Consider it the straw that broke this camel's back. (Interesting: I've just compared myself to an Artiodactyl Cetartiodactyl.)

I have kept the comment in place, for reasons I do not yet completely understand.

I have deleted the comment from the original post. But you can read it below, if you'd like.

"Comments: The Temporary Replacement

'Man, no wonder you don't have a bf.'

Posted by First Last at December 21, 2003 03:50 PM"

That being said, I do wish you all the best of holidays. Check back now-and-then, if you wish; Check back whenever you want. Holidays are busy, here. Especially since I'm entertaining others now. But I'll hopefully have some time to post before Christmas. I hope to have some readership left when I decide to post again. I always hope to have readership. Especially the nice guys - thank you, Sam, Sarah, Poje, Zach, and all the others who either gave me a reassuring and sympathetic pat on the shoulder or a good, ol'-fashioned that-which-does-not-kill-us-makes-us-stronger speech and slap on the face. Sometimes I need both!

The Temporary Replacement

One day in late summer, the best pair of headphones I ever possessed broke. We'd had a long run together... since high school. But I had to let go and move on.

In such circumstances, most people would say, "Oh well. Time to go buy new headphones. I can't live without my music, after all."

Me: "Oh well. Time to find some temporary replacement headphones; because there's no bloody way I'm going to get off my ass right now and go buy some new ones. I can't live without my music, after all."

Meet temporary replacement: Game Boy Earphones. We're talkin' earphones from the original Game Boy here, people. Before color. Before new sleek design. Before smaller fits-in-your-pocket craze. The earphones had an unbelieveably short cord [Think about it: what good is a long cord when the graphics are so poor that you have to hold the Game Boy so close to your face anyway?]. Each earphone had a stripe (red for right; blue for left) to indicate which ear it "belonged" in. [Shockingly, when you reverse them, you can still hear just fine!... But, most of the time, Anal Rententive Jamesisms took hold and I segregated red to the right, blue to the left.] No sleek, curved design [no late-late-twentieth-century-or-early-twenty-first-century "nowism"]. Just sharp corners [not-so-late-twentieth-century "futurism"] - with an embarrassingly-short cord; I could barely put my portable CD player in my hoodie front pocket.

As you read previously, the Best Pair of Headphones died at midday on a sunny day in late summer. Game Boy Earphones were a Temporary Replacement. I always inteded to replace the Best Pair of Headphones; hell, I've been to stores that sell plenty of Son/Daughter/Androgynous-Offspring of the Best Pair of Headphones. But, I always thought, "I'll do that later..."

So, here I sit in winter... thinking, "Sure, they look awkward. But no one will ever notice... and if they do, they won't say anything."

Last night on the bus, I sat calmly, alone, listening to the best movie soundtrack ever [William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet]. An early-thirtysomething, heavyset, leather-clad bear two rows in front of me suddenly turn in my direction, pointed at my reddening ears, and yelled, "Hey! GAME BOY EARPHONES!!!!!!"

I've been had.

Every twentysomething and thirtysomething on the bus turned my direction, most churning up happy memories of original Game Boy, and wondering what the hell I was doing with those not-so-user-friendly-and-not-so-fashionable earphones.

This wouldn't seem so ridiculous if it weren't for the fact that the "warm midday in late summer" was actually a warm midday summer two-and-a-half years ago.

Quick and Easy

Curtis, the best damn barista in all of Seattle, is back at the Hutch from a long vacation. I give newfound thanks today with an espresso break.

Bullet this, mortal:

--My mother e-mailed me yesterday. The divorce is to be finalized ("the marriage is to be dissolved...") sometime in January. It was quite a sobering e-mail to read; I actually couldn't finish it the first time around. I just thought, "So... this is it. Thirty-five-and-a-half years down the tube." I wonder if they see it as Time Wasted - the only real consequences of the union were myself and my sister, after all. And I see that as quite Cold Comfort (we're far from Ideal Offspring). But, what's struck me the hardest through this whole ordeal is my naivete: deep in the farthest reaches of my imagination, I never, ever fathomed that I'd be going through something like this. But c'mon, Jamesbrain - you know the statistics: almost half of all such unions in this country end in partition. My mom and dad married in this country - so they're subject to the same chances. Of course, I thank my lucky stars that this event can be, by my standards, hailed as the most benign divorce known in the Western world. But still, I assert that my confusion is justified.

--Athousandpardons. I didn't mean for talk of "The Big D" (no, we're not talking D-cup here) and wax on and on through the lunar cycle. It's an Important Event - but there's much more (of a cheerful nature, no less) to harp on.

--It's official: I'm an underachiever in a lab of overachievers. I never thought of myself as an underachiever before - but I definitely am, relative to the credentials of Yao Labbery. Rachel passed her exam last week; Marcella will hopefully publish soon. But, the straw that broke the camel's back: Patrick is pouring over an office supply catalog as we speak, looking for the "perfect, high-quality pen" for all of us to use. Nothing but the best for Yao Labbery? Not quite: I piped in and said, "But Patrick, I just use these cheap pens I swiped form the Semiahmoo Resort a few months ago..." I guess my standards aren't as high as the rest of Yao Labbery. Aim low, swing low!

--Several people have asked: "What is 'Yao Labbery'?" Well, as many of you know, I work in the Yao Lab. One day, months ago, I tried to say "Yao Lab comaraderie." Of course, though completely sober, it came out as "Yao Labbery." It's a Jamesterm - as Jamesism as you can get. I guess I reserve it for the "non-science" facets of the Yao Lab - overachievers (with technicians and undergraduates applying to Harvard, Northwestern, and Yale - and two former surgeons working here as technicians and post-docs - they are the embodiment of overachievement), constant snacking, and so on...

--My Christmas gift from my mother arrived yesterday. I must wait to open it, of course, but she also enclosed a tin of toasted pecans, "lightly salted." I used to assert that I wasn't one to subscribe to the "taste-of-home" variety of nostalgia... but now I take it back: Those are damn good! And I did enjoy the memories of my mother's "lightly salted" cooking - a lifetime of hypertension with her brought about "lightly salted" home-cooked dinners and childhood treats for myself and my sister. My friends tease me in the grocery store for checking the salt content of my foods above all else. Old habits die hard; and the pecans are delicious.

--Speaking of wonderful food, I was tempted to hop a plane to Dallas the other night to steal some of Sam's cheesecake. Wo-hoo!

--Not-so-wonderful-food: Tomorrow, Meng-Chao is hosting all of Yao Labbery (and wives and husbands and girlfriends and boyfriends and children) for his annual holiday party. The Yao family is doing most of the cooking, but we're all bringing smaller dishes to share. So, tonight, I must attempt to make a Minestrone Pasta Salad, courtesy of the "Quick & Easy" cookbook that Rachel and Brad gave me for my birthday. Yep - I still can't cook. (but isleepinadrawer) Pray/Meditate for the success of my salad. It's not just me eating it, after all - I must impress all of Yao Labbery with my creation! (Your line: "James, you'd do better to bring Frankenstein.")

--Tonight - dinner with Hadley and Saboora at the Ram. I can order a buttface! (Don't panic - it's a beer.)

We now return you to our regularly scheduled doldrums.

Thighs of Steel

God (or Deity or some other Supreme Celestial Potentate - I aim to please all here): "James, what do you think is your oddest quality?"
James: "My memory."

There. That should suffice for a conversation starter.

My memory perplexes me. Sometimes, when I'm showering, I shampoo my hair, rinse, and then shampoo again because I suddenly forgot that I'd already washed my hair. [Actually, I only did that my junior year in college, a stressful time indeed - maybe going on next-to-no-sleep took its tool and drained my memory.] I can remember the first time I went to Montessori School back in Arkansas at the tender (fat) age of four with my first pair of glasses, but I can't remember my graduation from high school. I remember the first time I kissed a boy, and I remember the first time someone called me "faggot;" but I don't remember my first real date, or the last time I talked to my dad's parents before they died.

And sometimes, old memories pop up out of nowhere - and cause me to leave lab meeting hiding a fit of giggles. Meng-Chao was giving us all a thorough presentation over the gene F-Tth-1, and a motion he made near the overhead projector made me think of how David, a wonderous man I dated for about eight months in college, used to remove the caps from his bottled beverages while he was driving. He'd have his left hand on the wheel, the bottle between his legs (holding it firmly in place - think of a gentler-squeezing Xenia Onatopp from GoldenEye), and his right hand twisting the cap. But, as he did this, he'd always have to yell, "Thighs of STEEL!" Call it what you will - I coin it a Davidism (that has, occasionally, become a Jamesism).

So, there I sat in lab meeting, legs crossed, attention focused on the topic-at-hand, when David's voice pops into my head: "THIGHS OF STEEL!" I about spit my tea out. Where the HELL did such a thought come from? I resisted the urge to burst into insane laughter, or even allow small giggles to bubble up to the surface. I brought my fist up to my mouth to hide my wide grin, and accompanied this sudden arm motion with a sift in my right leg (which was crossed over my left), to make it appear as though I was changing my position in the chair. Big mistake: my crossed legs brought another volley of "THIGHS OF STEEL!" back - along with a guffaw. Abandoning the counterthink chorus of "Focus on F-Tth-1, James... Focus on F-Tth-1...", I had to rise up and turn my giggles into the best fake coughing fit Hollywood has ever seen. We're talking Best Supporting Actress here, people. I retreated to the handicapped stall in the men's room one floor below, where I let fly a fierce Attack of the Giggles. I'm sure the two technicians who were in the restroom at the time are wondering what the hell was so funny about public toilets.

Xenia Onatopp... "She always did enjoy a good squeeze."

Capricious

Thank you, the Onion.

Bush Won't Put Down New Football

WASHINGTON, DC—According to White House sources, President Bush has not allowed his new Wilson official NFL leather game football to leave his sight since he received it as a gift last week. "The president has that ball with him everywhere he goes," Vice-President Dick Cheney said Monday. "The way he pump-fakes it in the Oval Office is really distracting." Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld has threatened to take the ball away and lock it in his desk if he sees it at the table during another goddamned cabinet meeting.

Happenings

New day, new week, new world.

--Yesterday, I was the lucky recipient of a phone call from Michelle - everyone's favorite Harvard Law student! We hadn't conversed in AGES (I'm horrid like that... SIGH). It felt so relaxing to hear her voice. Michelle and I go way back... to high school (that's "way back" for me)... We even did the Prom Thing ("Do the Dawn!!!!!"). She and I have grown together to appreciate the finer things in life: Chinese-foodings, running-very-slow-across-large-fields, Pop Rocks, BAG, Babylon, bowling, washing it off... and I'm not even going to mention the Wicked Stepmother! Love you, Michelle. Mwaaaahhhhh!

--Saturday night, I again became Dorkus. Zach, Travis, and I saw the extended version of The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers at the Seattle Cinerama. Two words: rock on! (Three words: "Stupid, fat hobbit!") 'Twas indeed an awesome gathering... and I forgot how gorgeous Faramir looks on screen. Wo-hoo!

Beautious, scruffy Faramir.

--I've managed to work my way through J.M. Coetzee's Waiting for the Barbarians and George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four. What book do I sleep with now, you ask? The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon. Report later.

--SIGH. Well, I suppose I can evade this topic no longer. Dorkness and books and relaxing weekends aside, it is time to talk about The Topic That Everyone Is Talking About. Barely had I woken up yesterday when about five friends IMed or phoned me bantering, "Turn on the TV!" Just in time for the President's brief address to the nation. Former Iraqi President Saddam Hussein is in custody.

So what can Jamesthought contribute to this unexpected turn of events? Very little, I'm affraid. The atrocities he and his regime orchestrated are blatant; we've evidence and survivors and eye-witness accounts and so-on... What should be done with him? I've some Preliminary Ideas; but it is not yet suitable to speculate. At this moment, he's in custody - and thank God. What happens to him next is (hopefully) up to the Iraqi Government - and ultimately the Iraqis themselves. I won't decide what will happen to him - they will. Thus, my ideas at this point are rather inconsequential. I might throw in my two cents after his trial, though.

Is the world a safer place now that Hussein is in custody? Probably. The Iraqi Republic may not seem any more cohesive and steady now than it was a few days ago; but hopefully this turn of events will usher in long-term stability. The political ramifications in the U.S.A. of Hussein's capture are, to me, fairly obvious. No doubt, his apprehension will have Far-Reaching Consequences in this country for decades to come. But, that said, I will again refrain from elaborating in more detail. I've my ideas - but now is not the time. Plus, as many of you know, politics is a passion for me... but a largely private passion indeed. Jamesthoughts will pour out over this website someday. But not today. For now, I shall sit back and see how the chess game unfolds.

Jubilee

Seasonal Affective Disorder (a.k.a. NO SUN IN SEATTLE!) has been hitting me hard this week. I just haven't been as motivated at work. But, the cure has been a restful weekend! Plus, I'm not too great around the holidays; but I actually found myself getting into the spirit of "the season" today as I ventured to Pike Place Market and the downtown area to shop for my sister.

It seems odd, however, to see holiday decorations up everywhere, but not one snowflake. Clouds and rain, sure - but it's not even below forty degrees! I guess I'm too used to Midwestern weather. It's snowing now back in my old home, and at my sister's pad. Weird.

Bethatasitmay...

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Clever lad. He's made us a snowball.
(Japanese Macaque, Macaca fuscata - a fellow big-brained primate)

Dumbfoundment

I'm always amazed by the individuals who expect King County Metro to cater solely to their needs. They're confounded as to why they must wait at the bus stop (like myself, or any other ordinary citizen... gasp), while plenty of worthy buses and shuttles fully capable of stopping and picking them up simply whiz by.

Take, for example, a woman I used to encounter almost daily whilst taking either the southbound 70 or the southbound 66 Express to work. I call her Dumpy Sweater Lady, for she has the odd habit (even in those warm Seattle summers) of wearing oversized "loud" sweaters that could stun a yak at fifty paces.

Scene: Bus stop north of the University Bridge, morning. Myself, Dumpy Sweater Lady, and several other nameless bus-waiters stand braced against the elements.

Traffic streams down Roosevelt Way. A UW Health Sciences Shuttle passes, on its way to the UW Medical Center.
Dumpy Sweater Lady: "But... why does it turn?... No!!! I want it to take me downtown!"
Me [Inner Monologue]: "Jesus, lady. It's taking patients to the UW hospital... They probably all need retinal replacement surgery after looking at your horrid sweater... Hey! Maybe a few of them vomited on it. That design does somewhat resemble bile, if I squint hard enough."

Behind us, a Seattle Cancer Care Alliance (SCCA) shuttle whizzes past onto the bridge.
Dumpy Sweater Lady [reaching out towards the shuttle, much like a baby in its high chair reaches out for the food it sees mom and dad eating]: "No!... ungh... Why does it pass? Why won't it stop and pick me up? I want to go on it! Me! I want to go on that bus! And I don't want to go to SCCA. I want to go to downtown. But it won't stop. It's not fair!"
Me [Inner Monologue]: "Jeez, lady. God forbid they should take patients and workers to do cancer research. Plus, it's not a bus - it's a shuttle. And did you not see how the shuttle wasn't even on this f*cking road?!"

Northbound 9 and 70 route buses pass on the other side of the road.
Dumpy Sweater Lady [stomping up-and-down]: "Ungh... NO! They should turn around and pick me up! WHY should they finish their routes? I want to go now!"
A 73 Express whizzes past on its way to Interstate 5.
Dumpy Sweater Lady: "WHY can't the Express route buses stop here, to? I don't want to walk to an express bus stop. They're too far away! They should come HERE."
Me [Inner Monologue]: "Lady, you're an axis of evil. There's an express bus stop half a block away. It'll take you to better stops 'downtown' than the 66 Express will. Roll your plump self over there."

Notice how my rage builds... climaxing to personal insults I keep to myself.
[You: "But James... you're not keeping them to yourself now! You just published them on the internet!" Me: "Shut it." Homer: "Ohhhh... they have the internet on computers now!..."]

Fear not. I haven't seen her in weeks. Ever since she threw a hissy-fit over the bus driver asking her to give up her seat and move one row back so a dude in a wheelchair could get on board. Maybe she's been banned from King County Metro. Or maybe she empathically sensed my building rage and thought, for her own personal health, that walking the extra half block to the express bus stop was worth the expended energy (ATP, biologists!). Fool.

I Sleep with a Book.

This morning, I came to the disturbing realization that, every night for the past month, I've fallen asleep next to a book. I sleep with a book.

I'm 23; and I sleep with a book.

My "lovers" have changed, of course [Jane Austen's Emma, J.M. Coetzee's Waiting for the Barbarians, George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four, among others]. But still, I sleep with a book.

Maybe this means I should try dating an actual human being again. Gay males, to be specific. But perhaps at this point, I shouldn't be too picky. A Homo sapiens will suffice - a step up, I suppose, from a bound collection of processed tree carcasses.

Then again, H. sapiens might be a step down.

Le Fournil

Thursday's child has far to go.
(For me, the journey actually isn't that far... just the bus to work in Eastlake... but I hope it's far enough!)

--This week has certainly been eventful for the Yao Lab. Both resident graduate students have important meetings, and Rachel is also taking her exam as I type! We all know she'll pass; but still - quite an impressive feat!! Meng-Chao and Hui also returned from Taiwan and China, respectively, with equally respective illnesses. I'm pretty sure Patrick is up half the night finishing his law school applications; the undergraduates are staying up half the night due to approaching final exams; and Hisashi is probably just staying up half the night because... well... the man always seems to be in lab, or at chess tournaments and jazz band concerts for his little ones.

--As for me: I had to give lab meeting this week! Tremendous (yet generalized) nervousness Sunday night gave way to outright terror-stricken bouts of spontaneous research Monday. Patrick even took fifteen minutes out of his busy (yet unholy) combination of lab work and law school apps to give me some friendly advice - calm the hell down! I'd made a small mountain of articles to read concerning this week's journal article/topic... and it was actually a relief to hear Patrick say, "You're doing too much." (I'd feared I was doing too little... but that's what I get for choosing a topic that I'm not an expert in, but everyone else is in lab is an expert in.) Suffice it to say, most of Monday and Tuesday were spent doing research still. And I got very little sympathy from Rachel and Marcella (understandably). What they're confronting this week makes my "task" look like Sunday in the Park with George.

--But when the big day came (Wednesday morning), I rose early, and trudged through Seattle weather (cold, drizzle, fog) to one of several bakeries conveniently located between my house and the Hutch. (The giver of Lab Meeting is also the bearer of baked goods for the food-driven research environment so treasered by Yao Labbery.) At le Fournil, I actually took time to calm down whilst ordering my pastries. I even argued with a six-year-old who was repulsed at the fact that I got a peach pastry.

Le Fournil attendant: "Will that be all for you?"
Me: "No... let's also add a peach pastry."
Six-year-old behind me: "Eeeeeewwwwww! I hate peaches!!"
Me *turning around*: "Oh my! That's too bad."
Six-year-old behind me: "My babysitter gives me peaches for dessert if I've been bad... 'Cause I don't like them."
Me: "My goodness! I hope you haven't had to eat peaches often then. Have you been a good boy for your babysitter?"
Six-year-old behind me *beaming*: "Yes I have!"
Mom of six-year-old, *echo*: "He certainly has."
Me: "You know, when I was little, I loved peaches. My mammaw used to give them to me all the time."
Six-year-old behind me: "Eeeeewwww! You must've been a very bad boy!"

--I let the kid win that one.

--Le Fournil excursion over, I headed to work, made my transparencies, and... well... gave lab meeting. All-in-all, I suppose it went pretty well. About a half-hour into it, I was no longer nervous (at least, I calmed down enough to nibble half of a peach pastry between questions). Luckily, the discussion turned into a generalized debate on ciliate evolution and taxonomy. Fear not - I'll spare you the details. But, no matter how frustrated I can get with my work, taxonomy and molecular evolution never cease to fascinate me. I beamed at the front of the room, especially when we began discussing paleontology, and Meng-Chao turned to me (I was the only one present with any paleo background). Granted, I was off by 100 million years in my answer to his inquiries concerning the earliest insect fossils (400 million years ago, James! Not 300!). But, all-in-all, lab meeting went well; and no one complained about the peach pastries.

--In other news, Hadlers is off interviewing at U. Penn and Harvard for M.D./Ph.D. programs. She told Saboora and I earlier this week that she's been accepted to three schools already! Wo-hoo! Overachiever. She'll also get to visit with Bryn and David whilst in Philadelphia! You lucky!

--As for another overachiever, Saboora turned twenty-one on Monday. Happy Birthday, kiddo! You and Hadlers have been two of my most steadfast supporters - and defenders of my sanity - here in Seattle. You are my family. Thank you!

--Wow. Three overachievers in a row. Happy belated 23rd to Brad! Thou art truly righteous.

--In true dork form, Zach and I journeyed to the Seattle Cinerama last night to see THE EXTENDED VERSION of The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. Three-and-a-half hours of Tolkien goodness. Mmmmmm. They're switching to the extended version of The Two Towers for this weekend, in anticipation of already-sold-out showings of The Return of the King. Yes, I'll probably go see The Two Towers this weekend, too. Yes, I already own the extended versions of both films on DVD... but, c'mon - this is the big screen!!!!

The Sound of My Voice

After lunch (Dim Sum!!!!) with a friend yesterday (Happy Birthday, Mark), I resolved to go Christmas shopping... for my parents... at the Market.

Shopping for my parents, whatever the occasion may be, is always a bit difficult and mind-boggling. On the one hand, they will enjoy whatever I get them - simply because it is from me. on the other hand, they will not like what I get them if it is something they don't want. Doublethink at the Family Level.

It is an especially perplexing and mentally-taxing task for me to undertake because I have the particularly naughty, passive-aggressive habit of purchasing gifts for others with the hopes of buying forgiveness or acceptance for any personal quirks (Jamesisms) or social mistakes (James-is-a-foolisms) I have made, will make, or am currently making. Past-present-future (summer-fall-winter-spring). I buy forgiveness of my deleterious traits with gifts. Even for my parents. So sue me.
(Yes, I'm trying hard to break myself ot his habit.)

Wow. I didn't intend for this post to evolve into a commentary on gift-giving. (athousandpardons)

Anyway, the point: the Market, to shop, for parents. The aforementioned doublethink difficulty in shopping for my parents necessitated a solo trip. I dodged crowds, ate piroshky (of course), shopped, negotiated prices, smiled, photographed street musicians, dodged running children, wiped the drizzle off my glasses, drank coffee. Victorious, I departed with shopping for mom and dad almost-complete, as well as holiday gifts for two other friends. Such a victory, and an overwhelming desire to read the book I'd brought with me, led to a 2-hour Bremerton-and-back voyage on the Kitsap. The sun had already set (it was, after all, approaching 5:00PM), so my camera was useless. I read, people-watched, ate, napped, listened to music, meditated, enjoyed the evening scenery of the Puget Sound.

All-in-all, I spent a good five hours pretty much alone. In the company of others (fellow Pike-Place-Marketers, fellow Kitsap passengers), but still largely alone - no friends or acquaintences to converse with, no one to sit next to. I'm not complaining at all, mind you. I quite enjoy Jamestime. Me and my shadow. My book. My music. My life. Jamestime. But, I realized one aspect of Jamestime that has (and continues to) perplex me - my vocal cords hardly get a work-out.

I'd like to think I'm not a huge talker to begin with. But, I'm surprised when, while spending a lot of time alone, or just abstaining from talking, my larynx begins to feel... well... neglected! Every saliva-swallowing or throat-clearing grunt I utter becomes a treat - a chance for the Adam's Apple to stretch its legs and sigh and smile and remember the good-ol' days where James-would-talk and James-would-laugh. Memoirs of vocal communication.

Given more opportunity to talk (paying for my ticket on the Kitsap, buying coffee in the galley, negotiating prices for the prints I bought for my mother), the larynx runs wild. Simple phrases such as "Mmm-hmm" become "Yes, I think I would like to purchase this one" - "Thanks" becomes "Thank you, ma'am. Have a good one." I crave each and every word - eliminate contractions, and damn the colloquialisms... they merely shorten the number of sweet, pure words I can speak. If I'm that enthralled to exchange friendly greetings with a few strangers, just imagine my elation in running into someone I actually KNEW... a friend, a co-worker, someone I occasionally pass in the hallways of the Hutch, a neighbor I nod to walking to bus stops, a person I've seen on TV - I'd talk them all into the ground.

I suppose the take-home message here is that, alas, no matter how often I try to deny it, I am a social primate. I crave social interaction as much as everyone else. Looking back, I can notice this desire-to-speak (this larynx lust) in past instances where I've spent hours and hours without speaking (like last Thursday, in which I had the house to myself for the evening). Does this mean I must now reconsider my career goal of become a hermit? Ha! Fooled you! That never was a career goal. Does this mean I'm addicted to the sound of my own voice? Doubt it. As you know, I'm not a fan of the sound of my voice - espeically audio or video recordings. But I suppose this means that I am a fan of conversation. No big surprise to you. Big surprise to someone with asocial tendencies, such as myself. I guess I must get used to it.

Does this mean that, if I'm ever left alone for an extended period of time, I'll begin to talk to myself? Probably. Will I carve alternate personalities in my psyche to converse with when the room is empty?

Who says I haven't done so already?
(Insert evil laugh, akin to Mr. Burns from The Simpsons.)

Scar Tissue

Wow. I was social on a Friday evening. Go figure.

Paul introduced Zach and I to Musashi, a delightful, delicious, and damn cheap sushi place in my own neighborhood! Who knew! I was once suspicious (and fearful for my gastrointestinal health) at the very mention of the phrase "cheap sushi." But, I trusted Paul; and damn - what fine sushi! The place is tinytinytiny. Barely a dozen tables. I can see why I've passed it many times without notice, even though it is simply on the opposite end of Wallingford from my humble abode. There's usually a line stretching out onto North 45th Street, demonstrating the establishment's popularity with Seattlites of all ages, ethnicities, and sexual orientations; though, on a side note, I do believe the restaurant patrons that evening consisted largely of gay couples. I do hope Paul, Zach, and I weren't mistaken for a gay threesome. What an impression to leave upon Wallingford's best.

Whilst waitng for our orders of nigiri and various sushi rolls, a woman passing by the restaurant pounded on the glass right by our table, startling all three of us into a tizzy. But, she was no random crazylady. Indeed, it was Amy - a fellow 2003 Augustana graduate! One of three that I know of (including myself) to relocate to Seattle right after graduation in May. This is the second time she and I have met randomly in Seattle (the first being this summer at Alki Beach in West Seattle). This time, it was a bit closer to home for both of us. We both apparently live in Wallingford (albeit on opposite ends). I ran out and exchanged hugs, stories, laughter, and finally telephone numbers. I shall hopefully see more of her now that we have established geographic proximity.

Our next stop for the evening: Theatresports. We met up with Paul's friend Matt, a charming Seattlite Zach and I had previously met at one of Jacoba's Salon gatherings. The crowd was small that evening, but the show was quite entertaining. Especially when the following occurred:

Needing an audience suggestion for a new skit, Team Messy Breakup asked for any interesting stories from the audience regarding interesting scars they might have. Zach had them all beat for this one. Writing in his chair with excitement, he relayed the story of a car accident in high school that (among other things... and allow me to apologize now if some readers find this squeamish) took a quarter-sized chunk of skin & flesh from his forehead (on his right side, near his hairline - take a gander when you're next near him). The docs, needing some "non-essential" skin to graft onto his forehead, took it from the most logical locale on his body - where apparently there was plenty to spare - his ass. Yes, they took a sample of skin from his butt and grafted it onto his forehead. Zach is a butthead. Seriously. He relayed this story to all of Theatresports, to the side-splitting delight of the audience and the performers; his story suggestion made for an equally side-splitting skit brought on by both Teams Messy Breakup and X-mas Men. To top it all off, Zach won the highly-coveted award for "best suggestion" of the evening, walking out with four tickets to Unexpected Productions shows and a bobbing-head Jesus doll.

After such a climax, we had to end the evening at Nitelite - a new bar for me. Scarily enough, Zach, Matt, and I all independently started with a gin and tonic, though Zach was the only lawyer among us. Freaky. But fear not - Matt and I switched next to beer. The four of us talked, laughed, played with the bobbing-head Jesus doll... finally retiring after last call.

I'm not a hermit after all!
And I'm not a butthead!

Desmond and Molly Jones

Last evening, I was enthralled to discover that I had the entire house to myself!

What sort of mischief did James create unsupervised, you ask?
Why, I did what any normal gay guy would do!

I lit a fierce, roaring fire in the woodstove; I made tea, salad, and fish for dinner; I had John, Paul, George, and Ringo's classic White Album playing on the stereo; I dragged the most comfortable chair in the house near the woodstove; I had my almost-finished copy of J.M. Coetzee's Waiting for the Barbarians sitting impatiently on the cushion; I had a window looking out on to the downtown Seattle skyline; I had a clear night, clear head.

I tasted, read, relaxed, absorbed, grinned, enjoyed, and closed my eyes.

And meditated. Luckily, my meditations coincided with the beginning of the fourth song on the White Album (on its second time playing that evening). That particular song put a particular face in my head - a friend of mine. And in fact, I give this friend much credit for bringing me here, to Seattle. Not this past summer. But last summer. Intern summer. Adventuresome summer. Mishchief-making summer. Falling-down-on-the-bus summer.

It is her doing that got me here last summer. And then It All Changed. New place. New ocean. New acceptance. New, friendly faces. Yao Labbery. A fantastic internship that made me think think think think think and rethink my (lofty?) career goals. I fell in love with the city. I came back after college... and there I sat on Thursday, 4 December 2003, in the house in Seattle (Wallingford, if you demand specifics) that I rent with two graduate students, thinking, "Wow... I'm here because of her!..."

Yes, Jill. I'm talking about you.
Thank you.

So, without further ado, feast upon the Beatles song from the White Album that pulled her face from my memory and drew it right in front of me.

Mt. St. Helens, Summer 2002 (yes, that summer). I'd like to say I'm the pretty face on the left; but I'm really on the right. (Move, damn cloud! Move!)

"Ob-la-di Ob-la-da"

Desmond has a barrow in the market place;
Molly is the singer in a band.
Desmond says to Molly, "Girl I like your face!"
And Molly says this as she takes him by the hand:

"Ob-la-di ob-la-da life goes on... bra!
La-la how the life goes on.
Ob-la-di ob-la-da life goes on... bra!
La-la how the life goes on.

Desmond takes a trolly to the jewellers' stores,
Buys a twenty carat golden ring...
Takes it back to Molly waiting at the door,
And as he gives it to her she begins to sing:

Ob-la-di ob-la-da life goes on... bra!
La-la how the life goes on.
Ob-la-di ob-la-da life goes on... bra!
La-la how the life goes on.

In a couple of years they have built
A home sweet home...
With a couple of kids running in the yard
Of Desmond and Molly Jones.

Happy ever after in the market place,
Desmond lets the children lend a hand.
Molly stays at home and does her pretty face
And in the evening she's a singer with the band.

Ob-la-di ob-la-da life goes on... bra!
La-la how the life goes on.
Ob-la-di ob-la-da life goes on... bra!
La-la how the life goes on.

In a couple of years they have built
A home sweet home...
With a couple of kids running in the yard
Of Desmond and Molly Jones.

Happy ever after in the market place,
Molly lets the children lend a hand.
Desmond stays at home and does his pretty face
And in the evening she's a singer with the band.

Ob-la-di ob-la-da life goes on... bra!
La-la how the life goes on.
Ob-la-di ob-la-da life goes on... bra!
La-la how the life goes on.

And if you want some fun - sing Ob-la-di-bla-da - Hey!

Incidental Music

My incessant humming is known worldwide. Jameshums have been debated endlessly by the U.N. Security Council (China has vetoed three moves to impose sanctions on me; thank you, China), and become the stuff of legend for nomadic tribes marching across the Sahara. They are singled out by the Vatican as the sole reason the Chilean parliament has considered relaxing some of its divorce laws; a moderate Likud Party member of the Israeli Knesset has called for my detainment in Guantanamo Bay. My hums are gossiped about by soldiers shouting at one another across the Korean demilitarized zone, feared by school children in New Zealand, and mocked by street vendors in Jakarta.

Or maybe they've just become a vexatious (though occasionally entertaining) ubiquity to my labmates, and an absurd delight ("characteristic Jamesness" - an occasional embarrassment) to my friends.

Be that as it may, here are some tunes I caught myself humming today:

(Yes. Of course I had to write these down! My memory's not that good... hell, I don't even remember what I had for lunch, or what color underpants I put on this morning.)

--"In der Halle des Bergkoenigs" ["In the Hall of the Mountain King"] from Edvard Grieg's Peer Gynt Suite No. 1
--Dancing Queen, ABBA
--the opening theme to Dallas
--the opening theme to Doogie Howser, M.D.
--Free as a Bird, the Beatles
--I Did It, the Dave Matthews Band
--Female of the Species, Space
--"Promenade" from Modest Moussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition
--California Dreaming, the Mamas and the Papas
--Allegro from Dmitri Shostakovich's Piano Concerto No. 2
--Allegro from Johannes Brahms's Double Concerto for Violin and Cello in A minor
--Down, 311
--Life in Mono, Mono
--Chris Cayton, Goldfinger
--Walk Like an Egyptian, the Bangles
--Rio, Duran Duran
--Bouncing Around the Room, Phish
--Hey Jude, the Beatles
--Airportman, R.E.M.
--Richard Strauss's Don Juan
--Rescue, Eve6
--Penny Lane, the Beatles
--Speeds of Light, Fiver
--Hector Berlioz's Overture to Benvenuto Cellini
--Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This), the Eurythmics

There. That should give you an idea of the chaos in my head.
Back to it! Tum-tee-dee-dum...

Insufficient Light

"Spaghetti"

Spaghetti, spaghetti, all over the place,
Up to my elbows—up to my face,
Over the carpet and under the chairs,
Into the hammock and wound round the stairs,
Filling the bathtub and covering the desk,
Making the sofa a mad mushy mess.

The party is ruined, I’m terribly worried,
The guests have all left (unless they’re all buried).
I told them, “Bring presents.” I said, “Throw confetti.”
I guess they heard wrong
‘Cause they all threw spaghetti!

--Shel Silverstein

Yes, yes. The guests have all left (unless they're all buried). Marie and Brett departed early Sunday. Sarah departed Sunday evening after a rousing Sabbath spent eating Piroshky (again!), walking around Capitol Hill (again!), fixing my computer, helping her pack, and eating sushi (again!). Lots of repeats; but good repeats.

Phil, the Prince of Insufficient Light and Ruler of Heck, from Dilbert.

It was back to work today, after a five-day hiatus.
--Seeing that I was generally unable to concentrate on things for more than five seconds at a time during our meeting (early-afternoon headbutting and brain-stem-storming session), Patrick took the opportunity to remind me of the high incidence of Seasonal Affective Disorder in the Pacific Northwest. Yes, today I really missed the sun. Yes, I will survive.
--More like "I shall muddle through." But close enough. Just pray my activity level doesn't drop to eating-a-whole-jar-of-pickles-while-staring-at-the-fire-and-humming-ABBA-songs-all-winter.
--Rachel chastized me for always announcing my "daft" (stupid) questions.
--Patrick gave me some advice on law school: don't consider it unless I'm REALLY F*CKING SERIOUS ABOUT IT. (Patrick's law school applications are due in a few days, btw.)
--Marcella was her "I'm-pissed-but-will-be-civil-yet-sarcastic" best with the City of Seattle regarding our water bill. They claim we haven't paid. We claim we have. Let the standoff begin.