ISleepInADrawer.com

Excursion

I'm curious as to who actually reads website... if anyone.

So, an informal survey:
What was the last thing you ate? Be honest!

Prizes will go to the best responses. Honorable mentions will be flogged.

Off to Portland for the weekend. [Oregon will be my thirty-second state!] Au revoir!

Income Tax

I sent my parents each an e-mail to let them know I'll be driving to Portland for the weekend... that way, I'll be a Good Son, and I'll avoid "Why-didn't-you-tell-us-you'd-be-on-the-road?"

In the message, I also commented on taxes briefly:
--Oregon has no sales tax; should make shopping there "a joy."
--Washington has no state income tax; thank God, since I already have to file with Iowa and Illinois.

Summary of the replies:
--Mom: "Drive car-fully!"
--Dad: Multiple and detailed paragraphs of his "tax philosophy" and general complaints against the tax system, which he believes places the greatest burden on low income households. The man should've run for office.

There. That should summarize the most unusual environment in which I was raised... and explains why I read too much and worry excessively about my driving skills.

I Love Sushi

Work should be very interesting for the next three months. The PI of my lab, Meng-Chao (the "Yao" in "Yao Lab") - the closest thing I have to a "boss" - is now on his way to Taipei. I'll see him again in April. As he shuts down his lab at the Hutch and starts one in Taiwan over the next several years, I suppose we must all get used to his three-months-here-three-months-there routine.

Yesterday, the lab resolved to take him and his wife to lunch. After all, we are a Food Lab - we eat and eat and eat and eat and eat... and occasionally do a Southern blot or sequence a plasmid to keep the funding up. Instead, Meng-Chao treated us - to Serafina - a fantastic Italian restaurant in Eastlake. Great food, sin-laden desserts... and I've never seen so much wit and sarcasm wrapped into a menu before. The "scathing" BBC editorials are childrens' novels by comparison. Meng-Chao, Pat, and Jon got a kick out of my lack-of-style: using the salad fork for my pasta; asking the waitress why I got a tiny fork along with my baby clams; pointing to the items printed in proper Italian instead of trying to pronounce them. I think I just found a restaurant for Zach and I to go to on Single-Awareness Day (Oh yeah... I guess I have to call it Valentine's Day now... Heh heh heh... VD...). Here's hoping I learn some manners by then.

Today, with the lab leaderless (Meng-Chaoless), and Marcella and the undergraduates also gone on personal matters, the remainder (meRachelPatrickHisashiXiaohui) found ourselves... well... in a funk. Seasonal Affective Disorder or something. But, misery loves company... after grumbling so much under my breath, I finally blurted to Rachel how I nearly slugged a girl (again) at the espresso bar who was bragging to her Ivy-League-alumni colleagues (they were all grad students) that she's "never made a mistake" in her lab work - and can't understand how anyone would. Rachel, as a more mature and much more intelligent graduate student, got a kick out of such a blatant lie - and put me back at ease.

Let the group therapy begin: Rachel, Patrick, Hisashi, and I spent the afternoon largely bringing each other back up from the depths of funkness. Not even the perpetual rain/fog/drizzle that has settled over the city for the past three days could keep us down. Patrick was his usual encouraging self - and Hisashi and I had some most unusual conversations... including one about a Japanese pitcher playing for Cleveland right now... who's wrapped up in a scandal involving an amateur gay porn he shot in college ("for the money"). I suppose Hisashi's trying to integrate his love of baseball with my love of... well... gay? At last - common ground! Of course, I never ever thought I'd hear this quiet father of two begin a conversation like so:

"James... I know you don't know baseball... but do you know gay porno?"

Zach also popped in to take me to lunch. There's a terrific sushi place across the street named (oddly enough) I Love Sushi... and boy am I a fan of their udon lunch special.

My mood improved throughout the day... to the extent that Zach and I could plan an a trip for this weekend - to Portland. Yes, now we're REALLY going. Neither of us are ill! We leave tomorrow afternoon/early evening (yes, just in time for rush hour on the Everett-Seattle-Tacoma-Olympia stretch of Interstate 5). I'm all packed... I just need to... oh yeah - go to work tomorrow. Maybe Hisashi will bring up more collisions between organized sports activities and amateur gay pornography.

Today, Rachel, Hisashi, and Patrick reminded me... that I love my job.

A Snippet from Today:
(Don't read this unless you've worked in a biology research lab.)
Me: "Patrick, what's the input code on the Sorvall Centrifuge [as big as a washing machine] for the SS-34 rotor?"
Patrick: "Uh, it's 10, I think. Why?"
Me: "Well, the computer display is flashing 'Rotor Code' whenever I hit 'Start.'"
Patrick: "Oh, everything's fine. It's just the computer's way of making sure you've put the right code on..."
Me: "Oh..."
I pause to think.
Me: "Hey!!!! Code on! Codon!"
And the lab erupts in laughter.

Yeahyeah. I'm cool.

Wifebeaters

After a restless night's sleep, I definitely needed an espresso this morning. While waiting for said espresso at the (duh) espresso bar at work, I overheard snippets of a conversation that made my blood boil.

Of course, first off, I'll be the first to admit that I was naughty to eavesdrop. At a table near the espresso stand, five young researchers sat... loudly praising their undergraduate alma maters... all five went to prominent, highly selective, incredibly difficult universities and small colleges on the east coast. Excellent schools. I'll be the first to admit it. My undergraduate institution must seem like kindergarten in comparison. I believe four of the five were graduate students (Ph.D. or M.D./Ph.D.); the fifth is a research assistant.

Each was scooping heaping spoonfuls of academic and intellectual glory on his or her respective college... on the high quality of their undergraduate education. This sort of boasting, I've heard, is "common" for Hutch newcomers (the graduate students, I believe, were all in their first year - and the R.A. has been at the Hutch just as long as I have)... at least the newcomers that came from... well... "prominent, highly selective, incredibly difficult universities and small colleges." The two graduate students in my lab did not go through this (but then again, they did not go to schools like Yale, Columbia, Middlebury, Duke, or Amherst), but they say 99% of their classmates did... and finally quit boasting once they were "humbled." Once they saw that they were "no better than anyone else... no smarter than anyone else." I've heard banter like this from graduates and undergraduates alike... before The Humbling.

But then they moved beyond academic praise... and into "work" during college.

1. "I know... I do so much research in Dr. [So-and-so's] lab at Yale... and I had that National Science Foundation grant (no one else had any grant that large)... so I didn't have to work some loser job on the side..."
2. "Oh, I totally agree! Thank God I was smart and successful enough that Professor [Some-famous-geneticist] at Columbia saw my talent and paid me more money than my stepfather was giving me to go to school. And with no loans for tuition, I was more popular than my old roommate... who worked some sh*t job at Banana Republic."
3."My parents said I was above working through college..."
4."I felt so bad for those people who had 'nasty jobs' because they couldn't get research positions."
5."Yeah... at least I didn't work in a fast food joint... or a retail store... God, do they ever get anywhere?"

Yes, witch. They do. They may not get (or even try for) a prestigious position as a Molecular and Cellular Biology graduate student, or an M.D./Ph.D. fellow, but they get "anywhere." Somewhere. Breathe air. Live lives.

I'm willing to bet the five of them did not even fathom that someone standing three feet from their exclusive, impromptu club worked three "nasty jobs" simultaneously in college - simply because his school was too small and little-known for famous geneticists or Nobel-Prize-winning neurobiologists to set up hardcore research labs. Microbiology technician, T.J. Maxx, tutoring. My blood burned as I heard those five egos praising their own intelligence... and pitying the "little people" like me - who did not go to Yale or Columbia or Middlebury or Amherst or Princeton or wherever else - and who did not do prize-winning research on breast cancer genes or cell differentiation in nematode worms. I guess it's the Pity Part that really frosted my cookies. I had not even realized that I "needed" their pity for my "situation." Believe me, I know the Hutch is crawling with geniuses. [The walls swell with excess brainpower; ceilings sag under the grunting weight of new ideas; fuses burst and lights dim with each volley of spunky neurotransmitters sprinting across synapses.] But I never labelled myself as Worth Pity... or In Dire Need of Pity. After all - I shall muddle through, right? I saw little dishonor in working a sales register, tutoring a student with diagnosed memory problems, washing lab dishes, autoclaving old petri plates, or maintaining bacterial stocks. I fathom, however, to the five I stood three feet from this morning, that there was plenty of dishonor in not having the money or resources to go to one of their superschools... there was plenty of dishonor in working-where-I-could. We all can't be made of money, after all.

Zach and I ventured to Seattle's T.J. Maxx this past weekend after I "just had" to stop at a craft store in the same shopping center for some "special glue" for a dreaded James Craft. I saw a student there in the same situation I was: not-very-refined, just-working, unsophisticated, content. I bought a wifebeater. My first ever. ("Eh, what the hell... it costs mere pennies at a store like this; and I need cooler pajamas..." And for the record, I don't like the name 'wifebeater,' but few seem to understand what I'm saying when I speak of my "knit tanktop.") I was wearing said wifebeater underneath my shirt this morning when four wealthy, intelligent, overachieving-but-not-Humbled graduate students and one wealthy, intelligent, overachieving-but-not-Humbled research assistant (all proudly uniformed in sweatshirts from their wealthy, respected, selective universities or small colleges) agreed that the "poor people" who had to work "nasty jobs" in "sh*t colleges" Deserved Pity - because they'd never make it "anywhere" - and just aren't that sophisticated.

And I stood three feet away, with an unsophisticated wifebeater, purchased from the parent company of a former employer, clinging to my chest as the sweat beaded to the surface of my skin (Boiling blood, remember?). Curtis gave me my mocha. I muddled a "thank you" to him and swallowed bitter tears. And I, having defied their odds and gotten "anywhere," mentally refused the five's Deserved Pity. Heading back upstairs to my not-so-sh*t job, I prayed that I'd never be like those five, and hoped their Humbling would come soon.

Maybe I should buy them wifebeaters.

[Disclaimer: I've nothing against Princeton, Yale, Columbia, Amherst, Duke, Middlebury, or any other college or university mentioned in the above banter. All are (and shall continue to be) fine, wonderous institutions of learning. It was just Sad Coincidence that some of the individuals mentioned above went to some of these schools.]

Rapture

Survey says: opera so rocks.

Zach and I had first tier box seats, and even arrived early enough to pretend to be snooty - drinking white wine (well, he had a Diet Coke) in the lobby around all the wealthy Seattlites in their fur coats. Ah, Carmen. Excellent view of the stage, and I about wet myself with glee during the overture... and again during Micaela's arias. I could definitely get into this opera thing.

I almost cried at the end - Carmen is a tragedy, after all. And I was upset when I realized the evening was almost over. The standing ovations didn't last long enough, in my opinion. I had mucho clappability left in my hands after the final curtainfall. Zach and I went to (a very late) dinner afterwards at the Broadway Grill on Capitol Hill - where we plotted possible future opera adventures. Yes, I'm addicted. Quite an expensive addiction, though... especially with the euphoria of first tier box seats. A possibility in a few months: Strauss' Ariadne auf Naxos. For next year, I'm quite intrigued by Wagner's Lohengrin and Verdi's Rigoletto. The former has been highly recommended by my father and Aunt Jo - the opera experts (at least, I consider them opera experts... they used to be opera singers, after all). The Seattle Opera Company also has Puccini's Manon Lescaut, Offenbach's Les Contes d'Hoffman, and Catan's Florencia en el Amazonas (Oooohhhh... an opera in Spanish...). Season ticket donations, anyone?

Oddest (and perhaps most rewarding) Part of the Evening: trying to imagine my father, thirty years ago, playing Morales and (several years later) Escamillo (the Toreador). He quit the opera thing before my sister and I came along (perhaps because we came along?); so, though I've known my whole life that he's had the skill, imagining him in those roles... wow. What a treat! I am the son (daughter?) of an opera singer.

A False Sense of Sophistication

Here's something I thought I'd never get to say in my "adult" (post-college) life:

"If you need me tonight, tough sh*t... I'll be at the opera!"

The delivery itself reveals that I am light years from sophistication... or refinement; but I get all warm and tingly inside just pondering the music... Carmen.

Next year: Lohengrin? Let's see how the Seattle Opera strikes me.

To Scamper, Scurry, or Scuttle

Work on Friday was largely spent hustling. Rushing about. Scrambling. And still sniffling... but at least with a hefty dose of productivity.

Friday night, thankfully, was anything but productive.

Due in large part to some social hustling on Hadley's party, seven of us met at the Garage on Capitol Hill for... what else? Bowling. Yes, bowling. I'm not much of a bowler (Victory = score breaks my age); luckily, none of us were. The wait for a lane was long enough, so we scoured out booths, ordered drinks, ordered more drinks, and let the conversation flow... politics, Iowa politics, poor Howard Dean, the Urdu language, correcting James on his pronunciation of a variety of words, gay stuff, straight stuff, science stuff, Seattle stuff, and also comforting Hadley when she realized she was the only non-couple-member in attendance (Saboora and Scott; Amy and Paul; James and Zach... "No, Hadley. You are NOT a seventh wheel..."). Our waitress had to be seen to be believed - the blonde hair, the ponytails, the spunky pink shirt (spandex?), the numerous mistakes with our checks attributed hastily to "another (like) blonde moment" (complete with an empty-headed "Tee-hee!" now-and-then)... she had (Hip-hop!) danced her way out of a blonde joke, and got hit by the short bus.

Finally, lanes opened. Hadley and Zach were feeling the profound effects of alcohol-a-plenty. I, a self-proclaimed lightweight, was shocked to find myself still Somewhat Coordinated - despite the three Mac & Jacks and one Tequilla Sunrise (Mmmmmm...) I had hastily downed in the flurry of laughter and conversation. (I passed my peak long ago, and tumbled hastily down the opposite slope of Mt. Alcohol Tolerance.) It had been "ages" since I'd had a drink. Bonus: I discovered after my first gutterball that, thanks largely to the bar, I didn't give two flips about my bowling skills. Apparently, no one else did, either. My skills for the evening peaked at a spare... and came to a crashing halt after rolling the gutterball to end all gutterballs right after that holy spare... and that, my friends, as all who are familiar with bowling know, is a no-no.

It was a glorious time; and a great way to end an Odd Week [Bedridden Sunday through Tuesday; half bedridden Wednesday; nose-blowing mixed with high energy Thursday; hustling on Friday].

Turning now to the weather:
--Just finished J.M. Coetzee's Disgrace; a fantastic work... but utterly depressing in many parts. Still, the ending, while not uplifting, is settling enough... and the language lush. Read it. And Waiting for the Barbarians. Next, I might re-read Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451... "just because."
--Zach and I ventured downtown after a rousing breakfast (at noon) at the 14 Carrott Cafe (easily my favorite breakfasting spot in all of Seattle). My mission: birthday shopping for my father and sister. Of course, first we had to shop for myself, though - a sweater (WINTER SALE) from an unnamed store that posts pictures of half-naked youths, and two DVDs (Finding Nemo and series four of Absolutely Fabulous). Shopping for the blood relations is nearly finished.
--Tonight - I say we stay in! Laze about! Eat leftovers! Watch DVDs! Who's with me?

A Wild Bird

"Love is a gypsy child, a wild bird that knows no law. If you don’t love me, I love you; and if I love you, watch out!" - Carmen

It's official. Monday night, Zach and I are getting suited up (Whatever shall I wear?), and trodding off to Seattle Center to see Georges Bizet's infamous Carmen. Ahhhhh... gypsy love! I'm quite excited... it's been ages since I've seen an opera live - and this'll be a first for Zach. Dilemma - my "opera glasses" (cheap, plastic ones... swiped from a hall dad used to manage when we lived in Florida) are back in Illinois. I have a pair of antique Viennese opera glasses Aunt Jo gave me for graduation ("...to help you find your way, Jim..." Hey! It makes sense! She's an opera singer!); but there's no way in hell I'd take those out in public. Would it be an opera faux pas to take a small pair of field binoculars? Especially when Zach and I have box seats. Mmmmmm. I can't wait!

(Hmmmm. Methinks getting excited about opera makes me a dork. Damn.)

Turning now to local news:

--I baked cookies while Zach watched Amelie. The cookies were so-so (I'll take them in to lab... Rumor has it that Yao Labbery will eat anything). The movie, as always, rocked.

--For familial reasons I won't go in to right now, my physician had to "check" me for a specific kind of heart problem today. It was quite hilarious. She had me lying flat on my back, shirt lifted up, cold stethoscope pressed to my sternum... while I had to hold my breath and "bear down." Yes, that's right. Bear down. A particularly disgusting friend of mine predicted I'd fart. I did not... though we had to try it several times because I kept laughing. She had to listen to my heart, you see, under "artificial duress." Ex post facto, I suppose I prefer the "bear down" version of artificial duress as opposed to running a few laps around the building. I'd worn sandals, after all.

--No worries. My heart is fine.

--Zach and I will probably re-try the trip to Portland next weekend. Cross those fingers!

--My boss departs in less than a week for Taipei. We won't see him for three months. It hasn't hit me yet that I'll kind of be "on my own" then, in terms of my research. He won't be twenty feet away for troubleshooting when my Southern blot flunks with flying colors. Instead... webcam? Yes, webcam. I gave Patrick bunny ears during our test runs. The next few months should be interesting.

Adaptations

With Ambassador Carol Moseley Braun out of the race now (though she had little chance to begin with, unfortunately), I must now search for another Democratic candidate to fit my beliefs...

And, thanks to a neat little survey provided by the Poje, probing the remaining candidates suddenly became much easier...

Granted, it's just a measly survey. But it gave me an idea of which candidates (hopefully) carry views similar to mine. My results:

66% - Representative Dennis Kucinich (HA!)
60% - Dr. Howard Dean
60% - Senator John Kerry
60% - Ambassador Carol Moseley Braun, withdrawn
53% - Senator John Edwards
53% - Representative Richard Gephardt, withdrawn
53% - Senator Joseph I. Lieberman
46% - Reverend Al Sharpton
33% - General Wesley Clark
0% - President George W. Bush

Sorry, Kucinich. You and I might agree on tons; but you just don't "do it" for me. Looks like Dean, Kerry, and Edwards had better start kissin' up to me, if they want my vote.

Best Part: the President and I apparently agree on NOTHING.

Move Along Home

After four days home letting my immune system battle whatever microbe foe is causing me to keep a box of tissues (soft, wholesome, swollen with aloe) within reach, I thought it'd be safe to venture back to work today.

It turns out I wasn't ready.

Comments to me:
Meng-Chao: "It looks like whatever is working its way through lab is hitting you the hardest..."
Teresa: "You look like you're still really sick."
Jon: "James, you don't look so good."
Patrick: "I feel like sh*t, but it looks like you feel worse."
Rachel: "I like your pants." (Okay, so that has nothing to do with illness... but I'll take any compliment I can get!)

I appreciate the sympathy here, people... but c'mon, do I really look that bad? Honestly? (Don'tanswerthat.)

So, I endured lab meeting with a box of tissues, got a modest amount of work done (about an hour's worth) afterwards, gave up, and retreated back to my bed. Move along home... with my nice pants. I've furthermore resigned Jamesprideanddignity (I keep a few shreds of each around for emergency) and made an appointment with my ever-patient-and-most-clever physician. Hopefully she can shed some light on all this, or at least tell me, "You're doing all you can. Now stay at home a few more days..." That'd be ohsosweet - a physician's excuse to stay in bed, blow my nose, and read books. Is this heaven?
(No. You left Iowa.)

Post-State-of-the-Union-Address Despair (Disgrace?) that we're going to have to endure four more years of the Bush Administration and lame-ass, "patriotic," liberal-bashing speeches gave way to oh-I'm-pissed-as-hell-at-Bushness. Recapping his speech:

--If all those nations he named really are part of the "coalition," why are American taxpayers (already bloated under a roaring defecit) bearing the brunt of the cost for Iraqi reconstruction? How about turning this over to the United Nations, or at least begging other bigwigs for forgiveness for flipping them the bird by going-it-(virtually)-alone in Iraq and supplicating until they agree to help us help the Iraqis. Oh, and let's allow the Iraqis to elect their own representatives for a change. Ethnic "caucuses" my ass.

--Cut the defecit in half in five years? Let's see some rock-solid plans. Plus, should we trust you with the checkbook anymore? Let's see... as I recall, there wasn't a defecit as big as the Jovian System when you took office. Balance the books, for once. If you leave my generation with skyrocketing taxes of every kind to pay this off, I will personally defecate on your tombstone. (Call this viral-induced rage.)

--If my tax cut comes at the cost of that huge defecit (see reference above to the Jovian System), then I'd rather eat it now by paying higher taxes, rather than eating it at the age of eighty when I'm working as a grocery-bagger (in addition to three other jobs) to make ends meet. "Oh, Canada," anyone?

--Bush, what "job growth"? The economy barely created 1,000 new jobs last month. "Economic recovery" at the top of the pyramid isn't as sound as it seems when an earthquake at the foundation is tearing down the whole structure brick-by-brick.

--Ahem: gay marriage. Activist judges, eh? I realize Bush must bow to the right, but since when have two men in love (or two women in love) produced as much of a threat (or a greater threat) to American society than Osama bin Laden? Maybe I'm biased (hell, I'm gay)... But I define "family" with as much flexibility as I define "diet food" (Mmmmm... chocolate... good for dieting). Consider this: "A group of people who love each other." Hence, my greatest compliment to you (the general reader - blood relation or no) will forever be, "You are my family." Growing up seeing families (yes, families) of grandparents supporting grandkids, or a single mom supporting adopted children, or older siblings supporting younger sibilings, I certainly won't object to loving gay couples getting married (yes, married) and starting families of their own. It's not judicial activism; it's equality under the Constitution. Amend that sacred document? I'll defecate on your tombstone and emigrate!

--Faith-based groups?... Six Words: the Separation of Church and State. Live it, learn it, love it. Religion is a personal matter... to me, at least; so forgive me if I have difficulty understanding how and why certain right-wing groups see the need to make it a huge part of public life.

Whew. I have purged the demons.
This house is clear.
(Move along home.)

The Democracy of Halves: Reloaded

Zach came over and we watched President George W. Bush's annual State of the Union Address. I've been watching these addresses since I was in junior high school... midway through President Clinton's first term.

I must say, Bush and I agree on little nothing. Foreign policy, Iraq, the war on terror, international bodies like the U.N. and the E.U., the economy, tax cuts, marriage, family structure, the separation of church and state. The whole ball of wax. Put President Bush and I in the same room and we could agree on little... except that we're both breathing oxygen. Well, I could agree on that. He might think that I, as a homosexual, inhale carbon dioxide and exhale cyanide - and drink the blood of my victims.

Okay, I exaggerate. I apologize.

So we don't agree on everything. But, it was an impressively well-written interesting speech. Interesting insofar as it was vague enough to appeal to people who like headlines and "big ideas," but will ask the waiter to hold off on the side of buttered-details with thought-gravy. I suppose that must be expected at the beginning of an election year - mass appeal - aim for the uninformed. The points were vague enough, in places, to target the masses - and specific enough to appeal to the right ("man-and-woman marriage"... ugh).

The international issues raised by the speech were largely nonspecific in detail, and patriotic enough to raise both sides of the aisle - a standing ovation. And another one. And another one. And why? Perhaps anyone NOT standing would be seen as (gasp) unpatriotic. God forbid we should criticize our own government. Even the President's misleading list of nations supporting and within "the Coalition" was voiced in such a way that any senator or representative not seen applauding might be accused of wanting Saddam Hussein to be in power still. Smooth Operator.

Again, perhaps I exaggerate. Again, athousandpardons.

BUT, what hardest blow, to me, came as the President's speech moved on to domestic issues. For roughly three-quarters (maybe more) of the ovations concerning domestic issues, applause and cheers came only from half of the Congress - the Republicans. His points and domestic agenda appealed to only half the Congress... half the audience?... half the nation?

Who knows. I might not agree with any of Bush's policies, politics, and beliefs, but I'm alarmed at the division and polarization incited by them in the government - and possibly in the nation. His speech was so broad ("Waiter, hold the details... I don't want to alienate anyone until I've been re-elected...") in its scope one minute to appeal to a variety of Americans - and so narrow the next minute that it polarizes the masses. The "patriotic war on terror" side-by-side with "protecting" the institution of marriage. I'm concerned by the polarization the speech incited... or seemed to incite, at least. Then again, much of what the Administration says and does concerns me. But, tonight's speech yet again reminded me of the polarization that plagues American politics. Multiparty system, anyone?

Here's the most perplexing part: Who the hell in the Bush Administration decided to put in that spiel about steroid use in athletes? Seriously, we've got bigger problems than overpaid athletes using drugs. But then again - maybe I've got the wrong perspective. I was raised to look up to musicians and artists and professors - not sportsfigures. *shrugs*

As for the Democratic response - kudos to Pelosi and Daschle. Nancy, blink a few more times. Tom, blink a few less times. Good policies, good delivery. I agreed with much. I wish ya'll could've defended the judicial process that is attempting to end homosexual discrimination, but I know these are politically "rough" times, and I don't live in utopia. Now, pick a candidate I can feel good about voting for.

Also, pick a candidate who isn't obsessed with steroid usage... and who can wipe that damn smirk off of his face.

An Assemblage of Midwesterners

How did I celebrate Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day? Why, I was sick in bed, of course! But, my politically-charged (and former loyal Iowan) boyfriend just woke me from the holiest of naps to beg for information regarding...

duh

the Caucus.

Iowans celebrated Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day by caucusing.

As a former pseudo-Iowan (Sure, I had an Illinois driver's license, but Iowa was a freaking two minute walk across a bridge), I'm deeply fascinated (and deeply confused) by Midwestern politics. And I supposed Iowa is the Confusing Jewel to End All Confusing Jewels. The state where Dems puff their chests and proudly say, "Politically liberal, socially conservative." [Disclaimer: I do not intend to offend Iowans. I'm quite fond of your state and its gently-rolling glacial deposits... Nor do I claim to know the ins-and-outs of your state. These are all "just some observations..." I love Iowa. Hell, I nearly took a job in Iowa City and settled there... before the Seattle job came through.]

So, Iowa... So, Iowans, enjoy your day in the limelight. Your fame. Your rule over country politics. The preliminary figures do not look good for Dr. Dean, but we'll see how badly you've been beaten, my boy. Things are looking up for Senators Kerry and Edwards. I've never voiced my opinion (at least, on this site) in favor of one candidate over the next. But, since today is caucus day, a Holy Day for all Midwesterners (even those who're converted Seattlites), I'll (figuratively-speaking) unzip my fly and let you know that, on principle, I would've caucused for:

Ambassador Carol Moseley Braun, former Senator from Illinois (cha-CHING!)

Of course, that would've been if she had not dropped out. But these things happen. She didn't have much of a chance at all, but, on principle, she rocked. (There Sarah, I supported her!) Who would I have caucused for instead? Tsk tsk. I haven't even come CLOSE to a replacement yet. Washington State's Democratic Caucus, after all, isn't until the 7th of February.

In the meantime, I always enjoy the British Perspective on American politics:
To election 2004 and beyond..., by Ian Pannell

Now, in honor of oh-so-sticky American politics, I'm going to blow my nose.

Delve

Being ill on a three-day weekend isn't all bad. You get a little light reading done.

A gem:

Peer Review Plan Draws Criticism: Under Bush Proposal, OMB Would Evaluate Science Before New Rules Take Effect, by Rick Weiss, Washington Post

My mother sent me the above article... she usually sends me anything "remotely science" - and especially when politics are interwoven. Now, I'm not much of a scientist. At best, I'd call myself a "meddler," rather than an investigator. But woe to the government that dabbles with the scientific method. I'm wary of any move that would seek to politicize science - the two just aren't practically compatible. With the White House stepping in as a "peer review" system to screen scientific data before public policies based on these data are implemented, I greatly fear that biased parties (politicians and lobbyists) or other groups unfamiliar with the scientific method will look at the data under consideration and say, "Oh, well these results aren't certain... we must have 100% confidence before we can sculpt these global climate statistics into public policy..." I use global climate statistics as an example - one could easily substitute phrases such as antibiotic-resistant bacteria and industrial misuse of antibiotics correlational reports or net carbon dioxide industrial output reports or rapid thinning of the Arctic Ice Sheets or HIV-1 integrase inhibitors or prokaryotic lateral gene transfer... the list goes on and on.

But what I fear these parties won't understand (or will conveniently forget) is that precious little in science is 100% certain. That is why we have more "theories" (The Theory of Continental Drift, The Theory of Global Warming, The Theory of Relativity... or "things-that-have-not-yet-been-disproven") than "laws" (The Three Laws of Theormodynamics, for example). Hampered by being sexually-charged primates with clumbsy hands, a poor sense of smell, and the damnable "flight-or-fight" mammalian instinct, we aren't the best at delving - and I mean really delving - into the nuts and bolts of our environment. We need technology - damned expensive, precise technological tools to help us (hell, to do the work for us). To see the smallest atom - to pick a point of black sky and peer at it for so long that we can look further and further back into time to the Big Bang - to see the fetus in a mother's womb - to see the clogged artery, the speeding bullet, the influenza virus, the black hole.

What I press for everyone to understand here is that, even with our "great technological feats" and our (supposedly sound) scientific method, we can seldom look at one study - one data set - and say, "Yes, Mr. So-and-So-from-the-White-House-Office-of-Management-and-Budget, these data are 100% sound." Instead, we get terms like "trend" and "tendency" and "results point to" and "further studies needed" - and I fear those phrases will send politicans to assert that no difinitive conclusions were reached from a particular study, or a group of studies. But this is far from the truth. Science, by nature (and by our limited powers of observation - see the above disadvantages of being a clumbsy primate), is often indirect. But politicians, as far as I can tell, want nothing but the Direct.

If we sat around waiting and waiting, and delaying policy (or omitting it altogether) until the (unattainable) 100% results are available, then I suppose...

1...we could not use antibiotics right now - even almost a century after they were "discovered" by Alexander Fleming. After all (as we are learning now), they are far from 100% sound. Delete every single antibiotic you've ever taken from your personal medical history.

2...we could not assert that DNA is the "genetic material" passed from cell-to-cell. Nor could we claim to know its structure. At least, not until the last decade, or so, when Scanning Tunneling Microscopy and Atomic Froce Microscopy techniques were developed to actually see DNA. If these O.M.B. rules had existed when James Watson, Francis Crick, Maurice Wilkins, and Rosalind Franklin had made their proposals on the molecular structure of DNA, I wonder if the White House would've rejected their hypothesis, since, after all, it was all indirect. If that turned out to be the case, then delete 99% of our medical breakthroughs for the last half century.

DNA ("the stuff of life"), in the same structure proposed by Watson, Crick, Wilkins, and Franklin in the 1950s. Now, thanks to Scanning Tunneling Microscopy perfected in the last decade, the O.M.B. can see it and believe it.

I fear these new rules will stifle scientific progress... or at least, stifle the progress in which new discoveries can be implemented into public policy. And, worse yet (pay attention here), it will allow special interest groups friendly with the Administration (Bush or any administration - any party) to influence which data are refuted and which are accepted and sculpted into policy. And the extent to which the policies are really, truly effective would again be dependent on special interest groups.

Don't get me wrong; I'm a huge fan of peer review. A devoted fan. But this is anything BUT peer review. It has the guise of peer review, but the stench of "the ol' Potomac two-step" - the game of politics. Some supporters of this move point to the absurd level of "interal politics" in science. Oh, I'll agree with you there - there's competition, gossip, back-stabbing, petty theft - the whole ball-of-wax. But all of that is confined within the realm of science - particularly within specific fields (you'll never see a nuclear physicist and a yeast biochemist fighting for the same NIH grant). It may hamper productivity to an extent - we aren't as efficient as we could be. But, it does not hamper discovery. It does not hinder the acquisition of sound, quality data - or the interpretations of said data. It is the best system we have. And now, I fear, the results of this system will never see public eye, or will never be implemented into sound laws and policies, unless they don't politically rock-the-boat.

Science is about rocking-the-boat; I don't know about you, but I can swim.

Singularity

You: "But, James... Shouldn't you be in Portland?"
James grumbling: "Damned immune response..."

Portland will have to wait for another weekend. For now, I'm dealing with a most interesting head cold. At least, it's interesting for me. A peculiarity. (Singularity?) My head has that "swimming" feeling. You know. The kind that makes one stay-in-bed all day. But alas, I emptied the house of "basics" in terms of food - as I thought I'd be in Oregon. Thus, I also found out that this "swimming" feeling makes one sway in the shower... and I also probably should have avoided operating a motor vehicle. But, no one died. I made it to Trader Joe's, QFC, and even stopped by Scarecrow Video for some necessities.

[The necessities being Raiders of the Lost Ark and The Age of Innocence... Side Note: Since when is Raiders of the Lost Ark referred to as Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark? A Scarecrow employee and I spent ten minutes musing over that one. Damned re-releases and their "great changes" - What's next: Casablanca in color with computer-generated Nazis and Vulcan observers thrown in to boot? To me, a classic is a classic is a classic... and don't f*ck with perfection. Especially Raiders of the Lost Ark. But then again, I am a purist.]

That said, I'm home now, and drugged up. My only relevant (and inconvenient) symptoms appear to be consistent with a "classic head cold" - but minus the fever. I hate it when things don't line up. I've drugged myself up with various over-the-counter remedies; but they seem (so far) to be about as effective as spitting at the Death Star. I suppose a visit to my physician will be in order if this persists. After all, I look forward to an illness about as much as I look forward to a wholesome meal of tacks and glass shards. But, in the meantime, I've a small mountain of DVDs and books to entertain me. And I'm suddenly grateful I bought the "higher quality" (though slightly more-expensive) mattress to go with my IKEA bed. Zach has been most understanding, since this also obviously delays his travel plans. It's always nice to have an understanding boyfriend.

Other Jamestales:
--Patrick shocked the hell out of me Wednesday at work (pre-illness) and asked me to have drinks with him. So, after a confusing day of labness, we ventured to one of many restaruant/bar chimeras across the street from work, where I found that I harbor a fondness for expensive scotch. This could be fun. If only I could remember which of the five types of scotch they offered that I tried.

--The travel plans for March are pretty much squared away. Chicago for 2 days... Quad-Cities for about a week. I don't know yet if I'll be able to snag some mode of transportation to see my sister and some close friends in central Missouri. I'm so used to having a car. This visit will at least be an exercise in patience for me - and a lot of walking. Perhaps I should just bite the bullet and rent a car?

--I finally finished The Age of Innocence at the beginning of this illness onslaught (hence, I needed to rent the DVD today for comparison). Next up, I'm considering J.M. Coetzee's Disgrace or Toni Morrison's Beloved. The former is for a book club I've considered joining... the latter because... well, I bought it used two years ago and still haven't read it. I seem to do that a lot.

--Hopefully, Zach and I will set up tickets to see Georges Bizet's Carmen later this month. It's been ages since I've seen an opera (at least, it's been ages since I've seen one from the audience - instead of backstage or from an orchestra pit); now I've got my heart set on it.

More later. And if the pressure from this head cold begins to damage my big, sexy brain, fear not - I'll ask to be euthanized.

Circuits

It is done; I shall be a traveller... of sorts.

The tickets have been booked and confirmed: in March I return to what was "home" for fourteen years for a visit of a little over a week. Two days in Chicago to see friends there, and to explore the city that nearly became my new home seven months ago. Then, a week in the Quad-Cities. The timing coincides well with my former college's complicated trimester schedule; thus, I'll be able to visit professors and friends left behind with relative ease. Plus, I'll get to visit my folks (divorced, but with one in Rock Island and one in East Moline, things should roll smoothly). Hopefully, time (and the sudden appearance of an available vehicle) will also allow a brief excursion to Iowa City two visit two dear friends there.

But, that said, all this is in March! For now, Zach and I are also "planning" a trip down to Portland this weekend. Work this week has been stressful, at best; when I realized Monday is a paid holiday (thank you, Dr. King), it was pretty much said-and-done. Many Seattlites are appalled that I want to venture down to Oregon. After all, they say, "It's smaller... there's less to do!" A Seattle-wannabe? I'll be the judge of that. The point is: as one raised in "small towns," Portland will seem large to me. Portland will have plenty to keep me busy. And I need to get out of Seattle; I realized last week that I've only left the city limits within the past few months to travel to Sea-Tac Airport to receive or drop off another visitor. How can I claim to love the Pacific Northwest when the bulk of my experiences don't go far beyond King County, Washington?

Of course, one thing could delay the Portland excursion: my immune system. Sore throat and sniffles reared their ugly (respective) heads today (I treat my symptoms like a multi-headed Hydra - I have to slice off each one in its own turn). I'm hoping it's just an "isolated" incident - especially since the hotel room in downtown Portland is already booked under my credit card. Zach, understanding as ever, towed over steaming bowls of Pho Ga (Hydras, I hear, are vulnerable to an effective immune response and chicken soup). Hopefully, this is all just an attack of mild hypochondria.

Conglomerate

"A conglomerate is a sedimentary rock composed largely of pebbles/rounded particles with diameters greater than 2mm and essentially cemented together. They are commonly formed along beaches, river deposits, and glacial drifts."

(A conglomerate is also an assemblage of unrelated or dissimilar objects, concepts, or ideas.)

(A conglomerate also means I've nothing coherent to share.)

The Treasures of the Palace:

Ancient Fossil Penis Discovered.
(Figured this might get the attention of a few readers. But, innocently, it got my attention since I love paleontology.)

New Strong Bad E-mail!

Gay Boyfriend.

And finally...
"Carload Of Faggots Just Pulled Up To Drive-Thru, Cashier Reports"
(As always, bless you, the Onion.)

We now return you to our regularly scheduled doldrums.

The Ice Age

I just got back from dinner at The Blue Canal with Saboora and Zach. Good times - but I just have one question:

In the men's restroom, the urinals were filled with ice... Not until the urinal was overflowing with it, mind you. But it was definitely packed in... Why? To dispose of it? If so, why not just dump it down the sink? Or some place else? These are the questions that wrack my brain. Any thoughts?

Butter Babies

I ain't much of a chef. But I'm learning.

A few weeks ago, I attempted to make chocolate chip cookies "from scratch." Of course, I did it while the bf was over, so I wasn't paying attention to the quality of my cookies. I didn't use enough flour - the cookies spread flatter than a pancake/Nebraska/Kansas. A conglomerate of sugar and chocolate chips, mostly - and as brittle as my soul. They were great crumbled over ice cream, and the bf and Yao Labbery devoured them during last week's "snowstorm."

The failed chef yet again, I attempted today to redeem myself: butter babies. Yep, they really are not-as-healthy as they sound. But good enough, I suppose, that Marcella and Zach suggested I graduate up to pies, cakes, and fish (an "easy meat" to work with). But I'd still like to redeem myself with cookies. Jill provided me with a cookie recipe that sounds difficult, but worth the shot. It combines peanut butter and chocolate, after all! I'll keep you posted. Especially if you've invited me to dinner recently.

In other news, Mark and I viewed The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King the other night. Fantastic, stupendous... and LONG. Of course, I can't wait for the extended version - hopefully there will be more shots of Faramir!

The Seattle Opera Company is performing Georges Bizet's Carmen. I haven't been to an opera in several years, and Zach has not at all. It's "expensive" (relative to my budget), but I'm tempted. It's a good "first opera" for Zach, after all.

And now for something completely different.

Total Recall

Lord knows how this show got in my head today... but it's been on my brain all day. Time to share the joy:

I was always quite fond of the Doozers.

(Down at Fraggle Rock!)

The Schism

One of my housemates, Misha, hails from Serbia.

As all good history students know, the schism between the Eastern Orthodox and Roman Catholic churches eventually yielded different religious calendars - Julian for the former, Gregorian for the latter. Thus, for all those Eastern Orthodox Christians out there, I'd like to wish you all a Merry Christmas.

And for the holiday, the house is hosting many of Misha's friends, along with some tag-alongs supplied by myself and Marcella (Steve, Emory, Zach, Grainne), for a (second?) Christmas dinner. It's continuing as I speak. My house is full of Eastern Orthodox Christians!

The whole ordeal has just been hilarious: with travel stories supplied by Marcella and Grainne (who were, respectively, trying to fly back to Seattle from Houston and New Orleans - became horribly delayed by the "snowstorms"), posture anecdotes from Emory, and lessons in Southern charm from myself and Marcella, the gathering has indeed been a memorable one. Traditional Serbian food abounds - and Misha, Marcella, and I exchanged Christmas gifts before the guests arrived. Marcella knows a true dork when she sees one - while in Houston, she got me a t-shirt from the Johnson Space Center. My Reaction: "This is sooooo COOL! I wanna wear it now!" Misha apparently also knows a true dork when he sees one - as shown by the classical music CDs he gave me. Ah, presents!

And thankfully, celebrating this Eastern Orthodox Christmas has served as a mild distraction from the most awkward schism of all:

My parents went to court in Illinois today and officially "dissolved" their marriage of thirty-five years.

Disaster

Seattle is in the grips of a "fierce snowstorm."

Two inches accumulation and counting.

I tend to refer to snowfall like that as more of a "spittle" or "dribble." And, instead of "fierce," I would assert descriptions like "passive" or "humble" or "friendly" or "irenic."

The irenic snowspittle of 2004.

That said, and realizing that I was halfway through a week's worth of time-sensitive experiments, I rose, dressed, ate (allthenormalthings), and, upon learning that most buses were delayed or trapped on those "treacherous" uncleared roads (Seattle is equipped with -0.078 snowplows, apparently), Zach drove me to work. We are Midwesterners by vocation, after all.

(We'll pause to allow me to flex my Nordic, snow-beaten muscles... Oh, wait... I'm Welsh.)

When I got to the Center, I saw most labs operating at half-staff... skeleton crews, actually. And I was (and still am) the only member of Yao Labbery to make it in. When I checked my e-mail, I saw this:

"Date:  Tue, 6 Jan 2004 05:32:49 -0800
From:  "Hood, Ron"
To:  !AllHutch
Subject:  Center Status for Tuesday, January 6
AllHutch -

Ron"

I'm obviously nonessential. So I should not be in. I'm here, just the same; so I thought I'd make the best of a free day and wander around the campus whilst my experiments churned. And here's the best part:

The Hutch's espresso bar is open today. Both full-time baristas are apparently official essential employees and had to come in.

I love Seattle - weatherwusses and caffieneaddicts. And the coffee and pastries are free today for all who braved the passive snowspittle!

(I took two bagels.)

Romance

I'm currently tearing my way through one of Edith Wharton's novels, The Age of Innocence. Jamesthought: "Hell, I loved the movie... I'm sure the book will be just as engaging!..."

How true! Two-thirds of the way through the novel, and it will take nothing short of a monumental train wreck in terms of plot line, character development, and lush diction to reluctantly force me to brand such a work "a poor novel." It's awesome.

Of course, though, James is a slow reader... and I'm reading a dog-eared copy swiped from my mother's extensive library before I moved to Seattle. The book was obviously printed after the 1993 movie adaptation came out. The cover looks like this:

I shouldn't have been surprised by this turn of events... but I was. I have been reading this novel while eating lunch at work (yes, Sarah... in the Double Helix Cafe) for the past week. Today it was brought to my attention that every Hutch employee who's seen the cover of my book has assumed that I must be quite the fan of trashy romance novels!
*sigh*

So far, for the record, I have not found any descriptions of pundulent breasts, heaving crotches, and severe petting on any page of The Age of Innocence. So I think I'm safe. Still, I can only imagine what kind of reputation I'm setting up for myself at work.

A hypothetical graduate school interview:

Professor: "James, as you know, I head a lab in the Basic Sciences Division at the Hutch."
Me: "Yes, sir. I'm quite familiar with your work. I've actually read the last four articles you published in Science; I'd be interested in rotating in your lab, as well... if the committee decides to offer me a position as a graduate student, of course."
Professor: "Yes, James. That is the point I was coming to. I, and several other scientists and staff members at the Hutch have noticed your apparently overwhelming desire to bury your nose all day in trashy romance novels. We were all offended at the 2003/2004 cusp when you carried around that whoremongering novel for two weeks!! A couple - male devouring female - on the cover! Have you no decency, sir?!... I have spoken to Director Hartwell about this matter, and we have decided to terminate your employment here immediately, and to deny your application. Take your heaving sexual trash and your over-active Y chromosome and go "work" in a house of ill repute!!!"

Okay, let's call that Worst Case Scenario. For the time being, however, I apparently have made quite a name for myself ("the gay guy who reads trashy hetero novels" - or something like that) with some technicians in labs near mine. The lesson: don't judge a book by it's cover, people! It won the f*cking Pulitzer Prize in 1921!!!!! It's a good book!

Maybe The Age of Innocence needs a more innocent cover:

Then again, I'm highly tempted to simply moon the "offended" members of my neighboring labs (whilst carrying my next reading endeavour... which, no matter what it is, will have a plain f*cking cover... or I'll color over the cover in black marker). Trashy romance novel my ass!

Concert Etiquette

Work on Friday felt like a Monday. Taking New Year's Day off definitely ruined productivity. Kudos to Zach for proposing a dorkish manner of celebrating the New Year - we ended up with "cheap seat" tickets to hear the Seattle Symphony in Benaroya Hall.

It was a new venture for me. I'd deliberately avoided orchestra concerts since graduating. I miss playing too much. [Sidebar: For those of you scratching your heads, I'm from a musical family. Piano since Montessori School; double bass since the fifth grade. Orchestra, rehearsals, competitions, auditions - elementary school through college graduation. The works. But dumbJames chose two rather expensive instruments to tackle... all through high school and college, basses were rented, borrowed. The piano was "on loan" from my father.] Thus, a musicless Seattle (for me, at least), has been a bit tough to bear. The metropolitan area does not lack "amateur" orchestras begging for basses - it's just that I'm also begging for a bass... and a larger car to ferry it in. Donations, anyone?

Back on track: Seattle Symphony! Zach is a smooth criminal - and convinced me to ring in 2004 with Wagner's Siegfried Idyll and van Beethoven's Symphony No. 9 in D minor, "Choral" (yes, the "Ode to Joy" one). Thus, I got "spiffied up" (put on a sweater), bussed it downtown, and joined the music nerds. We were literally in the cheap seats - aisles in the back row. But, that just meant I was first in the restroom at intermission! Benaroya Hall is gorgeous - and the acoustics are mind-boggling. As for the music itself, Siegfried Idyll was a new one for me - charming and relaxing. And the van Beethoven symphony was utter perfection... with one no-no on the audience's part at the conclusion of the (admittedly long) first movement: the audience applauded.

Perhaps it's because I'm the son of a former opera singer. Proper Concert Etiquette was as much a part of my upbringing as say-"please"-and-"thank-you", don't-put-your-mouth-on-the-water-fountain, and stop-running-through-the-house-wearing-mommy's-slip. Attending concerts, musicals, and operas from age three on up, I knew, above all, to sit still, quietly and respectively, and to avoid applauding until the Seattle Symphony has finished the work in its entirety. But, after a mild coronary episode on my part, the second movement began, and I slipped again into blissful Music Appreciation 101. Telepathic messages transmitted frantically from my cerebral cortex to my fellow concert-goers must've gotten through, as no one applauded in the two brief intervals between the next three movements.

Afterwards, post-concert rapture gave way to post-concert hunger; Zach and I booked it to a late-night restaurant on Capitol Hill. Seattle Symphony praise was so great that I failed to panic when Hot Jon the Graduate Student (his lab is near mine at work; and yes, I drop things or say things backwards when he's around) waltzed in with his partner and a few (beautiful) friends for some drinks. I even managed to introduce him to Zach without saying, "This is Zach... willyoumarrymejon?" Go me.

Not-so-go-me: I was eating a particularly greasy french fry at the time... which is not proper see-a-cute-guy etiquette.

First Meal

Welcome to 2004.
My name is James, and I shall be your hostess.

--Kudos to me for working on New Year's Eve. The lab was virtually empty; Hisashi actually left early (gasp), and Meng-Chao was in to tidy things up before his latest trip to Taipei. I accomplished very little, however, aside from realizing that I had succeeded in putting on two different socks that morning. And my belt didn't match my shoes.

--After rushing home to correct the above fashion blunders (and to nab a hasty supper), Zach and I joined forces and got spiffied up for New Year's. Our destination: birthday/New Years party in Beacon Hill for a friend of one of Zach's coworkers. We met up with Karen (the coworker) and her equally-Midwestern visitor Eric for a celebratory alcohol run (the party was BYO) - it's always interesting to see the picked-over beer and wine sections of grocery stores on New Year's Eve (Washington state law requires that all other liquors be sold in separate state-supervised facilities... all of which had already closed by the time we got our act together).

--The gathering itself was a riot. Zach was forced to dance; I resisted the urge to spend the whole eventing either petting the resident feline or eating in the kitchen. The crowd was rather large (forty or fifty folks, at least), and was a virtual smorgasboard of who's-who in the GLBT (Gay-Lesbian-Bisexual-Transgendered/Transsexual) identity. All bases covered. My sheltered Midwestern-bred (but still male-lusting) soul relished in this baptism into General Gayness. We danced, drank some (I succeeded in buzzing), conversed, and I related some embarrassing childhood tales in an effort to get-to-know-others (and break-out-of-my-shell)... including the Polka Dot Incident and the Pantyhose Incident. [No, I will not post about these... yet.]

--We departed sometime between 2:00AM and 3:00AM; slept well in my oh-so-comfy bed.

--New Year's Day, I decided to rise early (noon), call Zach over, and make him an equally early breakfast (2:00PM). Yes! I cooked! Buttermilk pancakes, bacon, (fake) sausage (I will not tolerate Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy in this body), tea, toast, leftover rosemary-roasted sweet potatoes hastily re-roasted on the stove, and lots of other goodies lovingly prepared to enrich the soul and clog the arteries. [Hey, gimme a break - I rarely cook; and I was raised in Southern culture for much of my life... so I can easily use doublethink to convince myself that an unhealthy breakfast is the healthiest way to ring in the New Year. Take that, Atkins!]

--Needless to say, I was quite full afterwards. Food-a-plenty. Breakfast was the only meal I had on New Year's Day. We lazed about the house afterwards, watching TV and occasionally allowing me brief moments of Productivity - such as sorting my dirty clothes for Laundry Time. But, all-in-all, it was a blissfully unproductive day. It's good to know that at least 1/366th of 2004 was spent in blatant anti-productivity, devouring my favorite breakfast foods and watching outdated episodes of various Sci-Fi series.

Life is good.