ISleepInADrawer.com

Savages

For the past month or so, Zach has persistently threatened to bring me a little bit further into the twenty-first century (kicking and screaming, no doubt). How so? By buying me an mp3 player.

Yes, that's right. I still have a portable CD player.

In fact, up until 25 December 2004, I was using the same portable CD player that my folks gave me during my sophomore year of high school (1996, or so). I'm as shocked as anyone else that it lasted as long as it did. Though, granted, it wasn't much to look at by the end. Anyway, Zach bought me a new one for Christmas, as he bought himself a mp3 player to use at work. He'd joke, now and then, that my gift for getting into graduate school would be my own choice of mp3 player.

But now, with the Possibility of graduate school becoming a Reality, I'm being asked to pick a model and manufacturer. Now, I may know the Governor-General, Prime Minister, and Foreign Minister of Canada, but I don't know sh*t about "technology." So, if I had the opportunity to get an mp3 player, what would be good for me?

Obviously, I'm asking for suggestions here, folks. If I'm going to be tossed violently into another twenty-first century "thingy," I might as well get something good out of it.

Passacaglia and Waltz

Home sweet home. Now, who wants to do my laundry?

Confession time: I wasn't just traveling to San Francisco. I also made an all-too-brief stopover in Chicago. But, I had to keep it hush-hush, since it wasn't really a social visit. The University of Chicago program I'd applied to was allowing me to stopover for one day to interview with faculty and students. It was a quick in-and-out affair... I didn't even get off of Pacific time. I'm very impressed with the program, though... here's hoping I get an offer.

As for San Francisco, I popped in Thursday through this morning. In a word: STUNNING. Of the five programs I applied to, UCSF, I was told, was "stretching it." Confused? To clarify, here's what many folks told me: "You won't get in, James. So don't even bother applying." Well, I'm not in (yet), and I'm not out (yet). But damn, what a city! What a program! For my first time in California, it was indeed an enjoyable occasion. I saw a few familiar faces from my interview with the University of Washington's Molecular and Cellular Biology program a few weeks ago. And I bonded with and befriended a genius recruit from Montréal/Toronto who happens to share my name. We became "American James" and "Canadian James." Friendly, funny, cerebral, supportive, blessedly nonjudgemental, and thankfully as disinterested in discussing "science" as I was. He was impressed that I know the name of the current Canadian Prime Minister (and several of his predecessors). But seriously, if you're an American and you don't know even the basics of the Canadian government, shame on you.

As for San Francisco itself, pleasant surprises lurked around every corner. I believe I became "hooked," though, after a drive up to Twin Peaks at night to get a better idea of the city's layout. WOW. Different from Seattle, but still "West Coast" in feel and atmosphere. Don't get me wrong - I'm not about to pack up and move there right now or anything. But, no matter where I end up this autumn, I've found a new city to romp around in, even if only for a vacation to visit friends down there. I spent Saturday evening catching up over dinner and Coke-floats (since the dessert place was out of Root Beer) with a close friend and her boyfriend. They gushed and gushed about the city, understandably, and I appreciated getting an unbiased local's view of the area.

But, as my plane back to Seattle broke through the clouds approaching SeaTac, I took one look out of my window, saw the modest skyline, Seattle's bone-on-bone outline, and water water everywhere... and thought, "I'm home."

And I love that feeling.

Second Verse

More interviews! See y'all Sunday.

The Great Divide

A bill is circulating around the Washington state legislature to request that the federal government create the nation's fifty-first state...

...out of eastern Washington.

Fun game, kids! Pick some counties at random to make a new state!

Washington's east-west divide along the Cascade Range is well-known in the Pacific Northwest. But, for those of you scratching your heads, here's a brief summary:

King County, which includes much of the Seattle metro area, holds around 1/3 of the state's voters, and leans heavily in the Blue Zone (read: unquestioning [read: unsettling, in my view] Democratic loyalty). Three of the state's other heavily-populated counties, Snohomish, Thurston, and Pierce, join with King to make the Puget Sound metro area: a conglomerate of urban sprawl hugging Interstate 5 and, thanks largely to Seattle, "leaning" in the urban Democrat camp. Thus, in Olympia, the Puget Sound metro area often calls the shots. And, in federal and state elections (even our recent close governor's race, with Dem. Christine Gregoire beating Republican Dino Rossi by a mere handful of votes, if at all), King County often calls the shots.

Eastern Washington, largely rural, less populated, and certainly more conservative than the Puget Sound area, has been feeling a bit neglected. Claims that urban laws and policies decided in Olympia hurt eastern Washington's agriculture-based economy and rural way-of-life have largely fallen on deaf ears. Now, though, it seems that eastern Washington is fighting back. Since most of this east-west battle has a convenient dividing line (the Cascade range), Washington's twenty east-of-the-Cascades counties want their own state.

Will it happen? Probably not.

Still, it's interesting to see yet again how the urban-rural divide is... well... widening.

Rationing

Yesterday, in a sudden, infantile burst to see the Sea Otters (Enhydra lutris), I begged Zach to go downtown with me to the Seattle Aquarium. But, I forgot that
A. it's a holiday weekend
B. it's a sunny, mild holiday weekend (which is unusual for February)

So, imagine my surprise when I see a line of families (read: annoying, puking, screaming, crying, messy children) stretching out on the boardwalk by the entrance.

I turn to Zach: "I can't do this. The sea otters will be there another time."
Zach: "It's okay. We're by the Colman docks. Let's take the ferry to Bainbridge Island and look around there."

Bainbridge Island, believe it or not, is an island! A relatively small one, due west from Seattle across the Puget Sound. It's a 35-minute ferry ride from downtown Seattle (and relatively cheap, I might add). From what I can tell, the island is full of expensive homes with views of
A. the Puget Sound
B. downtown Seattle on a clear day,
C. the Kitsap Peninsula (arrowhead-shaped peninsula just west of Bainbridge)

It isn't densely-populated, though. A small downtown area sits comfortably near the ferry docks, shielded from Seattle by a small forest. A leisurely-paced state highway branches off from the ferry terminus, cuts through the island, and crosses a small bridge on the northwest corner, connecting Bainbridge to the Kitsap Peninsula, and thus to the mainland. For those of you driving from Seattle to the Olympics for... oh say... lesbian weddings in Sequim, hiking, or catching the Port Angeles ferry to Vancouver Island (just as a few examples) would do well to use the ferry as a shortcut. It's a pleasant drive across the island. And, when going from the Kitsap to the Olympic Peninsula, I still go apeshit when crossing the Hood Canal Bridge.

So, we made our way from the child-infested Aquarium to the Coleman Dock ferry terminus, found a few visitor guides to Bainbridge, and found some restaurants and shops in the smaller downtown area we'd like to explore. All-in-all, it was an enjoyable afternoon. But, on the ferry ride over, we saw heaps of tourists taking advantage of a most unseasonable winter, snapping pictures of Mount Rainier, the downtown, the Olympic Range, Bainbridge Island... all on a crisp, nearly-cloudless day.

The seagulls were out in full force - and many of them were snapping pictures and throwing bread. I don't just mean a few crubs from their snacks, but whole freaking loaves here. I'm amazed at how people can be captivated by gulls. When we moved to Florida when I was younger, I'd had my fill of gulls after about five minutes. Pesky, opportunistic scavengers... a step down from crows and ravens. And yet, here are about two dozen tourists on the upper deck tossing out handfuls of bread and French fries, gleefully snapping pictures and laughing at their own clever ways. Zach and I were sitting in a lounge on the upper deck reading in front of a window that, unfortunately, looked out on this spectacle. But, I'm stubborn - we sat down there, because I was getting a good view of the Olympic Range (which one could still see if one peered long enough through the fat tourists)... and I'll be DAMNED if I was going to move. So, we stayed there, and continued reading. Occasionally alarmed as a tourist came dangerously close to falling off the ferry as he leaned over the railing to get that Pulitzer Prize-winning shot of a gull devouring half of a hot dog bun.

Behind us sat a sixtysomething woman with big hair, her daughter with frizzy blonde hair, and her daughter's daughter's, five-year and seven-year-old hellions. Mom and grandma were encouraging the girls to continuously run from one side of the lounge to the other, climbing over passengers and kicking over newspapers and bags, as they saw their dad, outside of the lounge, throwing fries and bread to the gulls for their entertainment. Mom then became amazed at an apparent one-legged gull (me: "It has a second leg tucked under it's body, dumbsh*t...") and stopped her offspring long enough to point it out:

"See, angels? Daddy's near a one-legged bird! Isn't that bird STUPID for having one leg?"

The kids vomited a klaxon of replies, basically lamenting that they couldn't see because they're short. Mom and grandma soon saw what the problem was:

Mom: "Why, there's a BIG HEAD in the way."
Grandma: "Yes, that big head should move so you can see the dumb bird."

Mymymy, I wonder what big head they were talking about... Oh, it's me!! I shot mom an evil backwards glance, as she waited, thinking she'd get me to retreat with huge head hung low between my shoulders. But no, it's my spot. And I wanted to see if her husband would fall overboard. My initial reply really was going to be, "Lady, something died on your head." But, I thought it'd scar the children too much to see their mother cry openly. Plus, her neanderthal husband could break me in two if properly provoked.

The children, having lost interest in the mythical one-legged gull that lived behind a head large enough to be a planet, resumed their chaos and malcontent. Mom and grandma, frustrated that their campaign of terror had failed to unseat me, decided that a strategic retreat was in order. Calling neanderthal father in to gather up the hellions, mom and grandma decided, twenty minutes into a thirty-five minute ferry ride, that the ferry was "about to dock" (we're still quite far from the island at this point), and that it'd be a good idea to return to their SUV two levels down.

I kept my seat. I have a big head. I won.

But, I'm also struck by something unrelated to my big head, gulls, or bad parents and grandparents: why has it been so sunny this winter? Last winter in Seattle saw plenty of sunny days interrupting short spells of rain/fog/drizzle/sunless skies. Seattlites then labelled it as an "unusual winter," since the sun popped out so frequently. Last summer, meteorologists bemoaned the lack of water, since last winter had been so "unusual" and dry. But, this winter, while pleasant, has been worse. If anything, we've had spells of sun occasionally interrupted by rain/drizzle/fog/clouds. They say the ski resorts are flogging themselves and performing bizzare rituals in a vain attempt to summon snow. The mountains have looked disturbingly summer-like. We've had a few warm spells that have set Irises blooming.... and it's only FEBRUARY. Dark rumors circulate about water rationing this summer (not that anyone should be watering their lawns anyway). I'm also concerned about electricity, since almost all of our power is generated from hydroelectric systems. Apparently, I've lived up here for two mild (if nonexistent) winters. But, I'm starting to understand how we'll pay for it come summer.

Old Rowan Tree

When I once asked a trusted friend to describe me, he said much of what I hear from others. But, after he'd "fluffed up my ego" (to use his words), he gave me the Core Truth: "You're lonely."

"Really? How so?"

"In a crowd. In a room full of people, you're alone."

I suppose I am the type to feel alone, especially when surrounded by Homo sapiens. Those who've met me in person know that I'm at my best for one-on-one conversation. Occasionally three. Hardly ever four. When the crowd gets to five-or-more, I just begin to clam up. Why? Beats the hell out of me. Of course, "claming up" has many different manifestations. If I'm thrust unexpectedly into a large group, I'll tend to go silent... if I'm expecting large social gatherings, I'll force myself into conversation, but there's a good chance I'll just start rattling off whatever-the-hell-I'm-thinking. Or, worse yet, I'll splurt out some lie... or start stammering and word my mixed up order getting. Whatever happens, when the crowd gets back to a Managable Number (read: when I'm all alone again), I stop and think, "Wow... that was smart." *grumble*

Of course, I'm not exactly Mr. Smooth Criminal one-on-one, either. Take this jewel, for example. Most mornings, when I get off the bus at work, I take the same entrance in as a man I'd previously identified as a post-doc in a prominent lab. He seems laid back, always smiling and holding doors open. We end up walking through half of the Hutch together before he gets to his lab, and I continue to my own. About ten thousand opportunities passed for me to introduce myself, and I kept telling myself I would. After all, it's no big deal, right? He's a human. I'm a human. We work at the same place. He's a post-doc, and I'd like to be a post-doc someday. He's young like me. He uses the toilet, flosses, farts, and probably snores just like I do. And like I hope the rest of you do.

And yet, each time I'd try to strike up a conversation, my throat would run dry, and I'd end up instead making this sort of throat-clearing grumble noise that would occasionally leave me choking on my own spit.

Luckily, last week, he introduced himself to me. "Hi, I see you on the bus almost every day...."

And a conversation ensued as we walked to his lab. An awkward one. Since I wasn't expecting him to speak, I naturally clamed up. This time, I mostly stuttered and stammered over my words. I didn't see him again until today due to the interview last week, and an odd experiment schedule early this week. Today, I was actually able to ask him about his wife and past graduate studies. And, only half of the time, did my sentences begin with stutters and stammers.

But, honestly, is this shyness, borderline personality disorder, or am I just really a freak of nature? Can I ever do something about this? I tend to be rather set in my ways, so I'm guessing it's here to stay. But, I'd rather not bumble through life, becoming some "crazy" old man stuttering down the road, while local parents advise their children to stay out of my way.

Then again, at least I didn't run into a door while talking to him.

Credit

He once joked that I "hardly" mention him on this site. But, perhaps it's time to give credit where it's due:

Thanks, Zach. I couldn't have done it* without you.

*applied to grad school, gotten interviews, remained calm and collected at nearly all times, performed necessary life functions, etc.

The Rollercoaster

I woke up this morning full of confidence. I had a great interview with the UW's MCB program, and was quite frankly enamored with it. I thought I'd post every last detail of the interview, folks I met, and so forth...

But, then I had a right sh*tty day at work... You know, one of those twelve-hour-experiment days that just never seems to end. So then, in my embittered state, I thought I'd modify my original plan: instead of writing about my sheer excitement about the MCB program, I'd focus on the fact that, Friday, I got my rejection letter to the UW's GS graduate program, ironically the "back up" I applied to in case the MCB program wasn't interested in me. I'd write about how this rejection, my first and only so far (as the other four programs expressed interest in interviewing me), made me doubt my qualifications to even apply to graduate school (let alone attend). I'd clarify this point by explaining how many of my fellow interviewees (sp?) this weekend applied "everywhere" and got in "everywhere" (read: Stanford, UCSF, Harvard, MIT, Johns Hopkins, etc.), while I apparently couldn't even get into the UW's GS program. I'd show you all the-straw-that-broke-the-camel's-back in today's twelve-hour idiocy: the hour I spent trying to do a simple serial dilution. I'd include details of how I had to ask for help eventually [a serial dilution, you should know, is something I should have learned to do in my first year of college, and is simple enough even for Pan troglodytes to figure out].

But, I changed my posting plans yet again. You see, after my twelve-hour day at work, Zach picked me up, gave me a hug, and took me out to dinner for Valentine's Day. He listened intently to my troubles, carefully rebuilt my confidence, and escorted me home. He even let me listen to Khachaturian's "Adagio of Spartacus and Phrygia" from Spartacus (which is the most romantic work I've ever heard) in the car. With spirits raised again, I went back to my original plan: I'd post the intimate details of my first ever graduate school interview, and merely gloss over the rejection letter I'd received Friday.

But, when we got home, I checked my e-mail, and received news that has again caused a change in posting plans.

You see, though the MCB program's interview ended only two days ago, their response was quick and to the point: I GOT IN!!!!!!

The Same Old Fears

Well, my first graduate school interview has ended (hopefully) successfully. *crosses fingers* But, more on that later - if you care.

Tonight, I dined with lab members at Thai Ginger in Madison Park. Good food (I'd recommend #16, if I could actually recall the dish's name), good company.

Driving home, I found myself entirely dissatisfied with NPR's Saturday evening selections. Instead, I opted for a collection of twenty ancient cassettes donated to my poor soul by a labmate and her husband (I've come to the realization that they've supplied me with more hand-me-down furniture and cool knick-knacks than my kin). What did I grab? The Best of Pink Floyd.

As luck would have it, the cassette began with my second-favorite song of all time, "Wish You Were Here." At the intersection of Madison and 23rd, I took the advantage of an extended red light to get into the spirit of my second-favorite song... I was already (of course) singing in my best, broad, low-reaching, alone-in-the-car voice ("Use your diaphragm," my opera-singer father would command). But, stuck at the traffic light, I added in some groovy head-swaying, while my hands and arms alternated between three instruments: pounding away at Imaginary Drums, strumming Imaginary Guitar, and playing Imaginary Piano. I closed my eyes just as I got to "Runnin' over the same old ground... What have we found? The same old-"

[tap, tap, tap]

*huh?*

[tap, tap, tap]

A passer-by walking on Madison was knocking on my passenger-side window. Hastily shutting off the radio, I rolled down the window, supposing she was informing me of a low tire or malfunctioning tail-light.

"Excuse me. But, are you having a seizure?"

Me: "Uh... no?"

Saved by a green light. Only seven minutes later, after crossing the Montlake Bridge, did I gather enough dignity to roll the window back up and turn the radio on. But, I switched Pink Floyd for Kiss Me, Kate!.

Interviewing

Off interviewing... see y'all Saturday!

Quirks

I've been having some unusually frank discussions with friends and co-workers lately about personal quirks. We all have 'em. (Some more than others, perhaps.) And, it's dawned on me that I may not be revealing enough of them to the world at large. So, here are a few jabs that I used to be ashamed of:

1. Otters are awesome! Especially the sea otters. Why? Because they swim on their backs more often than river otters.
2. When I was little, I used to read encyclopedias.
3. I still do.
4. I'm a mild hypochondriac.
5. I'm highly self-conscious about some moles on my torso.
6. As a result, I often contemplate swimming with a shirt on.
7. I've started collecting Buddha figures for the simple reason that people started giving me Buddha figures.
8. I also have an unhealthy obsession with maps and flags. Go on, ask me the symbolism behind the flag of Hawaii. Or Arkansas. Or the African Union. South Africa. I know 'em all!
9. As part of my birthday present last October, Zach got me a UN flag. Though the UN itself needs some fixing up, the flags remains one of the best gifts I've ever received.
10. Once, I cheated on a test.

Ten seems like a nice round number. Time to go prepare for this week's interviews!

Under the Radar

I've been a bit bogged down with work lately. So, I wasn't able to post a particularly caustic and embittered reply to

1. American high school students, a significant number of whom think the First Amendment goes "too far" in protecting personal freedoms and expression. If these kids are going to be running the country in my lifetime, I suppose I should quit going to protests in favor of gay marriage now before I'm arrested and suspiciously disappear. For the record, I don't believe that increasing the number of journalism classes kids take in school is the easy solution. Not to sound like Hillary Clinton, but it takes more than a single class to influence years of Bill of Rights bashing (minus the Second Amendment) on the TV, radio, etc. that your average 17-year-old has been exposed to [We've all heard it: "The First Amendment is for troublemakers!"]. Should we ban Bill of Rights bashing? Hell no! But, should more people out there be celebrating the Bill of Rights? Hell yes! How do you think I became so militant in my BoR support? A random collision of molecules? No: try civics and history lessons from ma and pa starting starting when I was in diapers. They did it... and I shudder to think they might have been the only parents to do so. Oh, and just so everyone out there knows this, I'm entirely against a constitutional amendment banning flag burning.

2. The president of this organization, who yesterday made a brief stop on NPR to do a little gay bashing while promoting the Marriage Protection Amendment/Federal Marriage Amendment. Two co-workers suggested a possibility that's already popped into my head: post-doc in Canada.

3. The complete and utter gutting and mauling of scientific theory and scientific discovery displayed at this so-called museum put up by this organization. I'd like to recommend the museum virtual tour, and pay special attention to the paleontologist bashing when they try to prove that dinosaurs died out in Noah's great flood. I weep for the children who attend.

On a lighter note, I may have an interview with the University of Chicago. It's complicated... but I may get another free flight. My first interview (the University of Washington) is coming up next week. I'll be spending this weekend reading up on the six faculty who will be interviewing me. And purging my soul of the above items.

Bloodties

I usually eat lunch alone at work, taking the time to read, rest, or recover from whatever-I've-screwed-up-that-morning. Or, occasionally, hear what others eating nearby have to say...

Yesterday, a particularly attractive young man and his friend entered the lounge while I was eating and reading. Aside from giving the attractive man a generous once-over, I kept my nose in Watership Down and paid them no mind. Until...

"I just don't get opera."

Let the opera bashing commence!

Actually, they weren't horribly offensive. Just the typical complaints:
--"It's the whole foreign language thing. I hate reading subtitles!" [Amélie must have been hell for him.]
--"If you're looking for a good plot, don't go to the opera." [Ladies and Gentlemen, before tonight's opera begins, we would like anyone looking for a good, sensible, coherent plot to leave immediately. Those departing must also produce a signed affidavit contesting that they will never watch television again.]
--"Operas are just foreign musicals, right?" [We'll take a quick break while James sharpens his blades.]

Of course, I started to get testy when the opera-singer bashing began. Folks, what are the chances... what are the chances that these two specimens of Homo sapiens would commence some of the most blatantly childish and unsubstantiated criticisms of opera singers as a whole while sitting in the presence of an opera singer's child? Someone go calculate the odds. Granted, my dad's opera career finished some time before I was even an embryo... but I'll also paste my stepmother's credentials up on the board as support.

But, I kept my mouth shut. And, though I was in the midst of some seriosly grisly passages of rabbit kung-fu in Watership Down, was able to crack a sheepish grin as I thought, "These two people here... these people here are so f***ing stupid!!"

I also thought the best part of listening to them was hearing them pronounce Gianni Schicchi "Gee-onnee Shick-kee." But, I must admit, the Best Part instead came when La Boheme suddenly became "Lay Boo-Heemee."