ISleepInADrawer.com

Audience Participation

If I can be taught this simple lesson at the age of five, then anyone can.

Folks, I know Seattle is pretty laid back. Y'all wear flip-flops to the opera, and Hawaiian shirts to your own weddings. That's great. More power to ya.

But, when attending a Seattle Symphony concert, we do not applaud between movements. I don't care if the soloist performing (quite possibly) the world's most difficult and rewarding violin concerto (Tchaikovsky, naturally) has executed with first movement with mathematical precision that would make Einstein weep, technical accuracy that would throw the greatest virtuoso into raptures, and soul-stirring artistic expression that would move Matisse and Van Gogh back to the Amateur Gallery... all while mixing concrete, translating the Bible into Sandskrit, negotiating a peaceful resolution to the Kashmir conflict, and discovering inexpensive methods to replenish the dwindling Ozone Layer... no matter what she does on stage, we do not... we do not clap following the first movement. For that matter, neither the second. Only when the work is finished in its entirety do we applaud, whistle, wail, ovate, and so forth.

And if fat, five-year-old James can abide by that simple rule, then (by God) you will, too!

Update: I actually feel a bit better, now that I've gotten that off of my chest.

Feel the Burn

When it rains, it pours.

Anyone else out there suddenly feel like joining the Sierra Club?

By the way, Seattle had a rare event yesterday: an honest-to-God thunderstorm... and Mayor Nickels is consulting climatologists concerning the potential impact of long-term climate change on the Puget Sound region. Yikes.

Pseudodecision

I've come to a decision. But, I'm letting it sit and settle in the soul for a few days. Consider it a preliminary decision, I guess. Anyway, it'll become official on Friday. April Fool's Day. How appropriate?

In the meantime, since life's been a bit to real lately, I chose last week to set aside Nostromo in favor of something cherished, nostalgic, and long-neglected: C.S. Lewis' The Chronicles of Narnia. Re-reading them in the original order... not the f*cked-up "Narnian chronological" order they're sold in now. Nope, I started with The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, as one should! Hell, if I ever have kids, they're reading Chronicles in the proper order, damn it!

Yes, I'm overly emotional on the subject. Sue me.

Anyway, I've worked my way through the first three, and now I'm working through The Silver Chair, which still remains my least favorite in terms of plot progression. But, I'm hanging on in anticipation of my absolute favorite... The Horse and His Boy!!!

Oh, can you imagine? Aravis and Shasta entering Tashbaan! King Lune! The Tisroc (may he live forever)! Holy f*cking sh*t! I can't believe I'm getting excited over this!

Whew.

Abnormality

Most people get eye infections that have to be treated with antibiotic drops.

I get eyelid infections that have to be treated with eye creams.

Actually, sometimes I wonder, in the back of my mind, if Dr. E, my physician, really just picked the more difficult (and embarrassing) treatment as a Humbling Experience. Or just as a joke. I can imagine her entering the Doctor Lounge ('cause, of course, it makes perfect sense that all doctors have a secret lounge [think of the Batcave] in which to meet and make fun of their patients)...

Other doctor: "Hi, Dr. E! What's so funny?"
Dr. E: "James came in my office again today..."
Other doctor: "Aaaaand?! Don't keep us waiting! I nearly busted a gut laughing about his one flat foot!"
Dr. E: "This time, he got an eyelid infection."
Other doctor: "Eyelid?! Is that possible?"
Dr. E: "I suppose it is. Anyway, get this: for his treatment, I gave him the cream!!! You should've seen the look on his face when I told him, 'You have to put this in your eye. Don't be surprised if your vision is blurry for the next hour or so.'"
Other doctor: "It's like clubbing a baby seal."
Dr. E: "Next time, I'm going to tell him that stepping on a crack will break his mother's back. Unless, of course, he wears a bra."

Indeed.

Artificial Colors and Flavors

Sarah, watch your mail.

The Eye

About two days ago, my left eye started hurting. Not so much an oh-eyelash! kind of hurt... more like an oh-it-kinda-hurts-to-blink type of hurt. The pain has evolved over the past few days, and changed in both location and intensity.

Usually, my first step in a diagnosis is to consult Dr. T. Dr. T and I work in the same lab. He's a former cancer surgeon, who went back to school for his Ph.D., and no longer practices medicine. But, he's good to go for on advice (on all fronts, actually... but, I digress). Yesterday, as I described the most recent pain symptoms to him, and Dr. T pretty much said he could rule out cancer. But, other than that, I should "wait-and-see." Perplexed with this pain, I prayed to Whatever-Entity-Is-Out-There-[If-Any] to either take the pain away, or give it some other physical symptom for Dr. T, or my physican (Dr. E) to work with.

I shouldn't have given those gods a choice.

I woke up this morning with a swollen eyelid. Well, slightly swollen. And, not to be too graphic, an unusual amount of what I call "eye crusties." My upper right eyelid had a little blue/purple bulge, and I wondered if Zach had taken to hitting me in my sleep. When I realized that Zach suffers from a number of coordination problems, I decided that there is only a remote possibility that he would've hit me. Plus, I rock. So, why would he have need to hit me?

Searching my Memory Files, I recalled a similar eye-swelling incident in high school. I woke up one Saturday morning with major eye crusties and a swollen upper right eyelid. Mom: "calm down and wait for it to go away." Of course, I began to wear my glasses (I only had optional reading glasses at the time) because I thought it hid the fact that one eyelid drooped slightly more than the other. That still didn't keep me from thinking, for the next three or four days, that "everyone" noticed. And, my paranoia of thinking that "everyone" noticed led me to want to tell others my problem. After a few days, "everyone" knew... not because they noticed, but because I bemoaned to "everyone" how "everyone" noticed. Anyway, the swelling and eye crusties went away on their own, and I filed the incident away in my Memory Files...

To be retrieved this morning, as I was poking at my swollen upper right eyelid with my pinky. Five bucks says that made it worse. I thanked my lucky stars that, a year-and-a-half ago, I bought new frames for my wear-all-the-time glasses, which hid the swelling pretty well. But, every time I came to a mirror today, I took my glasses off and recoiled with horror at my face... at the right eyelid that hung probably 1-2mm lower than the left.

[I love balance, by the way.]

When I showed Dr. T my eye, and told him about the increased tear production and unusually high frequency of eye crusties, he said it's probably some small infection that's running its course.

Me: "Do I need to go see Dr. E?"
Dr. T: "Oh no. You're young."

Later in the day, I became obsessed (again) about the 1-2mm of drooping in my right upper eyelid, and stole an ibuprofen tablet from Dr. T's desk. To teach me a lesson, he tried to tell me it was generic Viagra.

But, for most of the day, I've thought of my upper right eyelid as some sort of foreign entity. Some alien artifact dropped in my lap [on my eye] to be examined, poked, prodded, and ultimately reviled. Some evil spirit... The evil eye! I had a small speech circulating my brain, particularly as I'd take a few more moments to poke my upper right eyelid (I know I shouldn't...) in the mirror. It's spoken by Saruman, as only Christopher Lee could say it:

"Sauron has regained much of his former strength. He cannot yet take physical form, but his spirit has lost none of its potency. Concealed within his fortress, the Lord of Mordor sees all. His gaze pierces cloud, shadow, earth and flesh. You know of what I speak, Gandalf. A Great Eye, lidless, wreathed in flame."

A droopy eye, slightly more brown than it's leftside companion, wreathed in eye crusties.

Luckily, ma always said that beauty is on the inside.

Oregon Trail

For the record, the "surfer" on the right was really hot.

The Ties that Bind

I'm very disappointed with the latest cover of Nature. Big headline:

"The Human X Chromosome: the sequence that unites the sexes"

James says: "Bullhonkey. Let's not forget the other twenty-two pairs of somatic chromosomes that are common between the sexes."

And while I'm on the subject, why try to jazz up the science so much with such snazzy, misleading headlines? Most competitive scientists will buy and read no matter what, especially the big ones like Science, Nature, P.N.A.S., and other publications that vary field to field. But, nothing short of fifty dollar bills wedged behind each overpage, the addition of a "topless" section, or intimate erotic stories will make the public take more than a passing glance at these publications. So, while a little glitz and sparkle is nice (I personally wouldn't mind glitter or scratch-and-sniff pages), let's lose the misleading headlines that attempt to inspire ill-directed awe. It's just science, folks! I, along with many others, realize it's all about baby steps.

*steps off soap box*

Off to the Oregon coast. The forecast says rain and clouds... but who cares? It's a vacation! Back on Sunday.

The Dead Beat Club

I've less than a month now to pick a graduate school. For some handy reason of convention, they've all picked April 15th as "D-Day." Am I any closer to a decision? Perhaps. I found out the other day that I got into the University of Chicago. So, my four choices are:

University of Washington (Seattle)
University of Iowa (Iowa City)
University of California (San Francisco)
University of Chicago

Any thoughts? I'm surprised at all the advice folks around here have been willing to give me, whether I solicited it or not. But, in only a handful of incidents have I actually found their advice to be... well... productive. Person X tells me irrationally that I have to go to UW because, if I go to Iowa, I'll kill myself because it's "so God-awful there." When I ask Person X if he/she has ever been there, I hear back: "Oh God, no! But, it's pretty bad, right?" Um, no.

I wish I could say the above was an isolated incident. But, just as many irrational and unproductive comments have been tossed my way about UCSF, UW, and Chicago as well. Anything ranging from "You can't handle it at [name of school]" to "If you go to [name of school], you won't be able to find a job afterwards unless you're going into private industry." I've become quite good at picking out the arrogance now. For every one person I solicit advice from, I encounter three of those. Ugh.

So, I've undertaken a new strategy. I've started to contact professors at the above schools to ask directly about possible openings for a rotation student (and etc.) in his/her lab. I wrote the first batch of e-mails last night, thinking I wouldn't hear back until after the weekend. But, I've already heard back from most, all with positive comments. I'm feeling encouraged. And, I'm also feeling that, wherever I go, I'll be alright. My goals aren't huge. I don't want to "get my name out there," go to the biggest or best program, or pound my classmates into the dirt. I just want to go to graduate school, find a nice lab to work in, and try try try for the Ph.D. Perhaps I'm being naïve, but I couldn't give two flips about a program's national ranking. I just want a nurturing environment.

So, perhaps after hearing back from more profs, I'll have more ammo to come towards a decision. That isn't the end-all and be-all, of course. Zach and I have much to talk about in this regard. Without a doubt, he's been terrific and supportive through this entire endeavour. But, as D-Day approaches, we've much to discuss.

But, not right now. We're going to the Oregon coast tomorrow for a little... distraction. Yeeha!

Thatched Roof Cottages

Satisfaction Guaranteed

1. Taxes are done and filed with the Internal Revenue Service.
2. A hotel is booked for a small excursion to the Oregon coast this weekend.
3. The United States Postal Service delivered my Legos today.

What do you think I'll be doing tonight?

The Crying Game

Some Saturday and Sunday mornings, if I'm lucky, I am treated to a chorus of the most horrific, vile, gruesome sounds ever to hit the human cochlea. At first, I didn't notice much of a pattern. The sounds would usually last anywhere between 10 and 20 seconds, and would occur anywhere between 9:00AM and 11:00AM. Sometimes I would miss it: I'd already be out of the house, or in the shower... or, I'd have an assortment of noises already keeping my cerebral cortex occupied, such as the sounds of myself cursing as I burn breakfast, or Zach and I arguing about his tried and true method for cooking eggs. But, sometimes, I hear it. And it's God-awful.

I knew that it came from an animal. No machine, no invention, no artificial creation could create such an unholy cacophony. And, quite frankly, if mankind ever fashioned such a horrific device, then we are all doomed, damned, and done for. Upon first hearing it, I narrowed it down to an animal. As some of you know, I love taxonomy. So, I took a very systematic approach to determining which type of lifeform was making this disturbing sound. I thought I'd attempt to eliminate taxa phylum by phylum. The first few utterances of this ungodly abomination allowed me to eliminate most taxa that popped into my head:
Mollusca [Generally, one would expect clams to be seen, not heard.]
Arthropoda [Katydids can deliver loud choruses in a stagnant, summer evening in rural Arkansas. But, that seems - and sounds - natural.]
Rotifera [Non-vocal.]
Annelida
Nematoda
Platyhelminthes

Internal monologue: "Hmmmm... James, perhaps you should focus on what you know to be the most vocal phylum."

Chordata

Holy interruptus, Batman! The Phylum Chordata is home to you, me, and every monkey in the trees! And, by concentrating on the Subphylum Vertebrata (bony/cartilaginous vertebral column)/Superclass Gnathostomata (jawed), you'll have this problem solved in a jiffy! After hearing the sound for a few more weekends, I determined that no known fish (Chon/Oste-ichthyes), bird (Aves), amphibian (Aphibia), or reptile (Reptilia) could make it. Though, I was tempted to blame a bird. They're vocal... Anyway, based on the various locations around the house where I'd hear it, I'd determined that the sound originated from one of the houses south of my own, but quite close... within a block or so. I could hear it best from my bedroom windown, especially with the windows open.

So, I'm left with a mammalian culprit. You've three flavors of mammals: egg-layers (Prototheria), marsupials (Metatheria), and placentals (Eutheria). You guessed it: we, along with most other extant mammals, are eutherians. Shake hands with a eutherian. We won. Well, except for Australia and Tasmania... But, we've already driven the Thylacine to extinction, and are apparently working pretty damn hard on the Tasmanian Devil. As you can see, I'm still a fountain of useless knowledge. But, in this case, knowledge of famous Australian marsupials has proven useful in my quest to identify this pandemonious outcry I continued to hear Saturday and Sunday mornings between 9:00AM and 11:00AM.

The sound is definitely some sort of mammalian cry. It alternates between sounding like a desperate cry of suffering and a threatening challenge of physical superiority... or perhaps some combination of the two. Half the time, upon hearing it, I expected to look out the window and see a man screaming in agony in the streets, after having his intestines and other vital viscera recently ripped from him by a passing Velociraptor. Or perhaps Deinonychus. Other times, I'd expect to see two wolf-like creatures wrestling each other in the streets, one tearing at the other savagely in an attempt to reach the jugular. Once, I expected to see a T. rex, mouth agape, vomiting a rejected meal consisting of a screaming giraffe. Disgusting, I know. But, it illustrates the range of unholy sounds this single creature was uttering.

Which brings me back to the Metatheria. After searching the Mammalia far and wide for a creature known for such disturbing cries, whether in glee or pain, I came upon one conclusion: someone in my neighborhood has a Tasmanian Devil. Sarcophilus harrisii, a loud, thorough, and voracious eater. I pictured one, perhaps two devils, fenced in someone's backyard, who feast daily between 9:00 and 11:00 in the morning on fresh Triceratops meat, with the added prize of a live, wounded ferret or several baby vultures on weekends. On weekdays, being a good scientist, I'm out of the house and on my way to work before 8:00AM. Hence, I miss the mad feast. Tasmanian Devil calls can be heard from miles away. Thus, my initial assumption that the creature(s) must be near my house was wrong. They're probably penned up at the Woodland Park Zoo, or Minnesota. Somewhere far away. No wonder I wasn't seeing anything out of my windows when I heard those noises. I can't see all the way to Tierra del Fuego.

But then, this morning, as I was opening my bedroom window to gauge the temperature, I heard the sounds again. In the first split second, I looked down to the street, imagining a lion with late-stage esophageal cancer attempting to regurgitate a hairball. Then, I reminded myself, "James, those Tasmanian Devils are too far away for you to see."

But... there was something in the street... being led on a leash by a young thirtysomething. Through the trees, I could make out that the creature was approximately the size I'd expect for a Tasmanian Devil. I could even make out the mouth, and realized that the unholy cacophony was coming from this creature on a leash. I eagerly waited for the creature to emerge from behind the tree, so I could get my first glimpse of a Tasmanian Devil...

And instead saw the most adorable beagle standing there, tail wagging, barking this loathsome, gruesome, disgusting cry at a passing sheepdog.

Do all beagles sound this awful? Or, is this one merely possessed?

Dry Country

Why would I suddenly be gleeful at the prospects that a chance of rain tomorrow might dampen the plans Zach and I made to spend one day this weekend at Discovery Park?

Well, we need the rain. Lots.

Stop any Seattleite* on the street and ask him/her about the weather, and you'll no doubt be lectured on how this has not been your typical winter. No constant days of clouds and drizzle. Indeed, Cascade ski resorts have bemoaned the fact that, throughout this winter, snowpacks have been abysmal. Snow levels across the state, but particularly in theh Cascades, have been low. After an unusual cold front sat on the city for two weeks in November, the weather cleared... with only a few drizzly days to offset sunny ones. Of course, most Seattleites* enjoyed the unexpected sun. We usually forget that the big, yellow disk in the sky even exists for 3 or 4 months, then recoil in horror (much like Nosferatu) when the rays first pierce through the clouds halfway through spring, thinking Helios is some stranger reaching out to molest us.

But, not this winter.

I'm sure I wasn't the only one out there realizing that we depend on winter snowfall and rains to keep the streams and rivers full during the dry summer to
1. drive our hydroelectric dams
2. provide us with water.

But, since no one was saying anything about it, I feared that Seattleites* were thinking too short term... stupidly enjoying the sun while ignoring the larger consequences of a nearly-rainless winter and nearly-snowless Cascade and Olympic Ranges. Finally, though, Governor Gregoire confirmed earlier this week what I'd been thinking: drought.

Not exactly a panic-and-rampaging moment. But, still noteworthy for any Washingtonian** in any situation. This summer will be dry. Bone dry. And hot.

But, on the way home from work today, I saw a sign posted up in someone's window:
"Gov. Gregoire wants us to conserve water. Shower with a few friends. And don't forget to turn the water off when you soap each other up."

I doubt that sign will be there tomorrow. But, let's all do our part!

*I'm torn on the proper spelling of the word that describes a resident of Seattle. I prefer Seattlite, but others have corrected me, saying it must be Seattleite.
**I also think the term Washingtonian is entirely unacceptable.

Prize

I just realized the best part about coming back from vacation on a Thursday afternoon:

Today is the only day this week I have to go to work!

The Fourth

Sometimes, I begin to think that I really don't travel well. The visit to Iowa was terrific, and the brief excursion I took back to the Quad Cities was also nice... but I really don't travel well. At least when it comes to flying, I suppose. On the flight back, I was sitting in front of the world's ADHD poster child, and his unattentive mother. I departed the plane safely in Seattle vowing yet again that I will never have children. Or, if I do, they will be QUIET... and, when on a plane, I sure as hell won't let them play a "fun game" of repeatedly and forcefully lowering and raising the tray attached to the chair directly in front of them. Get my point, lady? Your parenting, at least on a plane, sucks.

But, as usual, I became emotionally content as soon as the plane came within view of Mount Rainier and downtown Seattle. "I'm home." And dead-ass tired.

I just checked my e-mail for the first time in five days. I'm officially accepted at Iowa now. Still no word from the University of Chicago. But, with UW, UCSF, and Iowa to consider, I've a lot on my mind.

But, hopefully, not for long: when I was at my mother's house, I spent some time boxing up a few special childhood items to send to myself. When they arrive next week, I anticipate hours and hours of mindless (or perhaps mindful) fun.

You see, I shipped my Legos to Seattle. Rock!!!

Lone Star

Well, I'm off to my final interview, which luckily lies near my old stomping grounds. So, I've extended the trip to see family and take a few days off.

But, here's what I don't understand... why must I fly to Iowa via Texas?!

Wish me luck. It's way too early in the day to have a drink to take the edge off my nerves, so you can bet I'll be a bit jittery. Damn.

Quick Response

I'm in!

For the rest of the day, my productivity at work has been pretty well shot.