ISleepInADrawer.com

Caution

Zach, while putting on a shirt: "Ow!!!!"
Me: "What?"
Zach: "I poked myself in the eye with my thumb..."
pause
Me: "While putting on a shirt?"
Zach: "Yeah."
Me: "Just to make sure here: you poked yourself in the eye while putting on a shirt?"
Zach: "With my thumb."
Me: "Oh."
pause
Me: "Does the fact that your thumb was involved make it seem slightly more honorable?"
Zach: "Oh, shut up."
Me: "Whatever you say, dear."
Zach: "I like to think of it this way: I poked myself in the eye while rushing to make YOUR dinner."

I hope your holiday celebrations are as exciting as ours. Just play it safe folks: use caution when dressing.

Happy New Year!

A Pound of Olives

Zach and I have chosen to spend a quiet New Year holiday at home. I'm just beginning, after all, to relish having him back in town after he spent a week in Iowa. With most of our friends out-of-Seattle, and due to the fact that we generally are quiet folks, I simply haven't found attending a loud public celebration or rowdy party a particularly tempting means of ringing in 2006.

At the grocery store the other day, however, I made the spontaneous decision to purchase a few "upscale" items for consumption during the holiday weekend. Keep in mind that my definition of "upscale" lies on a slightly lower plain than most of the general population. When a friend once told me about a "nice restaurant" to eat at, my first assumption was: "Oh... can't wear a hoodie." Most of my friends and relations who really know me have adapted their definition of "upscale" to fit my own when speaking to me, so I don't assume eating an "upscale" meal will consist of pizza at a flannel-rather-than-hoodie establishment, and end up instead at a suit-and-tie-required French cafe where the portions are smaller than my fist and the check exceeds my credit limit.

This "upscale" upgrade was largely catalyzed by the friends who hosted me for Christmas day. Sure, they know me and like me - and I believe, like most, they're pleasantly baffled by, though ultimately accepting of, my "uncultured" soul. But, I was both delighted and mesmerized by some of the more simple matters of the day: olives, pickled garlic cloves, champagne.

Sure, I've had two of the three before (the pickled-and-herbed garlic cloves were new to me). But, this was beyond "upscale" - more like so-far-upscale-that-I'd-have-to-add-another-lobe-to-my-brain-to-comprehend-it. It was terrific... and, I thought, what better way to ring in the New Year holiday with Zach? Well, sure, I'm willing to bet the farm that you could think of a better way to ring in the New Year - but this isn't your fantasy.

I wasn't going to do much... Zach had already decided to cook some sort of fantastic dinner. I was just going to provide a few "upscale" hors d'oeuvres. Of course, not the so-far-upscale-that-I'd-have-to-add-another-lobe-to-my-brain-to-comprehend-it type of hors d'oeuvre. I had to downscale the upscaleness until it reached my definition of "upscale." For example, the oh-so-expensive thirteen-year-old champagne would have to be downgraded to a grocery-store everyday variety.

Simplepimple, I figured. Get a few things, not quite at the level I enjoyed on Christmas, but "upscale" by my experiences.

You'd be amazed how difficult it is to buy olives, though. Granted, I wasn't willing to level with the deli clerk at Pike Place Market and tell him that I had no idea what I was doing. I chose a variety at random (who knew there were different types of olives other than green, black, or Kalamata?).
Deli Clerk: "How much?"
Me: "Uh... Er... a pound?"
Deli Clerk: "A pound?"
Me, suddenly confident: "Of course!"
Deli Clerk, holding up a container as big as my head: "A pound would fill this."
Zach, over my shoulder: "Wow. That's a lot of olives."
Me: "Oh..."
pause
Me: "Er... did I say 'a pound'? I meant a half pound obviously."
Deli Clerk, now holding up a much smaller container, roughly the size of my fist: "This would be a half pound."
Me: "Oh, yes. Silly me - I must've misspoken."
Deli Clerk: "Uh-huh."
Me: "My mind must've wandered or something."
Deli Clerk: "Sure. Whatever."

Who knew being "upscale" required such rocksolid acting skills? In graduate classes, I've noticed a few folks who always attempt to make drawn-out-and-grandiose comments in class, but who know only a little bit more than I do (which, keep in mind, isn't much). I admire their skills to put-on-airs. I usually sit stone-faced and silent through class, knowing that any attempt to pretend that I know any more than I actually do would probably end in a pants-pissing episode that probably wouldn't get me any closer to a Ph.D. in molecular and cellular biology. Since sitting stone-faced in class has the added advantage of urine-free pants while keeping me just as close to a Ph.D. in molecular and cellular biology, I've chosen to keep my trap shut and avoid all opportunities or temptations to put-on-airs.

In fact, even if I could avoid peeing my pants, I'm pretty sure we can all now agree on what I kind of crop I would reap after sowing seeds that attempt to project more knowledge than I possess: A POUND OF OLIVES.

When I tried to get champagne, I encountered a slightly-less-embarrassing-but-just-as-frustrating issue: who knew there were different types of champagne?! Blanc de blancs?! Blanc de noirs?! What on Earth?! I wasn't willing to end up with a pound of olives this time. In the end, I decided that the most prudent course of action would entail
1. closing my eyes
2. pointing to the shelf of champagne at random to make my selection.

When my first attempt at this foolhardy scheme ended with the selection of a $35.00 bottle, I decided to try again, this time eliminating the top shelves, which contained more "upscale upscale" items. A more reasonably-priced selection was thankfully made on my second attempt, which I purchased.

In the car, I realized I've no idea how to open a bottle of champagne. Based on TV, it looks like I'll put an eye out in the process.

The remaining items - herbed garlic cloves, wine, pickled okra, etc. - were a cake walk to select and purchase compared to "blanc de noirs" or a freaking pound of olives. Here's hoping they're easy to open with one eye.

Lactose Intolerance

Pillow Talk:

Zach: "Sometimes..."
Me: "Sometimes what?"
Zach: "Sometimes, I imagine you're cherry ice cream."

Perplexed, I simply rolled over and went to sleep, wondering if he'd already blocked all the exits.

Confrontation

6:30AM, my mobile rings...
Me: "Huh?"
Zach: "Merry Christmas!!!"
Me: "Huh?"
Zach: "Awwww, did I wake you?"
Me: "Uh-huh..."
Zach: "Oh, but it's 8:30!"
Me: "Huh?"
Zach: "It's 8:30!... In Iowa."
Me: "Yeah... But, I'm... Pacific time..."
Zach, merrily: "I know! But, it's fun to wake you, my love!"
Me: "Huh?"
Zach: "Go back to sleep, Jim."
Me: "Okay."

Ten minutes later, when I gave up getting back to sleep, I rang Zach and demanded more presents from him upon his return from Iowa as compensation for sleep deprivation.

While we were on the phone, updating one another on our respective Christmas Eve celebrations, I let the cat out to explore on a (typically) rainy Christmas morning. As we chatted, I suddenly saw a scene unfolding outside... "Hold on. I have to go rescue our cat."

She was in the midst of confronting three Goliath urban raccoons just outside the door. Claws flailing, no blows had been exchanged yet. But, I had just enough time to run out in the rain in my underpants to recall that raccoons have sharp teeth and claws and vicious personalities. The most I could muster to counteract their foul instincts: waving my hand (the other was dragging an ill-tempered kitty back through the door) shouting, "Gooooooo!"

I brought my tough cat back inside, and she proceeded to have an asthma attack.

Me, picking up the phone: "You still there?"
Zach: "Yeah. What happened?"
Me: "I ran out in my bare feet to keep the cat from getting in a fight with three raccoons."
Zach: "What'd you do?"
Me: "I picked the cat up and shouted 'Go!' to the 'coons."
Zach: "Uh, you just shouted?"
Me: "Well... yeah..."
Zach: "And did they go?"
Me: "Not really. They just kind of looked at me and growled."
Zach: "My hero."
Me: "Yeah. And now the cat's having an asthma attack."
Zach: "Wanna hear what I got for Christmas?!"

What a family, eh?

In the Raw

Today two friends convinced me to consume both beef and raw oysters within four hours of one another. The former I hadn't had in months (thanks to research for a paper on B.S.E.), the latter was a first entirely.

I'm still waiting for lightning to strike me down. So far - nothing.

Maybe instead I'll be getting coal for Christmas.

Fortress

I dropped Zach off at the airport early this morning. His destination: Iowa and his family's Christmas celebrations. For a number of reasons (top-on-the-list: recuperation from my first quarter of graduate school), I chose to remain in Seattle this year. Plus, holidays aren't the biggest deal for me; but, just so I'd have a few things to do, I've been invited by friends to activities on Christmas Eve and Christmas. Thus, Zach could depart without fearing that I'd spend the holidays playing with the cat, and I could turn the kitchen upside down baking.

Cooking, after all, is just like lab work.

I was cooking earlier tonight (cookies for Christmas), while a wind-and-rain storm kicked up outside. Pitch black outside, I'd regretted letting the cat out several hours earlier and poked my head out of our sliding glass door looking for her. Big mistake: for as I peered out into the blackness, I saw a pair of not-my-cat eyes staring back. Spooked, I slammed the door shut and took a few acrobatic running steps backwards. "Probably just a 'coon," I reassured myself. Just to make sure, I switched on the patio light. But, whatever it was had departed.

Obviously, not-turning-on-the-patio-light first off would constitute an idiotic move. But, there were several others that night.

Thanks to the adrenaline rush that accompanied "getting spooked" (I'm a fragile soul, after all), I began to notice every creek and groan of the apartment as the wind beat and thrashed up against windows and doors - and I became very much aware that it was
1. dark outside
2. empty inside.

I was alone, and the silence was taking the joy out of cooking. I decided to turn on the TV and let a film play as I worked and waited for the cat to return. Unfortunately, the film I selected consituted my second idiotic mistake of the night: JFK.

Like I said, I'm a fragile soul. So, a film that builds up conspiracy and paranoia like JFK probably was not the most logical choice. Psychological thrill and trauma plague me each time I watch it. And each time I watch it alone, I regret it. Yet, I guess I never learn.

About an hour into the film, I decided to take another peek out into the back yard for the cat. This time, the patio light was still on, so bottled my anxiety from the previous episode. It was still dark out, though, and the rain was raging. No cat in immediate sight, I recalled that, previously, the cat could be lured in by placing her food bowl and scratching post by the sliding glass door, within sight of an animal watching from the outside. At least, that's a pattern I'd convinced myself existed. In reality, the fact that those items were near a closed, dirty glass door probably had little to do with her decision to return home. She, after all, runs this place; I'm just along for the ride.

An hour after that, JFK was hitting its fourteenth or fifteenth psychological climax, my cookies were cooling, and I was resting on the sofa, mentally thrashing myself for watching this film alone. In the window, I saw rapid movements and looked up, expecting to see a cat waiting to come inside.

Instead, I saw human-like figures running through the yard.

At least, that's what I thought I saw.

Most humans have pretty reliable fight-or-flight instincts. In a sudden, startling, upsetting situation, the mind flips between two urges: "flee" or "confront." Now, looking back at the moment in which I (thought I) saw a human figure running past my huge, unlocked (yeah, another idiotic moment) sliding glass door, I'm pretty sure my fight-or-flight instincts aren't as sharp. Rather than "fight" or "flight," I'm pretty sure my mind oscillates between "pee-your-pants" or "don't-pee-your-pants." Luckily, earlier tonight, the response was the latter. I froze and stared, suddenly aware that my heart was about to burst from my chest. Then, I was aware that the door was unlocked. Awkwardly, I burst up from the sofa, took three gigantic steps to the door, locked it, looked up at the human-like figures (which were more shadows-and-branch-blowing-in-the-wind-like at this point), and let out a girlish scream. My instincts had finally kicked in: they chose "flight," albeit a bit late. With the door now locked, I turned to flee.

As luck would have it, even though my right foot landed in the cat's bowl of food, I was able to divert my crotch from a collision with the top of the cat's scratching post through some quick-yet-erratic arm flapping as my proud primate form fell to the floor. Actually, it wasn't a clear fall. I ended up on all fours, my right foot still planted in a bowl of now-crumbled cat food, while my left arm cradled a scratching post. Only the stressful mood of JFK shattered what could have been a humbling moment. Thanks to the psychological thrill of storm, darkness, shadows, and Oliver Stone's portrayal of conspiracy theories, my mind was still switched on "flight," still analyzing what-I'd-seen-through-the-door. Sure, it could have been shadows... but, hadn't I seen a pair of eyes in those shadows... and distinct arm-swinging motions? Or had Jack Ruby and Clay Shaw already gotten to me?

Usually, instincts aren't interrupted by such moments of intense overanalysis. But, it appears my instincts could use some fine-tuning. Just as I'd convinced myself that I had indeed seen a pair of eyes in the human-like figure, I heard a tap-tap-tap sound behind me.

I was still lying on all fours (right-foot-in-cat-food-left-had-hugging-scratching-post) with my butt facing the glass door... and someone was tapping on the glass.

Again, my first instincts teetered between pee-pants or don't-pee-pants. Thankfully, the latter was again chosen.

Next, in some near loss-of-consciousness moment, my head dropped down to the floor, giving me an unwanted peek between my legs at teh glass...

The cat was sitting outside, gently and curiously tap-tap-tapping the glass, requesting entrance.

I complied, and then (with great haste) locked and bolted the apartment up tighter than Fort Knox. Instincts my ass.

Progress

As a (hack) scientist, I have just two words to share: Thank God!

Paradigm Shift

I'm generally a conservative guy... Sure, I'm a threat to the institution of marriage and traditional family due to what-I-do with Zach. But, other than that, I'm pretty cautious.

But, having just spent the past week polishing an extensive paper on Mad Cow Disease, I've suddenly found myself in favor of physician-assisted suicide. After all, I couldn't die like this. Could you?

Quarantine

To celebrate the end of my first quarter in graduate school, Zach decided to bring home a few illnesses to share. So, for the past week, we've partitioned one another in separate rooms, each in our misery. Except, I, along with fever, have been furiously churning out papers and assignments. Since I couldn't stand properly Tuesday morning, I was excused from a ten-minute talk I had to give in front of my classmates. So, yet again, I've postponed the inevitable "You have to learn to give a coherent talk" experience. But, since I only know about 2% of my classmates, I didn't lose sleep over it.

Upside: when the apartment was partitioned into Zach-sick and James-sick zones, I somehow ended up with the bedroom.

Downside: the bathroom became a Kashmir-like disputed region.

Baby Love

The quarter ends for me at 5:00PM Wednesday. I've lots to do, and little time to do it.

So, in the meantime, enjoy videos of the baby giant panda at the National Zoo!

In the Fold

My first lab rotation is winding down... less than two weeks left, though I've quite a lot to complete before the deadline.

I'd been wondering lately whether, on a social level, I'd connected well with my current labmates. Sure, I think I've gotten along great with them, but one of the worst parts about 'being James' is persistently wondering whether or not the feelings are reciprocated. Thus, I've been on the lookout for clues the past few weeks that I've been accepted into the fold.

Last week, conversations in lab suddenly turned to the Peanuts... specifically, which Peanuts characters are represented in the lab. Apparently, a small group within the lab began asking, "Who would be Charlie Brown? Peppermint Patty?..." And so forth.

I guess they've accepted me into the fold, as I was apparently assigned a character with great ease. I may not look much like him, but apparently he and I share a number of qualities "in both intellect and demeanor."

"Linus Van Pelt inspired the term 'security blanket' with his classic pose. He is the intellectual of the gang, and flabbergasts his friends with his philosophical revelations and solutions to problems. He suffers abuse from his big sister, Lucy, and the unwanted attentions of Charlie Brown's little sister, Sally. He is a paradox: despite his age, he can put life into perspective while sucking his thumb. He knows the true meaning of Christmas while continuing to believe in the Great Pumpkin."

I don't plan on sucking my thumb anytime soon. But, I will continue to quote the Old Testament and panic in crowded rooms. And yes, I'm tickled pink to be a part of the lab gang. See you in the pumpkin patch!