What's with the sudden obsession with Twitter? Well, I guess it's not all that sudden. "The kids" (she typed, her keyboard dripping with disdain... and jam) have been Twittering for some time now. For those of you who live under a rock, blissfully ignorant of the latest fads, Twitter is a social networking site that consists of a constantly-updated status message. And that's it. Your friends and family can subscribe to your "tweets" to keep track of you throughout the day. I imagine Twittering goes something like this:
12:07 Lunchtime - bologna sandwich
12:11 Eatin sandwich
12:29 Done w/sandwich, eatin chips
12:33 Eatin chips, twittering
12:34 Forever twittering
12:35 Overcome by inanity of own existence, will kill self now
Twitter begs the question... why? Sure, I come from the generation of AIM, Facebook, and Gmail Chat where checking and rechecking someone's away message/status/tagline is considered pretty normal. Somehow, it's alright in the context of a more involved program/site - sure, I'm looking to see what people are up to, but it's while I write emails or blog. I don't have a separate account to keep track of my friends 24/7. I find it creepy that someone would want that, and arrogant to assume someone else wants that from you. And so for all these reasons, Twitter has replaced text messaging as my new Lowest Form of Communication. For those of you keeping track...
1. Face to face conversation
2. Well-written letters
3. Poorly-written letters
4. Phone calls
5. Voicemail messages
6. Well-written emails
7. Poorly-written emails
8. Facebook messages
9. Myspace messages
10. Text messaging
11. Twitter
Mar 4, 2009
Feb 20, 2009
TV Blog Updates
Wow, I don't think I've cross-posted my TV blog updates in a loooong time. I think this about covers it:
2/16/09 First Impressions of Dollhouse
2/11/09 Pillow vs Pillow - Crazy Awesome (Important Things with Demetri Martin)
1/7/09 "I've become deeply superficial, haven't I?" (Nip/Tuck)
12/19/09 Hey, guess what has two thumbs and still gives a crap? (Scrubs)
11/20/08 Private Practice should never have gone public
11/18/08 Astrophysicists do it with heavenly bodies (Big Bang Theory)
11/15/08 They Don't Make 'Em Like They Used To (M.A.S.H.)
11/10/08 MSCR: Total Drama Island
11/6/08 What, too soon? (SNL, Daily Show, and Colbert Report election night coverage)
11/2/08 We come in peace! (Shoot to kill.) (Life on Mars)
2/16/09 First Impressions of Dollhouse
2/11/09 Pillow vs Pillow - Crazy Awesome (Important Things with Demetri Martin)
1/7/09 "I've become deeply superficial, haven't I?" (Nip/Tuck)
12/19/09 Hey, guess what has two thumbs and still gives a crap? (Scrubs)
11/20/08 Private Practice should never have gone public
11/18/08 Astrophysicists do it with heavenly bodies (Big Bang Theory)
11/15/08 They Don't Make 'Em Like They Used To (M.A.S.H.)
11/10/08 MSCR: Total Drama Island
11/6/08 What, too soon? (SNL, Daily Show, and Colbert Report election night coverage)
11/2/08 We come in peace! (Shoot to kill.) (Life on Mars)
Feb 12, 2009
Why My Dad Should Rest
It has been brought to my attention that my last post, followed by radio silence, was somewhat alarming. Let me reassure you all - my dad is well, and I haven't punched anyone in the face. Yet.
He's being very stubborn about resting - he thinks that because he feels OK, he must be OK. So I have started calling him daily with a new reason for him to take it easy. Here's what I have so far:
He's being very stubborn about resting - he thinks that because he feels OK, he must be OK. So I have started calling him daily with a new reason for him to take it easy. Here's what I have so far:
- My dad's research is in infectious disease, and he works with some pretty nasty pathogens. When something goes wrong or breaks in his lab, you don't call a janitor - you call the CDC. So it's really not OK for him to fall down at work.
- He believes that the only difference between something that is alive and something that is dead is that the living creature is able to gather electrons from its environment. As he puts it, "life is an electron cheat." And we want him around cheating electrons for many years to come.
- Just because he has a titanium stent in his heart does not make him some sort of unstoppable cyborg.
- Once, my dad and I saw a disheveled Indian man in the airport. His suit jacket and tie were askew and his gray hair stuck up in all different directions. I turned to my dad and said (because I'm a brat and I thought it would be funny), "That's you, minus me." He chuckled and agreed. But do you know what me minus him is? Nothing.
Jan 29, 2009
I'm sitting here in my office trying to convince myself not to put my fist through the wall. Or rip the door off it's hinges and throw it down the hallway. It's a toss-up. The first option has the benefit of being remotely possible. Yet with the second, I'm less likely to break every bone in my hand and end up in the emergency room.
My father had a heart attack.
Even typing the words, staring at them, there is no way for me to put them together in a way that makes sense to me. Attack had a father my heart. On some level I understand that he is fine now, that he had his angioplasty and is resting comfortably. I heard from my mother that he was joking with the nurses when they put him on the heart monitor. And before they did anything, he had my brother call me to let me know that everything was going to be alright.
Still, I have this overwhelming urge to break things. To scream and cry and exact revenge on a world that would dare harm my father. And I think there must be something wrong with me, that my first reaction isn't fear, or grief. It is rage.
Me: Get better soon, or I will kick your butt.
Dad: With both feet?
Me: Damn straight.
My father had a heart attack.
Even typing the words, staring at them, there is no way for me to put them together in a way that makes sense to me. Attack had a father my heart. On some level I understand that he is fine now, that he had his angioplasty and is resting comfortably. I heard from my mother that he was joking with the nurses when they put him on the heart monitor. And before they did anything, he had my brother call me to let me know that everything was going to be alright.
Still, I have this overwhelming urge to break things. To scream and cry and exact revenge on a world that would dare harm my father. And I think there must be something wrong with me, that my first reaction isn't fear, or grief. It is rage.
Me: Get better soon, or I will kick your butt.
Dad: With both feet?
Me: Damn straight.
Jan 26, 2009
You're only young once
... but you can be immature forever.
Mike and I drove up to Northern Virginia this past weekend, to visit friends. I didn't get to see everyone (next time, I promise!), but I did spend several productive hours playing various games. There were Wii Sports at Doug's house, Rock Band at Chris and Kent's new place, and D&D at Maggie's (with a side order of Cranium).
The sad thing is - after all that, I am pooped. Of course my Wii Boxing was more like Wii Disorganized Flailing, and I'm so out of shape that I was winded after two rounds. But then my arm got tired holding the guitar game controller! Granted I was at an awkward angle - trying to cram three people and two wriggling Jack Russel terriers onto a love seat turned out not to be such a great idea. Still, I am thoroughly (and appropriately) shamed at my wimpiness. Maybe if I spent more time on the treadmill and less with my 20-sided dice and Cloodle pad.
Somehow, exercise has always been associated in my mind with peril. This weekend I got to see my long lost friend Davina, and we reminisced about or short-lived two-person swimming club: Don't Laugh, You'll Drown. We used to wear goggles and nose plugs, even though the pool at my apartment complex has a "deep end" that bottoms out around six feet. My brother has suggested I try martial arts... but can you imagine? Punch, punch, kick, overbalance, slip on a practice mat, fall, crack skull, coma, death. And I am certain that I would be one of those hikers that was tragically mauled and eaten by pack of wild dogs escaped from the zoo.
I know this sedentary lifestyle is going to catch up with me. Every morning I resolve to eat better and to work out more. Every evening I return home, completely exhausted after having eaten my weight in jelly doughnuts from the break room. Also, it's bloody cold outside. But I've come up with the perfect solution. I just need to hook my PlayStation up to a generator powered by an exercise bike. By March I'll be 30 pounds lighter and will have finished a Rock Band Solo Tour.
Mike and I drove up to Northern Virginia this past weekend, to visit friends. I didn't get to see everyone (next time, I promise!), but I did spend several productive hours playing various games. There were Wii Sports at Doug's house, Rock Band at Chris and Kent's new place, and D&D at Maggie's (with a side order of Cranium).
The sad thing is - after all that, I am pooped. Of course my Wii Boxing was more like Wii Disorganized Flailing, and I'm so out of shape that I was winded after two rounds. But then my arm got tired holding the guitar game controller! Granted I was at an awkward angle - trying to cram three people and two wriggling Jack Russel terriers onto a love seat turned out not to be such a great idea. Still, I am thoroughly (and appropriately) shamed at my wimpiness. Maybe if I spent more time on the treadmill and less with my 20-sided dice and Cloodle pad.
Somehow, exercise has always been associated in my mind with peril. This weekend I got to see my long lost friend Davina, and we reminisced about or short-lived two-person swimming club: Don't Laugh, You'll Drown. We used to wear goggles and nose plugs, even though the pool at my apartment complex has a "deep end" that bottoms out around six feet. My brother has suggested I try martial arts... but can you imagine? Punch, punch, kick, overbalance, slip on a practice mat, fall, crack skull, coma, death. And I am certain that I would be one of those hikers that was tragically mauled and eaten by pack of wild dogs escaped from the zoo.
I know this sedentary lifestyle is going to catch up with me. Every morning I resolve to eat better and to work out more. Every evening I return home, completely exhausted after having eaten my weight in jelly doughnuts from the break room. Also, it's bloody cold outside. But I've come up with the perfect solution. I just need to hook my PlayStation up to a generator powered by an exercise bike. By March I'll be 30 pounds lighter and will have finished a Rock Band Solo Tour.
Jan 19, 2009
Tomorrow is a brand new ... everything
At this moment, the sun is setting on George W. Bush's America. We are experiencing the worst economic crisis since, some pundits say, the Great Depression. We are entrenched in two wars and have lost major ground in the areas of scientific discovery, gay rights and reproductive freedom. And yet ...
I resisted the Obamania for so long. I backed Hillary Clinton in the primaries, because she was someone who could match Republicans blow for cynical blow. When she lost, I supported Obama more out of party unity than real faith that he could change the world.
But I've seen the effect he has had, even as Not Quite Pres. Even as the multitude of weights on our shoulders grow heavy, our hearts grow light. President (Elect) Obama's smile is infectious, and we can't help but think that we're going to be all right. If the rest of his term in office is mediocre, at least he will have given us this gift. Hope.
I resisted the Obamania for so long. I backed Hillary Clinton in the primaries, because she was someone who could match Republicans blow for cynical blow. When she lost, I supported Obama more out of party unity than real faith that he could change the world.
But I've seen the effect he has had, even as Not Quite Pres. Even as the multitude of weights on our shoulders grow heavy, our hearts grow light. President (Elect) Obama's smile is infectious, and we can't help but think that we're going to be all right. If the rest of his term in office is mediocre, at least he will have given us this gift. Hope.
Jan 12, 2009
Courage, thy name is Wickrematunge
On Thursday Lasantha Wickrematunge, the editor of The Sunday Leader, was murdered. The thing is ... he knew it was coming. We know he knew, because he wrote an editorial about it, set to be published in the event of his death. His newspaper is one of the few independent voices in Sri Lanka, speaking out for the many disenfranchised people of this troubled nation. Press freedom in Sri Lanka is the worst in any democratic society, and journalists are in constant danger. You can almost hear Wickrematunge's passionate yet rational voice as he accuses the government of his assassination.
No other profession calls on its practitioners to lay down their lives for their art save the armed forces and, in Sri Lanka, journalism. In the course of the past few years, the independent media have increasingly come under attack. Electronic and print-media institutions have been burnt, bombed, sealed and coerced. Countless journalists have been harassed, threatened and killed. It has been my honour to belong to all those categories and now especially the last.It's tragic, inspirational, and even funny. You really should read the whole thing. But just in case, here is a particularly salient excerpt.
Every newspaper has its angle, and we do not hide the fact that we have ours. Our commitment is to see Sri Lanka as a transparent, secular, liberal democracy. Think about those words, for they each has profound meaning. Transparent because government must be openly accountable to the people and never abuse their trust. Secular because in a multi-ethnic and multi-cultural society such as ours, secularism offers the only common ground by which we might all be united. Liberal because we recognise that all human beings are created different, and we need to accept others for what they are and not what we would like them to be. And democratic... well, if you need me to explain why that is important, you'd best stop buying this paper.Wickrematunge also addresses his friend, President Mahinda Rajapaksa:
In the wake of my death I know you will make all the usual sanctimonious noises and call upon the police to hold a swift and thorough inquiry. But like all the inquiries you have ordered in the past, nothing will come of this one, too. For truth be told, we both know who will be behind my death, but dare not call his name. Not just my life, but yours too, depends on it.I won't belabor the point - you all are smart people, and can draw your own conclusions. No matter your politics, you have to admire this man's bravery. Not just for writing this article, but for living his life. Godspeed, Mr. Wickrematunge.
Jan 5, 2009
And I Suck!
Would you believe that not blogging for over a month is a Sri Family holiday tradition? No? Well, it was worth a shot. Here are the highlights of what's been going on with me.
1. I spent my birthday with wine, friends, and baked goods. My brother got me a PS3, which I just set up this weekend. I'm already developing Gamer's Thumb from playing Ratchet&Clank for twelve hours ... at a time.
2. The next weekend I went up to DC to play Dungeons and Dragons. You read that right - I play the geekiest game ever. I am not ashamed. This is why I can't be friends with all the weird hipsters in this town.
3. Luckily, I am able to find my own level. At Wistar's bridal shower, I was just sulking in the corner until I met Mimi, one of her cousins. She and I bonded over our shared love of the SciFi/Fantasy genre, and I'm trying to get her to invite me over to play with her Legos.
4. On my way to Richmond to visit Brendan, Sarah, and Mr. & Mrs. Z I almost ran over two dogs that were wandering around the interstate. You know how I feel about dogs - that they are barely-tamed wolves just waiting for us to let our collective guard down. But something in my brain changed the day I bought Gilda ... if she somehow got out of her cage, out of my room, out of the house and into the street, I'd want someone to stop. So I pulled over and called animal control. Meanwhile, the dogs are running in and out of traffic and I'm trying to stop them with increasingly panicked calls of, "come here, puppy!" The animal control officer told me to leave them alone, as they were more likely to run into traffic if someone was there 'agitating' them. I still wonder what happened to those poor dogs.
5. I got a haircut (shock!), from my good friend Leslie. I finally know why women open up to their stylists - having someone else wash your hair is just so soothing. You immediately revert to childhood and begin feeling like you can trust this person with your deepest, darkest secrets. No that I have any ... *shifty eyes*
6. Holidays at Casa de Sri were a low-key affair, since my grandmother passed in February and we're not supposed to do any celebrating for a year. We had a nice turkey dinner on the 24th thanks to an awesome crock-pot recipe I provided, and exchanged gifts on the 25th. I got my mother season three of Meerkat Manor, my father a golf cap from Banana Republic, and a dance shoe-bag for my brother. They were, of course, thrilled.
7. Wistar's wedding was beautiful, quirky, and comfortable. I was lucky enough to get some one-on-one time with the bride at the after party, which made me happy. Around two in the morning my new friends, Lynsie and Collin, and I were walking back to our respective cars when we heard a series of bangs coming from the parking lot.
Me (in a voice of cautious optimism): Maybe it's firecrackers?
Collin: Those were gunshots.
Lynsie: We'll walk you to your car.
Not to spoil the ending, but I survived.
8. I spent New Year's Eve at home, because my plans to go to New York fell through. C-SPAN was showing Obama's election day speech, which was awesome (of course I'd seen it already, but re-watching it struck the perfect note for the new year). I switched over to the ball drop just before midnight, then kissed Gilda and sang her a few bars of Auld Lang Syne.
9. Work was kind of awful the past month - I had way too many complicated cases on my desk. I think I permanently ruined Christmas for at least two families, because I had to give them such bad news. On the upside, things are settling down now. At least, they're quiet enough for me to blog!
I hope this mega-post makes up for the long wait! If I had made a new year's resolution, it would be to post more frequently. Pictures and posts about Egypt are coming, I promise!
1. I spent my birthday with wine, friends, and baked goods. My brother got me a PS3, which I just set up this weekend. I'm already developing Gamer's Thumb from playing Ratchet&Clank for twelve hours ... at a time.
2. The next weekend I went up to DC to play Dungeons and Dragons. You read that right - I play the geekiest game ever. I am not ashamed. This is why I can't be friends with all the weird hipsters in this town.
3. Luckily, I am able to find my own level. At Wistar's bridal shower, I was just sulking in the corner until I met Mimi, one of her cousins. She and I bonded over our shared love of the SciFi/Fantasy genre, and I'm trying to get her to invite me over to play with her Legos.
4. On my way to Richmond to visit Brendan, Sarah, and Mr. & Mrs. Z I almost ran over two dogs that were wandering around the interstate. You know how I feel about dogs - that they are barely-tamed wolves just waiting for us to let our collective guard down. But something in my brain changed the day I bought Gilda ... if she somehow got out of her cage, out of my room, out of the house and into the street, I'd want someone to stop. So I pulled over and called animal control. Meanwhile, the dogs are running in and out of traffic and I'm trying to stop them with increasingly panicked calls of, "come here, puppy!" The animal control officer told me to leave them alone, as they were more likely to run into traffic if someone was there 'agitating' them. I still wonder what happened to those poor dogs.
5. I got a haircut (shock!), from my good friend Leslie. I finally know why women open up to their stylists - having someone else wash your hair is just so soothing. You immediately revert to childhood and begin feeling like you can trust this person with your deepest, darkest secrets. No that I have any ... *shifty eyes*
6. Holidays at Casa de Sri were a low-key affair, since my grandmother passed in February and we're not supposed to do any celebrating for a year. We had a nice turkey dinner on the 24th thanks to an awesome crock-pot recipe I provided, and exchanged gifts on the 25th. I got my mother season three of Meerkat Manor, my father a golf cap from Banana Republic, and a dance shoe-bag for my brother. They were, of course, thrilled.
7. Wistar's wedding was beautiful, quirky, and comfortable. I was lucky enough to get some one-on-one time with the bride at the after party, which made me happy. Around two in the morning my new friends, Lynsie and Collin, and I were walking back to our respective cars when we heard a series of bangs coming from the parking lot.
Me (in a voice of cautious optimism): Maybe it's firecrackers?
Collin: Those were gunshots.
Lynsie: We'll walk you to your car.
Not to spoil the ending, but I survived.
8. I spent New Year's Eve at home, because my plans to go to New York fell through. C-SPAN was showing Obama's election day speech, which was awesome (of course I'd seen it already, but re-watching it struck the perfect note for the new year). I switched over to the ball drop just before midnight, then kissed Gilda and sang her a few bars of Auld Lang Syne.
9. Work was kind of awful the past month - I had way too many complicated cases on my desk. I think I permanently ruined Christmas for at least two families, because I had to give them such bad news. On the upside, things are settling down now. At least, they're quiet enough for me to blog!
I hope this mega-post makes up for the long wait! If I had made a new year's resolution, it would be to post more frequently. Pictures and posts about Egypt are coming, I promise!
Dec 2, 2008
And I'm Back!
Hello, friends! I have returned from far off Egypt - battered and bruised, but undefeated by the brutal desert winds. And I brought chotchkies!
A few updates, before I commit myself entirely to travel blogging. The anniversary of my blessed natal event fast approaches, and as is my wont I am making a few Birthday Resolutions. This gives me a running start on abandoning said resolutions in the New Year. Beyond the usual promises (get something published, exercise more, cut back on sweets ... *wibble*), I have decided that 2009 is going to be my year. Something is going to change, and it's going to be big. A modicum of self-preservation (didn't think I had one, did you?) prevents me from going into detail ... but keep your eyes open.
On a more somber note, I am following the unfolding story of the Mumbai attacks with a great deal of sadness. My thoughts are with all of my friends with relatives in Mumbai, as well as with the strangers who have had a loved one killed or injured in this senseless violence. I wish I could say something comforting, but everything I type comes out as the usual, useless platitudes. So I'll leave you all with this quote from the Gita, which gives me strength when I am grieving.
"[The soul] is never born nor does it die,
Nor once it is will it ever not be.
Unborn, unending, eternal, and ancient,
It is not killed when the body is killed."
A few updates, before I commit myself entirely to travel blogging. The anniversary of my blessed natal event fast approaches, and as is my wont I am making a few Birthday Resolutions. This gives me a running start on abandoning said resolutions in the New Year. Beyond the usual promises (get something published, exercise more, cut back on sweets ... *wibble*), I have decided that 2009 is going to be my year. Something is going to change, and it's going to be big. A modicum of self-preservation (didn't think I had one, did you?) prevents me from going into detail ... but keep your eyes open.
On a more somber note, I am following the unfolding story of the Mumbai attacks with a great deal of sadness. My thoughts are with all of my friends with relatives in Mumbai, as well as with the strangers who have had a loved one killed or injured in this senseless violence. I wish I could say something comforting, but everything I type comes out as the usual, useless platitudes. So I'll leave you all with this quote from the Gita, which gives me strength when I am grieving.
"[The soul] is never born nor does it die,
Nor once it is will it ever not be.
Unborn, unending, eternal, and ancient,
It is not killed when the body is killed."
Nov 23, 2008
I'm Off!
My mother and I are about to leave for Dulles, where we will catch a flight to Frankfurt and then on to Cairo! Once there, we will be met by a couple of my father's former students who will take us to another airport, from whence we will fly to Luxor. My father will take a train up from Asuit, and then the three of us are going to take a cruise down the Nile River. I'm so excited! Think good thoughts of me, my little chickadees.
Nov 21, 2008
Millicent, I hardly knew ye
Millicent and I met four years ago, when I started graduate school. She was an almost-top-of-the-line Gateway, and I loved her to bits. She was my very first laptop, with built-in wireless and great processing speed.
This month, she finally gave up the ghost. I took her to Best Buy and had all my data transferred to an external hard drive my brother had gotten for me previously. This sad experience was made marginally tolerable by the Geek Squad guy I met. He was a little scruffy, a little overweight, and more than a little socially awkward. In other words, My Type.
GQG: Here, write down all the files you want transferred.
Me: *batting eyelashes* Can I just put down "all of them?"
GQG: Ha ha ha - oh my god, you're serious.
Me: Yeah... Sorry.
When I went back to collect Millicent's remains, I wandered over to the Apple display. My brother has been talking to me about getting a Mac for several reasons. Mostly, I think, because he wants to play with one. So after much deliberating and discussion with family, I took the plunge and bought a 13-inch MacBook.
While Babs (short for Barbara MacClintock ... and now all my science nerd homies are snickering) will never replace old Millie in my heart, she's one hell of a machine. My family's very first computer was a Mac, so learning how to use her is like riding a bike. Although, given my experience with bikes, I probably shouldn't jinx it.
This month, she finally gave up the ghost. I took her to Best Buy and had all my data transferred to an external hard drive my brother had gotten for me previously. This sad experience was made marginally tolerable by the Geek Squad guy I met. He was a little scruffy, a little overweight, and more than a little socially awkward. In other words, My Type.
GQG: Here, write down all the files you want transferred.
Me: *batting eyelashes* Can I just put down "all of them?"
GQG: Ha ha ha - oh my god, you're serious.
Me: Yeah... Sorry.
When I went back to collect Millicent's remains, I wandered over to the Apple display. My brother has been talking to me about getting a Mac for several reasons. Mostly, I think, because he wants to play with one. So after much deliberating and discussion with family, I took the plunge and bought a 13-inch MacBook.
While Babs (short for Barbara MacClintock ... and now all my science nerd homies are snickering) will never replace old Millie in my heart, she's one hell of a machine. My family's very first computer was a Mac, so learning how to use her is like riding a bike. Although, given my experience with bikes, I probably shouldn't jinx it.
Nov 18, 2008
Long Time No Sri
The eternal conundrum - when nothing is going on in my life I have plenty of time to blog, but when I've got things to blog about there's no time. Anyway.
Work has been more hellish than usual, but I probably shouldn't get into details here. Needless to say, I have decided to start exploring other options in earnest. I'm thinking that I eventually need to get out of Virginia - I love it here, but I want to broaden my horizons. And if I'm ever going to live somewhere else, now is the time of my life to do it. Onward and upward.
Speaking of getting out of this jerkwater 'burg, I'm headed to Egypt with my parents next week! Monster is staying behind for work. I've enlisted him to take care of my bunny while I'm gone. Instructions will include: "Gilda is super cute, but not super social. Do not confuse your desire to cuddle her with a desire on her part to be cuddled. Luckily, she hasn't bitten anyone ... in a while."
In local news, my friend MK is moving in with me! It will be nice to have a roommate, so I'm not just talking to Gilda all night. Plus, she reads this blog (a sure sign of good character). The extra income in the form of rent is nothing to sneeze at, either. The major benefit for me, though, is the incentive to keep my house clean. Left to my own devices, I will quickly allow my living space to degenerate to the level between "pigsty" and "toxic waste dump." It's not that I don't like a clean house - I love it! I just hate to actually clean. But when there's someone around tojudge help, it gets much easier.
Finally, I got a new computer! My faithful Gateway, Millicent, finally kicked the bucket. I blame myself, and the universal AC adapter I bought her (when the original started to spark and smoke). More about Millicent's demise and my new MacBook, Babs, in my next post.
Work has been more hellish than usual, but I probably shouldn't get into details here. Needless to say, I have decided to start exploring other options in earnest. I'm thinking that I eventually need to get out of Virginia - I love it here, but I want to broaden my horizons. And if I'm ever going to live somewhere else, now is the time of my life to do it. Onward and upward.
Speaking of getting out of this jerkwater 'burg, I'm headed to Egypt with my parents next week! Monster is staying behind for work. I've enlisted him to take care of my bunny while I'm gone. Instructions will include: "Gilda is super cute, but not super social. Do not confuse your desire to cuddle her with a desire on her part to be cuddled. Luckily, she hasn't bitten anyone ... in a while."
In local news, my friend MK is moving in with me! It will be nice to have a roommate, so I'm not just talking to Gilda all night. Plus, she reads this blog (a sure sign of good character). The extra income in the form of rent is nothing to sneeze at, either. The major benefit for me, though, is the incentive to keep my house clean. Left to my own devices, I will quickly allow my living space to degenerate to the level between "pigsty" and "toxic waste dump." It's not that I don't like a clean house - I love it! I just hate to actually clean. But when there's someone around to
Finally, I got a new computer! My faithful Gateway, Millicent, finally kicked the bucket. I blame myself, and the universal AC adapter I bought her (when the original started to spark and smoke). More about Millicent's demise and my new MacBook, Babs, in my next post.
Nov 6, 2008
Bush's Legacy
"You have to give him credit. For eight years, he kept us safe. We have not been attacked since 9/11. And that troop surge of his was so effective that just five years later, we're almost done in Iraq."
It was all I could do not to jump across the table and choke a bitch. Which probably would not have gone over well at the business dinner with my bosses I had last night. I consoled myself with the thought that this was all just sour grapes from Bush Doc, bemoaning Obama's (HISTORIC) victory on Tuesday. But I couldn't help thinking of that Simpson's episode where a bear gets into town and Major Quimby creates a Bear Patrol...
Homer: Well, there's not a bear in sight. The Bear Patrol is sure doing its job.
Lisa: That's specious reasoning, Dad.
Homer: Thank you, sweetie.
Lisa: Dad, what if I were to tell you that this rock keeps away tigers.
Homer: Uh-huh, and how does it work?
Lisa: It doesn't work. It's just a stupid rock.
Homer: I see.
Lisa: But you don't see any tigers around, do you?
Homer: ... Lisa, I want to buy your rock.
And maybe everything Bush has done has kept us safe. Maybe we need to be in the dark about those measures, because if he publicizes his plans the terrorists will strike again. Maybe I don't have the whole picture.
But Bush took away our rights with his Patriot Act. He started a war against a concept with no clear exit strategy, in a country that didn't attack us. He dehumanized "the enemy," leading to increased discrimination and violence against Arab Americans. Beyond that, he tried to amend the constitution to limit rights of same-sex couples to marry. He used his very first veto to hamstring stem cell research in this country.
Let me tell you what I do give Bush credit for - last Tuesday, we had the highest voter turnout in a century. And if each president is a response to the one before, electing Obama sends a clear message. We see what you did there. And we don't like it.
It was all I could do not to jump across the table and choke a bitch. Which probably would not have gone over well at the business dinner with my bosses I had last night. I consoled myself with the thought that this was all just sour grapes from Bush Doc, bemoaning Obama's (HISTORIC) victory on Tuesday. But I couldn't help thinking of that Simpson's episode where a bear gets into town and Major Quimby creates a Bear Patrol...
Homer: Well, there's not a bear in sight. The Bear Patrol is sure doing its job.
Lisa: That's specious reasoning, Dad.
Homer: Thank you, sweetie.
Lisa: Dad, what if I were to tell you that this rock keeps away tigers.
Homer: Uh-huh, and how does it work?
Lisa: It doesn't work. It's just a stupid rock.
Homer: I see.
Lisa: But you don't see any tigers around, do you?
Homer: ... Lisa, I want to buy your rock.
And maybe everything Bush has done has kept us safe. Maybe we need to be in the dark about those measures, because if he publicizes his plans the terrorists will strike again. Maybe I don't have the whole picture.
But Bush took away our rights with his Patriot Act. He started a war against a concept with no clear exit strategy, in a country that didn't attack us. He dehumanized "the enemy," leading to increased discrimination and violence against Arab Americans. Beyond that, he tried to amend the constitution to limit rights of same-sex couples to marry. He used his very first veto to hamstring stem cell research in this country.
Let me tell you what I do give Bush credit for - last Tuesday, we had the highest voter turnout in a century. And if each president is a response to the one before, electing Obama sends a clear message. We see what you did there. And we don't like it.
Nov 4, 2008
My bunny rabbit, Gilda, has been acting up lately. Seriously. When I try to pick her up, she's grunts and lays her ears flat (the universal sign for "go away!"). When I was cleaning her litter pan, she tried to knock the scoop out of my hand. I had to cut her nails the other day, and she scratched me! Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, certain that she's watching me sleep. And then I hear chewing.
I'm not telling you this so you'll feel pity. Far from it. I'm telling you all this so you'll feel fear.
Today is election day. If I find out that you didn't get off your lazy ass to vote, I'm going to bring my bunny to your house. I'm going to toss her inside with you and shut the door. And no matter how you scream, I will not open the door until you promise to be a better citizen. The choice is yours.
I'm not telling you this so you'll feel pity. Far from it. I'm telling you all this so you'll feel fear.
Today is election day. If I find out that you didn't get off your lazy ass to vote, I'm going to bring my bunny to your house. I'm going to toss her inside with you and shut the door. And no matter how you scream, I will not open the door until you promise to be a better citizen. The choice is yours.
Nov 2, 2008
Hollywood, baby!
I'm back from my conference, and I had a wonderful time. I spent my days shopping on Rodeo drive, eating at fine restaurants, and hobnobbing with fabulous people. Well, window shopping. And I ate a couple of meals at Baja Fresh. But my companions, grad school classmates and friends from undergrad, were truly fabulous. Of course, none of this could prevent me from embarrassing myself.
My freshman roommate Erin just moved out to California, and made the trip to LA to visit with me. We were trying to catch an elevator to go down two flights (yes, we are lazy), but accidentally got on an elevator going all the way to the Penthouse.
Me: *peeking out* Hmmm, the Penthouse doesn't look any different from the other floors.
Erin (as the doors are closing): Just around the corner, there are men in underwear who will feed you fruit.
Me: *scrabbling at the closed doors*
It was then that the elevator stopped at the next floor and a handful of women tried to get on. God, I hope they were not genetic counselors. If they are, I will forever be known to them as that crazy woman on the elevator, poised to attack.
I also got to see my graduate school classmates, including a quite pregnant Alli. The baby's name is Abigail, but I like to call her Peanut Hamster (she used to be the size of a peanut, and she moves around, per her mom, like a little hamster in a wheel). Our conversation turned to how strange it was that Alli was growing a human being inside of her. Which led to hilarious impressions of the developing fetus in utero. I hope Peanut Hamster wasn't offended.
Amidst all this, I did find time to actually do conference-y things. I even attended a meeting of the Public Policy Committee. I showed up right on time with my lunch, only to find an empty meeting room. Figuring that other people would start filtering in eventually, I made myself comfortable and dug into my turkey sandwich. Two bites in I was joined by Diane Baker, author of A Guide to Genetic Counseling, the first textbook of genetic counseling and chair of the committee. Then came Barbara Harrison, the other committee chair. Then one of the judges for the poster presentations. Then the past president of the National Society of Genetic Counselors. Then the current president. Then the incoming president. Then the incoming president elect. All of them had the appropriate labels hanging from their name badges. What did my name badge say? I had gotten a fake label from the exhibitor suite that read, Kid At Heart. And I probably had mayo on my face the entire time. *head desk*
The best part of the entire conference was that I got to commiserate. I love my family and my non-genetic counselor friends, but when I complain about work to the I feel like I'm speaking a different language. It's such a relief to be amongst people who get it, you know? Many many thanks to Kara, Laura, Emily, Erin G. and Erin E. for listening to my tales of woe. Your support and faith in me gives me strength to keep going.
My freshman roommate Erin just moved out to California, and made the trip to LA to visit with me. We were trying to catch an elevator to go down two flights (yes, we are lazy), but accidentally got on an elevator going all the way to the Penthouse.
Me: *peeking out* Hmmm, the Penthouse doesn't look any different from the other floors.
Erin (as the doors are closing): Just around the corner, there are men in underwear who will feed you fruit.
Me: *scrabbling at the closed doors*
It was then that the elevator stopped at the next floor and a handful of women tried to get on. God, I hope they were not genetic counselors. If they are, I will forever be known to them as that crazy woman on the elevator, poised to attack.
I also got to see my graduate school classmates, including a quite pregnant Alli. The baby's name is Abigail, but I like to call her Peanut Hamster (she used to be the size of a peanut, and she moves around, per her mom, like a little hamster in a wheel). Our conversation turned to how strange it was that Alli was growing a human being inside of her. Which led to hilarious impressions of the developing fetus in utero. I hope Peanut Hamster wasn't offended.
Amidst all this, I did find time to actually do conference-y things. I even attended a meeting of the Public Policy Committee. I showed up right on time with my lunch, only to find an empty meeting room. Figuring that other people would start filtering in eventually, I made myself comfortable and dug into my turkey sandwich. Two bites in I was joined by Diane Baker, author of A Guide to Genetic Counseling, the first textbook of genetic counseling and chair of the committee. Then came Barbara Harrison, the other committee chair. Then one of the judges for the poster presentations. Then the past president of the National Society of Genetic Counselors. Then the current president. Then the incoming president. Then the incoming president elect. All of them had the appropriate labels hanging from their name badges. What did my name badge say? I had gotten a fake label from the exhibitor suite that read, Kid At Heart. And I probably had mayo on my face the entire time. *head desk*
The best part of the entire conference was that I got to commiserate. I love my family and my non-genetic counselor friends, but when I complain about work to the I feel like I'm speaking a different language. It's such a relief to be amongst people who get it, you know? Many many thanks to Kara, Laura, Emily, Erin G. and Erin E. for listening to my tales of woe. Your support and faith in me gives me strength to keep going.
Nov 1, 2008
October at TV Sluts
Taking Sanctuary - 10/3/08
I guess I'm just a Knight Rider purist... - 10/6/08
R.I.P. The Riches - 10/8/08
No Bones About It - 10/11/08
Chick Lit for the Small Screen (The Starter Wife)- 10/17/08
DAG, yo (Chocolate News) - 10/19/08
Move over Tila Tequila... (Paris Hilton's My New BFF) 10/24/08
I guess I'm just a Knight Rider purist... - 10/6/08
R.I.P. The Riches - 10/8/08
No Bones About It - 10/11/08
Chick Lit for the Small Screen (The Starter Wife)- 10/17/08
DAG, yo (Chocolate News) - 10/19/08
Move over Tila Tequila... (Paris Hilton's My New BFF) 10/24/08
Oct 22, 2008
I must away!
This Friday I will be flying out to Los Angeles for a conference. I am super excited - I'll get to visit with my grad school classmates, say hello to my friend Alli's pregnant belly, and hang with my freshman roommate. Plus, work pays for everything and I don't have to use up my precious, precious leave. Wistar has kindly agreed to bunny-sit Gilda, my flight was booked ages ago and my hotel accommodations are finally settled. But I can't shake the feeling that I'm forgetting something...
Oh, right. I haven't packed.
Packing/unpacking are not my strong suits. When my parents came to pick me up after graduation (from both college and grad school), they found that I had packed a box and half before giving up. I still had unwashed laundry and hadn't even unplugged my computer. I moved into my current residence over two years ago and I still have unpacked boxes. After the first few months I figured that if I hadn't used what was in there by now I'd never really need it. Also, I'm extremely lazy.
My family has sent me a couple none-too-subtle hints to get my packing act together. I received a lovely suitcase set from my mother on my last birthday. My father enjoys giving me ugly purses with thousands of pockets. For the winter holidays, my brother made me a toiletry kit that could be taken in a carry-on (clear plastic, with less than 4 oz bottles for shampoo and whatnot). I appreciate their efforts ... but the suitcases are full of clothes from their last trip, the purses get tossed to the back of the closet, and the carefully-assembled toiletry kit has been scattered to the wind.
When I am fabulously rich and an international jet-setter, I will need fully-furnished houses on every continent. That way I can toss some cookies in my purse and fly out at a moment's notice. I'd never own a suitcase again.
Oh, right. I haven't packed.
Packing/unpacking are not my strong suits. When my parents came to pick me up after graduation (from both college and grad school), they found that I had packed a box and half before giving up. I still had unwashed laundry and hadn't even unplugged my computer. I moved into my current residence over two years ago and I still have unpacked boxes. After the first few months I figured that if I hadn't used what was in there by now I'd never really need it. Also, I'm extremely lazy.
My family has sent me a couple none-too-subtle hints to get my packing act together. I received a lovely suitcase set from my mother on my last birthday. My father enjoys giving me ugly purses with thousands of pockets. For the winter holidays, my brother made me a toiletry kit that could be taken in a carry-on (clear plastic, with less than 4 oz bottles for shampoo and whatnot). I appreciate their efforts ... but the suitcases are full of clothes from their last trip, the purses get tossed to the back of the closet, and the carefully-assembled toiletry kit has been scattered to the wind.
When I am fabulously rich and an international jet-setter, I will need fully-furnished houses on every continent. That way I can toss some cookies in my purse and fly out at a moment's notice. I'd never own a suitcase again.
Oct 15, 2008
Even More Lessons from the Family Sri
Lesson Six: Generosity
Mom: How many bags of spicy popcorn can I give you? Five?
Me: Sure.
Mom: If you say five, I will give you six.
Me: Uh, okay. "Five."
Mom: Okay.
When I got home, I had eight bags of popcorn.
This is part of Indian hospitality, to give more than is asked. The Tamil word for "enough," pothum, actually means, "I have to tell you to stop serving me now, so you'll only give me a little bit more." And if your hostess thinks you're not eating enough, be prepared for a sneak attack.
But I wonder if there isn't a deeper meaning for my mother. In our house, food has become the physical representation for her love. She demonstrates real anxiety when we're not stuffed after a hot, homemade meal. She bemoans my cooking skills (read: lack thereof) - if I can't make dinner, how can I show my (hypothetical) husband and children that I care?
When my mother was growing up and her family didn't have enough food for all ten children, the older siblings would give back their portions. "I'm not hungry," they would shout over the growling of their empty stomachs. "Give my portion to someone else." I cannot imagine the sadness and pride my grandmother must have felt, redistributing those meager meals. And all the while the girl who would become my mother was thinking,
Never again.
Mom: How many bags of spicy popcorn can I give you? Five?
Me: Sure.
Mom: If you say five, I will give you six.
Me: Uh, okay. "Five."
Mom: Okay.
When I got home, I had eight bags of popcorn.
This is part of Indian hospitality, to give more than is asked. The Tamil word for "enough," pothum, actually means, "I have to tell you to stop serving me now, so you'll only give me a little bit more." And if your hostess thinks you're not eating enough, be prepared for a sneak attack.
But I wonder if there isn't a deeper meaning for my mother. In our house, food has become the physical representation for her love. She demonstrates real anxiety when we're not stuffed after a hot, homemade meal. She bemoans my cooking skills (read: lack thereof) - if I can't make dinner, how can I show my (hypothetical) husband and children that I care?
When my mother was growing up and her family didn't have enough food for all ten children, the older siblings would give back their portions. "I'm not hungry," they would shout over the growling of their empty stomachs. "Give my portion to someone else." I cannot imagine the sadness and pride my grandmother must have felt, redistributing those meager meals. And all the while the girl who would become my mother was thinking,
Never again.
Oct 13, 2008
Oct 7, 2008
An Open Letter to the Republican Ticket
Dear Senator McCain and Governor Palin,
I see what you're doing. You trying to introduce the words "Obama" and "terrorist" into the same news cycle. You're hoping Fox News will start showing pictures of al-Qaeda and "accidentally" saying that Senator Obama is Muslim. You're trying to label him as "angry" and "dangerous." And you're counting on the fact that, in the privacy of our own voting booths, we Americans are quietly racist.
We're better than that. Stop it.
No Love,
Sri
--
Last night my friend Melissa and I went to see David Sedaris in Richmond. Ever the contemporary commentator, he peppered his usual slice-of-hilarious-life stories with bits of political humor. Beyond speculating whether each of the candidates was circumcised (I made sure to thank him for those disturbing images), he reported what fans had discussed with him at numerous book-signings. "America will never elect a black president," one midwesterner told him. "Maybe," he replied. "But half of America will elect a half-black president." Thunderous applause.
Is it weird that I want to be a tiny gay man when I grow up?
The thing is, I don't see Senator Obama as black. I see him as a level-headed, comparatively young Senator with a gift for oratory, who happens to be black (or half-black, as the case may be). Just as I see McCain as a hot-tempered, comparatively old Senator who doesn't share my values, and who happens to be white. I won't say that race isn't an issue for me in this election. It just comes at the bottom of my list, after the wars, health care, global warming, the economy, choice of running mate, fashion sense, favorite color, and soup vs salad preference. And I don't think I'm alone.
--
P.S. It's not OK to try to capitalize on prejudice, even - no, especially to win an election. Shame on you.
I see what you're doing. You trying to introduce the words "Obama" and "terrorist" into the same news cycle. You're hoping Fox News will start showing pictures of al-Qaeda and "accidentally" saying that Senator Obama is Muslim. You're trying to label him as "angry" and "dangerous." And you're counting on the fact that, in the privacy of our own voting booths, we Americans are quietly racist.
We're better than that. Stop it.
No Love,
Sri
--
Last night my friend Melissa and I went to see David Sedaris in Richmond. Ever the contemporary commentator, he peppered his usual slice-of-hilarious-life stories with bits of political humor. Beyond speculating whether each of the candidates was circumcised (I made sure to thank him for those disturbing images), he reported what fans had discussed with him at numerous book-signings. "America will never elect a black president," one midwesterner told him. "Maybe," he replied. "But half of America will elect a half-black president." Thunderous applause.
Is it weird that I want to be a tiny gay man when I grow up?The thing is, I don't see Senator Obama as black. I see him as a level-headed, comparatively young Senator with a gift for oratory, who happens to be black (or half-black, as the case may be). Just as I see McCain as a hot-tempered, comparatively old Senator who doesn't share my values, and who happens to be white. I won't say that race isn't an issue for me in this election. It just comes at the bottom of my list, after the wars, health care, global warming, the economy, choice of running mate, fashion sense, favorite color, and soup vs salad preference. And I don't think I'm alone.
--
P.S. It's not OK to try to capitalize on prejudice, even - no, especially to win an election. Shame on you.
Oct 6, 2008
I heart my doctor
I was feeling a little under the weather the other day, so I went to my internist. He's a young guy who peppers his exam questions with chit chat (obviously meant to build a rapport, but to hilarious effect). "Any coughing? Are you coughing up anything? Are you still working in that ultrasound clinic? How do you like it? Any nausea?" Also, he handed me a prescription with someone else's name at the top.
Me: Who's Jane Doe?
Him: Oops, that's someone I was writing a prescription of {medication} for, and then didn't.
Me: Um... HIPPA violation, much?
Him: Oh. *nervous chuckle*
These gaffes might turn other people off, but I just find them endearing. I know how hard it is to talk to patients, so I can really relate to my doctor when he mucks it up. Plus, it's easier for me to like a doctor who's not also my boss.
--
In unrelated news, REGISTER TO VOTE! Today's the last day!
Me: Who's Jane Doe?
Him: Oops, that's someone I was writing a prescription of {medication} for, and then didn't.
Me: Um... HIPPA violation, much?
Him: Oh. *nervous chuckle*
These gaffes might turn other people off, but I just find them endearing. I know how hard it is to talk to patients, so I can really relate to my doctor when he mucks it up. Plus, it's easier for me to like a doctor who's not also my boss.
--
In unrelated news, REGISTER TO VOTE! Today's the last day!
Oct 2, 2008
No, you may not call me "Joe."
Palin held her own tonight. Biden was better, but Palin did not live up to her train wreck of a reputation. After the VP debates tonight, I'm sure the questions about her credibility will subside ... somewhat. She's still not ready to hold national office.
My major problem is that she talks like a girl from my high school. Not any specific person, she just sounds like someone sitting in College Prep Government, talking to us "straight up" and telling us that John McCain is "right on!" When using present participles, she drops the 'g.' She throws around terms like Second Holocaust with no sense of gravitas, and she actually thinks that the war in Iraq is about Defending Democracy. She doesn't stumble over the names of foreign (and domestic) leaders - she tramples them. When she doesn't like or understand a question, she retreats to her happy place - Alaska. And the more flustered she becomes, the more folksy her speech patterns - "Doggone it, say it ain't so! *wink*"
It's not fair. She's a political light-weight, a decorative bit of fluff on John McCain's sleeve. But she gets to meet Gwen Ifill and Joe Biden, Henry Kissinger and Manmohan Singh. She may come closer to leading this country than I ever will. Just like all those other girls from high school, she'll get ahead by being pretty.
My major problem is that she talks like a girl from my high school. Not any specific person, she just sounds like someone sitting in College Prep Government, talking to us "straight up" and telling us that John McCain is "right on!" When using present participles, she drops the 'g.' She throws around terms like Second Holocaust with no sense of gravitas, and she actually thinks that the war in Iraq is about Defending Democracy. She doesn't stumble over the names of foreign (and domestic) leaders - she tramples them. When she doesn't like or understand a question, she retreats to her happy place - Alaska. And the more flustered she becomes, the more folksy her speech patterns - "Doggone it, say it ain't so! *wink*"
It's not fair. She's a political light-weight, a decorative bit of fluff on John McCain's sleeve. But she gets to meet Gwen Ifill and Joe Biden, Henry Kissinger and Manmohan Singh. She may come closer to leading this country than I ever will. Just like all those other girls from high school, she'll get ahead by being pretty.
Bridesmaid Bootcamp
By popular demand, my latest Toastmasters speech. This was speech #4, "How to Say It."
--
Your best friend comes to you with stars in her eyes and a spring in her step. She flashes you a bright smile and a brand new diamond ring. “I’m getting married,” she squeals. “And I want you to be my maid of honor!” Don’t answer just yet! Take a moment to think. Being a bridesmaid is more than buying a dress and standing up during the “I Dos.” Your friend (or sister, or cousin, or college roommate) is charging you with a sacred duty. If you accept, it will be your job to make sure her Special Day stays “special.” Are you up for the challenge?
First, you’ll need a uniform. If you’re lucky, you’ll end up with a reasonably attractive dress. “You can totally wear this again,” your friend the bride will say. You will never wear this dress again. If you’re unlucky, or your so-called friend is particularly cruel, you’ll end up with an organza monstrosity that makes you look like you’re colorblind and on the way to the prom … in 1984. Regardless, you will also need a regulation haircut, make-up and accessories. And while it may seem like wearing flip flops beneath your floor-length gown could not possibly ruin your friend’s marriage, trust me on this one. It can, and it does.
Now, you’re all outfitted and the wedding is still months away. It’s time to kick back, relax, and wait for the nuptials, right? Wrong! It’s time to plan your friend’s bridal shower. The bridal shower is an exciting opportunity for female friends and family to shower the bride with even more gifts. You, as the bridesmaid, will be in charge of keeping track of who sent which gift so that the bride can (eventually) write thank-you notes. You will also be forced to play inane party games, like Tissue Bride – an excuse for the bride’s younger sisters to wrap you in toilet paper. This humiliation is nothing compared to the dangers you face if the bride should also demand a bachelorette party. You will drink. You will dance. You will make sure the bride doesn’t do anything that will lead to an annulment.
Let’s assume you survive the shower and the bachelorette party, and make it to the Big Day. It's time to rally the troops. You'll have ushers and groomsmen, who often have been given no further direction than "show up." You'll also have junior bridesmaids, flower girls and ring bearers; a passel of children who may or may not decide to behave. It's important to realize that everyone in the wedding party - including the groom - is merely window dressing for the bride. Once everyone accepts their role as scenery, things will go a lot smoother. The bride and her groom will come together before family and friends and declare their undying love for one another. The music swells, the couple kisses, everyone cries. The end? Not hardly.
The reception. In many ways this is the most arduous task of the bridesmaid. It is a new tradition for bridesmaids to "get the dance floor going." You will be expected to step into a big open space in front of a group of strangers and begin dancing like a fool. Typically the bride will have selected songs out of nostalgia, music that was popular when she was growing up. This will cause you to flashback to every awkward middle school social you ever attended. You will begin to sweat appropriately. The point is not, as you might think, to look good. Good dancing intimidates people. The point is to look like you're having fun - even if inside, a part of you is dying. This will encourage other wedding guests to brave the floor with you. Only when you are surrounding by a dozen aunts and uncles doing a colorful rendition of the Macarena will you be allowed to duck away for a piece of cake.
Halfway through the reception, you will be tempted to call it a night. You've done your part, and your friends seems happy. But there is one odious tradition left ... the bouquet toss. You'll have to herd all the single women onto the dance floor, and suffer in silence as overeager cousins jostle you for position. You may end up catching the darn thing, at which point you hope against hope that your friend the bride has not scheduled a garter toss. If she has, you may have to endure being pawed at by a drunk uncle who caught the garter, as he slips the used lingerie onto your leg. But all of these trials - the dress, the shower, the wedding and reception - pale in comparison to what you'll face if you try to leave with the bouquet in hand. Inevitably, you will be stopped by an older relative, who will pinch your cheek and say,
"You'll be next!"
Oct 1, 2008
September at TV Sluts
This past month I've intentionally posted nothing but politics. But let me remind you I also write for a TV blog, which has so far remained free of campaign coverage. This may change after the Vice Presidential debate, which has the potential to be hi-larious. Anyway, here are my most recent entries:
Asian Persuasion (Samurai Girl, 9/22/08)
The real villain is Sendhil's hairstylist (Heroes, 9/23/08)
Appointment TV - can I get a rain check? (9/25/08)
The Mentalist - it's like deja vu all over again (9/26/08)
Number one in the 'hood, G. (Aqua Teen Hunger Force, 9/29/08)
Pushing Daisies: Back for Seconds (9/30/08)
Asian Persuasion (Samurai Girl, 9/22/08)
The real villain is Sendhil's hairstylist (Heroes, 9/23/08)
Appointment TV - can I get a rain check? (9/25/08)
The Mentalist - it's like deja vu all over again (9/26/08)
Number one in the 'hood, G. (Aqua Teen Hunger Force, 9/29/08)
Pushing Daisies: Back for Seconds (9/30/08)
Sep 29, 2008
Electoral Vote Tracker
Either this is really cool, or I'm really nerdy. Probably both.
http://www.electoral-vote.com
This site features an interactive map of electoral votes by state. Hovering over any given state gives you the percentages for each candidate, as well as the results from the last four presidential elections. There are several other features, including my favorite: "This Day in 2004." I could watch Virginia going from dark red (Strong GOP) to outlined in blue (Barely Dem) all day long. You can see a map of the Senate races and get details on top-priority House races. There's even some information regarding issues we've been paying attention to - like the bailout bill - and issues we haven't - like the fact that there are three liberal(ish) Supreme Court Justices who may want to retire soon.
Justice John Paul Stevens was appointed in 1975
by President Gerald Ford.
Homie can also rock a bow-tie.
http://www.electoral-vote.com
This site features an interactive map of electoral votes by state. Hovering over any given state gives you the percentages for each candidate, as well as the results from the last four presidential elections. There are several other features, including my favorite: "This Day in 2004." I could watch Virginia going from dark red (Strong GOP) to outlined in blue (Barely Dem) all day long. You can see a map of the Senate races and get details on top-priority House races. There's even some information regarding issues we've been paying attention to - like the bailout bill - and issues we haven't - like the fact that there are three liberal(ish) Supreme Court Justices who may want to retire soon.
Justice John Paul Stevens was appointed in 1975by President Gerald Ford.
Homie can also rock a bow-tie.
Sep 23, 2008
The World Is My Canvass
The Obama campaign HQ here in C'ville is located in the remains of a department store on the Downtown Mall, now barely furnished with card tables and folding chairs. There is not air conditioning to speak of, but it seemed like I was the only one who noticed. Two or three dogs were lounging about the place, completely at home in the hustle and bustle of thirty-odd volunteers trying to change the world. I noticed the abundance of female workers and wondered what that says about the power of charisma in American politics. I'm not what you'd call a Barak Obama supporter ... I'm more of the Any Dem Will Do school of thought. I dared not mention this to those bright-eyed women, with their "Obama Mama" t-shirts and their special language of Barak-isms. But I envy their conviction.
When I gave my address to the woman training me, she looked thrilled. No one else wanted to canvass my neighborhood because, in the sense that there is a remote-controlled structure that lowers across one entrance into the complex, we are technically a gated community. The packet of addresses I was given has this helpful handwritten note: "You're not supposed to be there, but stay until you're asked to leave." I imagined trying to explain to an irate home owner's association that yes, I live here and no, I'm not just a tenant and please, don't hurt me.
My neighbors turned out to be pretty nice overall. Some take one look at my Obama/Biden button and turned me away immediately. Several twenty-somethings came to the door in their pyjamas at 5:30pm - it's gratifying to know I'm not the only person who changes as soon as she gets home. I had a nice conversation with a very cute law student, who broke my heart a little by informing me that he is a "lifelong Republican." The Best Canvassing Moment, however, goes to a woman in one of the basement apartments on my street...
Me: *ringing doorbell*
Boy: *opens door* AUGH!
Mother: AUGH!
Me: AUGH! Wait, why are we screaming?
Mother: Well, my daughter saw a snake earlier!
Me: And you thought it came back? And rang the bell?
Unfortunately, Obama HQ forgot to give me brochures to leave behind when no one was home. I suppose I'll have to go and do those houses again...? Honestly, I would have benefited from a little more structure in this whole process. Still, I had fun. For anyone considering canvassing, I say do it.
When I gave my address to the woman training me, she looked thrilled. No one else wanted to canvass my neighborhood because, in the sense that there is a remote-controlled structure that lowers across one entrance into the complex, we are technically a gated community. The packet of addresses I was given has this helpful handwritten note: "You're not supposed to be there, but stay until you're asked to leave." I imagined trying to explain to an irate home owner's association that yes, I live here and no, I'm not just a tenant and please, don't hurt me.
My neighbors turned out to be pretty nice overall. Some take one look at my Obama/Biden button and turned me away immediately. Several twenty-somethings came to the door in their pyjamas at 5:30pm - it's gratifying to know I'm not the only person who changes as soon as she gets home. I had a nice conversation with a very cute law student, who broke my heart a little by informing me that he is a "lifelong Republican." The Best Canvassing Moment, however, goes to a woman in one of the basement apartments on my street...
Me: *ringing doorbell*
Boy: *opens door* AUGH!
Mother: AUGH!
Me: AUGH! Wait, why are we screaming?
Mother: Well, my daughter saw a snake earlier!
Me: And you thought it came back? And rang the bell?
Unfortunately, Obama HQ forgot to give me brochures to leave behind when no one was home. I suppose I'll have to go and do those houses again...? Honestly, I would have benefited from a little more structure in this whole process. Still, I had fun. For anyone considering canvassing, I say do it.
Sep 19, 2008
Sep 11, 2008
VOTE: Stories, Links, Offers and a Threat
The founding fathers of our nation believed that human beings have certain inalienable rights, including (but not limited to) life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. However, they did not consider suffrage to be one of those rights. First non-whites could not vote, then women. Today, my mother - who has lived in this country for the majority of her life and has thoughtful and heartfelt opinions about how it should be run - does not have the right to vote. She is not a citizen (yet - her paperwork is currently floating around the ephemera at USCIS). And that's as it should be. No offense, mom, but we can't just let anybody (like non-citizens and children) vote.
My point is, voting is not a right. It is the privilege and duty of every citizen. The summer after I turned eighteen, my father took me to the county seat to get registered to vote. He was cheerful, filled as he was with a sense of civic virtue. I, on the other hand, had been woken up early and driven forty-five minutes in order to wait another hour and a half in an uncomfortable plastic chair. I was sulky and sarcastic, and I completely missed the point. I still regret not thanking my father that day for the gift he gave me - the right to decide my country's (and by extent, my own) future.
Now hear this, Virginia residents - if you have time to read this blog, you have time to register and to vote. It's easy. Here are the necessary links:
VA Board of Elections website - all you ever need to know about the voting process.
Registration form (PDF) - if you've never registered or have moved since the last election. The deadline for registration is October 6th.
Absentee Ballot application (PDF) - the deadline for the application is 5pm on October 28th, and the ballot must be received by the time polls close on Election Day (November 4th).
Furthermore, I will help you. Comment with your address and what you need, and I will mail you the appropriate forms (along with a stamped envelope, if necessary). I screen comments, so your personal information will not be available to all and sundry. And just in case making things simple isn't enough, how about this ... ETERNAL GLORY. Send me a picture of your voting process (submitting your registration, dropping your absentee ballot in the mail, or even your "I Voted" sticker on election day). I will post it on this blog and say something nice about you. And possibly send you cookies.
Finally, a word of advice. If you don't vote, you will forfeit your right to complain to me about the government for the next four to eight years. Unless you have a really good excuse, like you were kidnapped by crazed Canadians and smuggled across the border. But I'll want to see the beaver claw-marks.
My point is, voting is not a right. It is the privilege and duty of every citizen. The summer after I turned eighteen, my father took me to the county seat to get registered to vote. He was cheerful, filled as he was with a sense of civic virtue. I, on the other hand, had been woken up early and driven forty-five minutes in order to wait another hour and a half in an uncomfortable plastic chair. I was sulky and sarcastic, and I completely missed the point. I still regret not thanking my father that day for the gift he gave me - the right to decide my country's (and by extent, my own) future.
Now hear this, Virginia residents - if you have time to read this blog, you have time to register and to vote. It's easy. Here are the necessary links:
VA Board of Elections website - all you ever need to know about the voting process.
Registration form (PDF) - if you've never registered or have moved since the last election. The deadline for registration is October 6th.
Absentee Ballot application (PDF) - the deadline for the application is 5pm on October 28th, and the ballot must be received by the time polls close on Election Day (November 4th).
Furthermore, I will help you. Comment with your address and what you need, and I will mail you the appropriate forms (along with a stamped envelope, if necessary). I screen comments, so your personal information will not be available to all and sundry. And just in case making things simple isn't enough, how about this ... ETERNAL GLORY. Send me a picture of your voting process (submitting your registration, dropping your absentee ballot in the mail, or even your "I Voted" sticker on election day). I will post it on this blog and say something nice about you. And possibly send you cookies.
Finally, a word of advice. If you don't vote, you will forfeit your right to complain to me about the government for the next four to eight years. Unless you have a really good excuse, like you were kidnapped by crazed Canadians and smuggled across the border. But I'll want to see the beaver claw-marks.
Sep 9, 2008
Democratic Loyalty Quiz
Link.
My results:
Your score is 10 on a scale of 1 to 10. You are a pure, unabashed, die-hard Democratic loyalist. You are appalled by the way Republicans are turning America into a theocratic, corpo-fascist police state, and you'd gladly walk through a furnace in a gasoline suit to elect a Democratic president. In your view, there is no higher form of patriotism than defending America against the Republican Party and every intolerant, puritanical, imperialistic, greed-mongering, Constitution-shredding ideal for which it stands.
Sounds about right.
My results:
Your score is 10 on a scale of 1 to 10. You are a pure, unabashed, die-hard Democratic loyalist. You are appalled by the way Republicans are turning America into a theocratic, corpo-fascist police state, and you'd gladly walk through a furnace in a gasoline suit to elect a Democratic president. In your view, there is no higher form of patriotism than defending America against the Republican Party and every intolerant, puritanical, imperialistic, greed-mongering, Constitution-shredding ideal for which it stands.
Sounds about right.
Sep 2, 2008
August at TV Sluts
Avatar: The Last Airbender (8/4/08)
Gloria Steinem, please don't hate me (8/9/08)
Oddly enough, they are kind of marvelous. (8/15/08)
"Hey! It's Danny Tanner!" (8/18/08)
Gloria Steinem, please don't hate me (8/9/08)
Oddly enough, they are kind of marvelous. (8/15/08)
"Hey! It's Danny Tanner!" (8/18/08)
Aug 22, 2008
"She's like a little gremlin."
Mike: She doesn't seem to respond to pain.
Me (looking over) : Don't pinch her!
Mike (whispering): Maybe she's deaf and blind.
Me: If she was, you wouldn't have to whisper.
Mike: Maybe she's brain damaged.
Me: Why are you saying these horrible things?
Mike : I just don't understand her. TALK TO ME! DO SOMETHING! WRITE ME A RESEARCH PAPER!
Me: I'm going to have to take the bunny away, now.
Me (looking over) : Don't pinch her!
Mike (whispering): Maybe she's deaf and blind.
Me: If she was, you wouldn't have to whisper.
Mike: Maybe she's brain damaged.
Me: Why are you saying these horrible things?
Mike : I just don't understand her. TALK TO ME! DO SOMETHING! WRITE ME A RESEARCH PAPER!
Me: I'm going to have to take the bunny away, now.
Aug 19, 2008
Is anybody hiring?
Work, as usual, has been stressful. Some of the people I work with... anyway. I've been considering my career options lately, and trying to come up with other jobs I'm qualified to do.
With my parents both being college professors, naturally I first turned my sights on teaching. You don't need a Ph.D. to teach at a community college. I think I would make a good professor - harsh, but fair. The kids would take to calling me "Miss S," resulting in hours of hilarity each time a new student would be forced to ask, "Mrs. What?" Nyuk nyuk nyuk. On the other hand, how many community colleges offer courses in Genetics?
I could try to write the next great American novel. But I've come to the sad realization that while my writing is good it will probably never be "great." What happens to a dream deferred? *sniffle* Besides, that would require not having a job at all, in order to focus on my writing. I want to be a contributing member of society - I don't want to throw away the opportunity to make a small difference every day over the next twenty years on the slim chance that my book will get published and change the course of history. And I didn't spend two years busting my rump in grad school for nothing.
That's the problem with getting an education - the more specialized your degree, the less employable you actually become. If I just had a bachelor's, I would be free to take whatever job came my way, without feeling like I was wasting my time. So remember kids, don't stay in school.
With my parents both being college professors, naturally I first turned my sights on teaching. You don't need a Ph.D. to teach at a community college. I think I would make a good professor - harsh, but fair. The kids would take to calling me "Miss S," resulting in hours of hilarity each time a new student would be forced to ask, "Mrs. What?" Nyuk nyuk nyuk. On the other hand, how many community colleges offer courses in Genetics?
I could try to write the next great American novel. But I've come to the sad realization that while my writing is good it will probably never be "great." What happens to a dream deferred? *sniffle* Besides, that would require not having a job at all, in order to focus on my writing. I want to be a contributing member of society - I don't want to throw away the opportunity to make a small difference every day over the next twenty years on the slim chance that my book will get published and change the course of history. And I didn't spend two years busting my rump in grad school for nothing.
That's the problem with getting an education - the more specialized your degree, the less employable you actually become. If I just had a bachelor's, I would be free to take whatever job came my way, without feeling like I was wasting my time. So remember kids, don't stay in school.
Aug 12, 2008
Algorithmic information theory is random, and so am I
There will be no further mathematical content and/or humor in the post. See? Random.
During my morning commute, I decided to rehearse my speech for Toastmasters. Because, while talking to yourself at work on the street = weird, talking to yourself in the car or home = OK. I had almost reached the end of my speech when I pulled into the parking lot at work, so I stopped my car and finished up. When I got out, I realized that the vehicle next to mine was occupied, and the driver was pointedly Not Looking at me.
"My god, I must look like a crazy person," I said, out loud, to no one in particular.
In other random news - based on the pictures I recently posted, some of you may be worried about Gilda. Apparently, even though the box said it was the "perfect habitat for all kinds of rabbits," wire-bottomed cages don't properly support a rabbit's hocks. Please be assured that her cage now contains a box for her to sleep in, newspaper to provide a more solid bottom, some toys, and a litter pan in addition to her food and water. She's been very rambunctious lately, nibbling on everything and bounding about her cage. This either means she's more comfortable in her environment, or that she has been possessed by the devil. Further updates as events warrant!
I went to the local Goodwill to find a play pen for Gilda, and ended up checking out the CD rack.
Me: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? Sweet! *opens case* Um, are these supposed to be empty?
Cashier: No. Someone's gone and stole it.
Me: I would be depressed, except your delightfully colloquial turn of phrase has put a smile on my face.
Cashier: Huh?
The random moral of the story: I need to download a Rockapella CD from iTunes.
During my morning commute, I decided to rehearse my speech for Toastmasters. Because, while talking to yourself at work on the street = weird, talking to yourself in the car or home = OK. I had almost reached the end of my speech when I pulled into the parking lot at work, so I stopped my car and finished up. When I got out, I realized that the vehicle next to mine was occupied, and the driver was pointedly Not Looking at me.
"My god, I must look like a crazy person," I said, out loud, to no one in particular.
In other random news - based on the pictures I recently posted, some of you may be worried about Gilda. Apparently, even though the box said it was the "perfect habitat for all kinds of rabbits," wire-bottomed cages don't properly support a rabbit's hocks. Please be assured that her cage now contains a box for her to sleep in, newspaper to provide a more solid bottom, some toys, and a litter pan in addition to her food and water. She's been very rambunctious lately, nibbling on everything and bounding about her cage. This either means she's more comfortable in her environment, or that she has been possessed by the devil. Further updates as events warrant!
I went to the local Goodwill to find a play pen for Gilda, and ended up checking out the CD rack.
Me: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? Sweet! *opens case* Um, are these supposed to be empty?
Cashier: No. Someone's gone and stole it.
Me: I would be depressed, except your delightfully colloquial turn of phrase has put a smile on my face.
Cashier: Huh?
The random moral of the story: I need to download a Rockapella CD from iTunes.
Aug 6, 2008
Aug 5, 2008
Aug 1, 2008
Sri, you got some 'splainin' to do
It really wasn't my fault - I mean, sure, it was my idea. But Mike was the one who convinced me to move my lard ass and actually go to the Albemarle County Fair. If he had just let me chicken out as I had intended, this never would have happened.
So we get to the fair, and already we're pretty pleased with ourselves. We pig out of fair food - including my brilliant concept of combining ice cream and funnel cake - and happily manage to not yak all over each other on the rides. Though it was a close thing, especially on the Rok N Rol.
You spend two minutes shouting with delight
and ten minutes screaming in agony.
We skipped right past the arcade games and hit the exhibits - learned all about beekeeping, checked out the arts and crafts, marveled at the enormous pumpkins, that sort of thing. Then we saw it ... the petting zoo. There were ducklings and chicks, baby goats and calves. The little piggies were having a nap together in a big piggy pile. So you will understand that my resistance to cuteness had already been severely depleted by the time we made it over to the bunny cages.
There were bunnies of all sizes, including "giant bunnies" that were about 18 inches long and must've weighed ten pounds if they weighed an ounce. There were cute strawberry blonde bunnies and long-haired bunnies. Bunches and bunches of bunnies, all snuggled up against each other or nibbling adorably on their little pellets.
And they were all for sale.
Yes, I was weak! But when I saw that little black bunny, a Netherlands dwarf breed on sale for $13, how could I resist? When I went to pet her she shied away, playing coy. And in that moment I knew - I had to make her mine.
How much is that bunny in the ... oh, who cares, I'll take her!
Outside The Tent -
Me: Did I just ... buy a bunny?
Mike: You be hilarious.
And now comes the hard part - picking a name. Bridget, after my favorite playboy bunny? Kendra, after Mike's (oh hell no)? Then there are other famous rabbits from literature - Peter, Velveteen, Bunnicula. Maybe I should wait until I actually pick her up on Sunday (when her life as a showgirl comes to an official end) before deciding. Until then, suggestions are most welcome!
So we get to the fair, and already we're pretty pleased with ourselves. We pig out of fair food - including my brilliant concept of combining ice cream and funnel cake - and happily manage to not yak all over each other on the rides. Though it was a close thing, especially on the Rok N Rol.
You spend two minutes shouting with delightand ten minutes screaming in agony.
We skipped right past the arcade games and hit the exhibits - learned all about beekeeping, checked out the arts and crafts, marveled at the enormous pumpkins, that sort of thing. Then we saw it ... the petting zoo. There were ducklings and chicks, baby goats and calves. The little piggies were having a nap together in a big piggy pile. So you will understand that my resistance to cuteness had already been severely depleted by the time we made it over to the bunny cages.
There were bunnies of all sizes, including "giant bunnies" that were about 18 inches long and must've weighed ten pounds if they weighed an ounce. There were cute strawberry blonde bunnies and long-haired bunnies. Bunches and bunches of bunnies, all snuggled up against each other or nibbling adorably on their little pellets.
And they were all for sale.
Yes, I was weak! But when I saw that little black bunny, a Netherlands dwarf breed on sale for $13, how could I resist? When I went to pet her she shied away, playing coy. And in that moment I knew - I had to make her mine.
How much is that bunny in the ... oh, who cares, I'll take her!Outside The Tent -
Me: Did I just ... buy a bunny?
Mike: You be hilarious.
And now comes the hard part - picking a name. Bridget, after my favorite playboy bunny? Kendra, after Mike's (oh hell no)? Then there are other famous rabbits from literature - Peter, Velveteen, Bunnicula. Maybe I should wait until I actually pick her up on Sunday (when her life as a showgirl comes to an official end) before deciding. Until then, suggestions are most welcome!
Jul 23, 2008
Genetics Alliance Conference
A few weekends ago, I was up at the Bethesda North (read: Rockville) Marriott and Conference Center, attending the annual Genetics Alliance conference. Here was my chance to hob-nob with some of the biggest names in genetics advocacy, including Francis Collins (*swoon*). Did I conduct myself dignity, as is befitting a young woman of my intelligence and training? Lord, no.
On the first night, there was a dinner to celebrate the passage of GINA (the Genetics Information Nondiscrimination Act), complete with appreciation awards to all the participating congresspeople. I walked in right before the staffer accepting the award on behalf of Senator Kennedy broke into tears. It was all very touching and heartfelt. Afterwards, we were forced to sing along as the band played "G.I.N.A.," sung to the tune of (you guessed it) Y.M.C.A. It was painfully awkward, so of course I was having a great time. And then Christie and I recruited a few members of the younger crowd to dance like maniacs to the cover band, which composed entirely of genetics professionals. It was like Nerd Heaven.
But I did more than shake my money maker - I shook my connections maker. Or... something. Which is the whole point of these conferences, anyway. Hey, peeps in DC - who wants to let me sleep on their couch if I get an unpaid internship with the Genetics Alliance next year? Don't all talk at once.
The most interesting part of the conference was that Dr. Bod(1), the clinical director of my graduate school program, was there to accept an award. For those of you not in the know, Dr. Bod is a five-foot tall, white-haired, clog-wearing dynamo of genetics. She's so smart that her brain waves beam out in all directions, interfering with the navigation systems of low-flying aircraft and causing grad students to wet themselves. In other words, intimidating as all get-out. She doesn't mean to be - she actually has a quite friendly demeanor, which I noticed for the first time at this conference. It was weird to see her and not have the instant fear response that colored the majority of our interactions when I was a student. We acted almost like ... colleagues, as unbelievable as that was to me. Even though I feel like I'm spinning my wheels in this job, seems like I've made some progress. Go me.
--
(1) Name changed to protect the not-so-innocent blogger.
On the first night, there was a dinner to celebrate the passage of GINA (the Genetics Information Nondiscrimination Act), complete with appreciation awards to all the participating congresspeople. I walked in right before the staffer accepting the award on behalf of Senator Kennedy broke into tears. It was all very touching and heartfelt. Afterwards, we were forced to sing along as the band played "G.I.N.A.," sung to the tune of (you guessed it) Y.M.C.A. It was painfully awkward, so of course I was having a great time. And then Christie and I recruited a few members of the younger crowd to dance like maniacs to the cover band, which composed entirely of genetics professionals. It was like Nerd Heaven.
But I did more than shake my money maker - I shook my connections maker. Or... something. Which is the whole point of these conferences, anyway. Hey, peeps in DC - who wants to let me sleep on their couch if I get an unpaid internship with the Genetics Alliance next year? Don't all talk at once.
The most interesting part of the conference was that Dr. Bod(1), the clinical director of my graduate school program, was there to accept an award. For those of you not in the know, Dr. Bod is a five-foot tall, white-haired, clog-wearing dynamo of genetics. She's so smart that her brain waves beam out in all directions, interfering with the navigation systems of low-flying aircraft and causing grad students to wet themselves. In other words, intimidating as all get-out. She doesn't mean to be - she actually has a quite friendly demeanor, which I noticed for the first time at this conference. It was weird to see her and not have the instant fear response that colored the majority of our interactions when I was a student. We acted almost like ... colleagues, as unbelievable as that was to me. Even though I feel like I'm spinning my wheels in this job, seems like I've made some progress. Go me.
--
(1) Name changed to protect the not-so-innocent blogger.
Jul 11, 2008
DIY schadenfreude
I was stopped at a light by the skate park yesterday when this little boy in roller blades skated past. He was so tiny that his helmet, knee- and elbow-pads looked about a size too big for him - the "ankles" of his blades were almost to his knees. In a word, adorable. He was trying to get going by skating down a small ramp and rolling up a big ramp. The physicists in the audience can see what's coming. He basically got enough momentum to get half-way up the big ramp before he wiped out. Every. Single. Time. He did this at least three times before the light changed. All the while, he was watching the other skaters, cruising blithely by, with ill-disguised jealousy.
I could not stop laughing.
Happily, I am not alone in deriving pleasure from the misfortune of others. I went to a interesting seminar not too long ago about what makes things 'funny.' The lecturer claimed that the key to most humor is distance (as Mel Brooks said, "Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you walk into an open sewer and die.") He went on to say that we can be amused at our own 'tragedies' once time has given us the proper distance - the We'll Look Back On This And Laugh effect. And then he asked a good question ... why wait? Why wait for time and tide, when we can give ourselves mental distance now?
In other words, don't be the kid in the blades. Be the woman sitting in her car, laughing her fool head off. And when the light turns green and you can just drive away.
I could not stop laughing.
Happily, I am not alone in deriving pleasure from the misfortune of others. I went to a interesting seminar not too long ago about what makes things 'funny.' The lecturer claimed that the key to most humor is distance (as Mel Brooks said, "Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you walk into an open sewer and die.") He went on to say that we can be amused at our own 'tragedies' once time has given us the proper distance - the We'll Look Back On This And Laugh effect. And then he asked a good question ... why wait? Why wait for time and tide, when we can give ourselves mental distance now?
In other words, don't be the kid in the blades. Be the woman sitting in her car, laughing her fool head off. And when the light turns green and you can just drive away.
Jul 9, 2008
This doesn't violate HIPPA, does it?
Awesome Things Patients Have Said To Me (Volume One)
Me (to the patient's husband): Do you have any children with a previous partner?
Husband #1: Ha! Not that I know of.
Me: Is there any chance the two of you could be related by blood, as in cousins?
Patient #2: God, no. Though, we are from West Virginia...
Me: Any questions?
Husband #3: No, you explained that very well.
Patient #3: We are so proud of you!
Me: Um ... thanks?
Me (in my End of the Day monotone): So- those- are- your- screening- options- in- a- nutshell. Does- that- all- make- sense?
Patient and partner #4: *laugh in my face*
Me: Heh. Sorry.
Me (to the patient's husband): Do you have any children with a previous partner?
Husband #1: Ha! Not that I know of.
Me: Is there any chance the two of you could be related by blood, as in cousins?
Patient #2: God, no. Though, we are from West Virginia...
Me: Any questions?
Husband #3: No, you explained that very well.
Patient #3: We are so proud of you!
Me: Um ... thanks?
Me (in my End of the Day monotone): So- those- are- your- screening- options- in- a- nutshell. Does- that- all- make- sense?
Patient and partner #4: *laugh in my face*
Me: Heh. Sorry.
Jul 1, 2008
Jun 26, 2008
Not that you noticed. Or cared.
FV went on vacation. Sri was left alone with the work of two counselors. Some of Sri and FV's coworkers ... well. It's enough to drive an oftentimes sane young woman to refer to herself in the third person.
But the ones who are really suffering are thechildren blogs. I have fallen into a funk and am unable to summon my usual comedic genius. For that, I am truly sorry. The few witticisms left at my disposal is being poured into emails and face-to-face communication. While this is not an efficient method for the dispersal of quips, I find that it is necessary to maintain my reputation as a well-respected socialite and philanthropist (please, someone, get the Bruce Wayne reference and realize that I'm comparing myself to Batman).
But you know what they say - misery loves company. And so I bring you...
Disturbing Things I Know
If you were born at the end of October, your parents were probably doing it on Valentine's. If you were due to be a Christmas baby, like me, you were conceived around April Fool's Day.
10% of paternity is "other than reported." Think of your nine closest friend - if they look like their dads, it might be you.
Not only do we share 99% of our genes with chimps - we also share the majority of our genes with bananas.
There really is such a thing as a mouse genetically engineered to grow a human ear on its back:
Behold!
What's that? You're going to be sick? Funny, I feel much better.
*whistles*
But the ones who are really suffering are the
But you know what they say - misery loves company. And so I bring you...
Disturbing Things I Know
If you were born at the end of October, your parents were probably doing it on Valentine's. If you were due to be a Christmas baby, like me, you were conceived around April Fool's Day.
10% of paternity is "other than reported." Think of your nine closest friend - if they look like their dads, it might be you.
Not only do we share 99% of our genes with chimps - we also share the majority of our genes with bananas.
There really is such a thing as a mouse genetically engineered to grow a human ear on its back:
Behold!What's that? You're going to be sick? Funny, I feel much better.
*whistles*
Jun 23, 2008
Inexplicable Bruising
Well, not completely inexplicable. But for the interests of time and hilarity, I will restrict my comments to the events in question. I was at Busch Gardens on Saturday when someone had the genius idea of going on the Log Flume ride. I didn't want to get soaked, so I scooted all the way up and tucked my legs into the front of the log. This seemed to work swimmingly until I made to exit the ride.
Me: *struggling* I can't get out. My legs are stuck.
Ride Operator: I dunno? Try pulling a little harder?
Me: *struggling harder* It's not working.
Rider Operator: Um... this has never happened before? Maybe I should get my manager?
Me: *struggling even harder, beginning to panic*
My "friends": HAHAHAHA! Look, logs are piling up behind her! HAHAHAHA!
Me: If I ever get out of this, I will kill you all in your sleep.
Ride Operator: I'm sorry? Do you mean me?
Me: Especially you.
Not to spoil the ending, but I did manage to get out with the majority of my kneecaps intact. Never again, Log Flume. Never again.
On Sunday I went tandem skydiving - I was petrified, until I discovered that my instructor was a graduate of William and Mary, my old alma mater.
Me: What was your major?
Instructor: History.
Me: Huh. I was hoping you'd to say Physics, with an emphasis in the Aerodynamics of Plump Indian Women.
Instructor: I usually skipped class, anyway, so I could go fishing on Lake Matoaka.
Me: I didn't realize that was allowed.
Instructor: It isn't. Ready to jump out of a plane?
Luckily, he was much more diligent in his studies of skydiving. He was conscientious about checking the equipment, especially the harness attaching me to him (and, by extension, the parachute). But when he pulled the rip cord, the jerk of the harness around my thighs hurt like a mother trucker. Of course, I was hardly complaining at the time. And once I had stopped my terrified screaming, it was quite exhilarating. He even let me pretend to steer the parachute, which was very kind of him. Once we were on the ground, he complimented me on my skydiving form.
Instructor: You should consider getting certified - you fell just like a bowling ball!
Me: Thanks, I think.
After all that, not a single coworker has asked me what I did this weekend. Which is a pity, because I was so looking forward to saying, "skydiving and roller coasters!" And then limping away on my poor, abused legs.
Me: *struggling* I can't get out. My legs are stuck.
Ride Operator: I dunno? Try pulling a little harder?
Me: *struggling harder* It's not working.
Rider Operator: Um... this has never happened before? Maybe I should get my manager?
Me: *struggling even harder, beginning to panic*
My "friends": HAHAHAHA! Look, logs are piling up behind her! HAHAHAHA!
Me: If I ever get out of this, I will kill you all in your sleep.
Ride Operator: I'm sorry? Do you mean me?
Me: Especially you.
Not to spoil the ending, but I did manage to get out with the majority of my kneecaps intact. Never again, Log Flume. Never again.
On Sunday I went tandem skydiving - I was petrified, until I discovered that my instructor was a graduate of William and Mary, my old alma mater.
Me: What was your major?
Instructor: History.
Me: Huh. I was hoping you'd to say Physics, with an emphasis in the Aerodynamics of Plump Indian Women.
Instructor: I usually skipped class, anyway, so I could go fishing on Lake Matoaka.
Me: I didn't realize that was allowed.
Instructor: It isn't. Ready to jump out of a plane?
Luckily, he was much more diligent in his studies of skydiving. He was conscientious about checking the equipment, especially the harness attaching me to him (and, by extension, the parachute). But when he pulled the rip cord, the jerk of the harness around my thighs hurt like a mother trucker. Of course, I was hardly complaining at the time. And once I had stopped my terrified screaming, it was quite exhilarating. He even let me pretend to steer the parachute, which was very kind of him. Once we were on the ground, he complimented me on my skydiving form.
Instructor: You should consider getting certified - you fell just like a bowling ball!
Me: Thanks, I think.
After all that, not a single coworker has asked me what I did this weekend. Which is a pity, because I was so looking forward to saying, "skydiving and roller coasters!" And then limping away on my poor, abused legs.
Jun 18, 2008
Jokemaster... the master of jokes
So I was walking down the street the other day, and who should I see but a real, live pirate! He had a peg leg, a hook hand, and an eye patch. He was even dressed in full swashbuckling regalia. So I went up to him and said,
"Sorry, you must get this all the time, but ... are you really a pirate?"
He replied, "Yarr, lass, that I be. That I be."
"Wow," I said. "Your life must have been rife with adventure! Do you mind if I ask, how did you loose your leg?"
"I was swimmin' off the coast o' Madagascarrr, and a great white shark leaped out o' the water and chomped me leg clean off!" He stomped his peg for emphasis.
"God, that's terrifying! Did something similar happen to your hand?"
"This?" He brandished his hook. "I was in a mighty sword fight with the Admiral o' the Royal Navy, and with a mighty blow he struck me hand from me wrist!"
"Incredible! One last question, if you don't mind. How did you lose your eye?"
"Yarr," he muttered. "Seagull pooped in me eye."
I frowned, perplexed. "That's pretty disgusting, but how do you lose an eye from bird poo?"
"It was me first day ... with the hook."
"Sorry, you must get this all the time, but ... are you really a pirate?"
He replied, "Yarr, lass, that I be. That I be."
"Wow," I said. "Your life must have been rife with adventure! Do you mind if I ask, how did you loose your leg?"
"I was swimmin' off the coast o' Madagascarrr, and a great white shark leaped out o' the water and chomped me leg clean off!" He stomped his peg for emphasis.
"God, that's terrifying! Did something similar happen to your hand?"
"This?" He brandished his hook. "I was in a mighty sword fight with the Admiral o' the Royal Navy, and with a mighty blow he struck me hand from me wrist!"
"Incredible! One last question, if you don't mind. How did you lose your eye?"
"Yarr," he muttered. "Seagull pooped in me eye."
I frowned, perplexed. "That's pretty disgusting, but how do you lose an eye from bird poo?"
"It was me first day ... with the hook."
Jun 12, 2008
Is it Friday, yet?
I used to wonder what unemployed people did all day. No school, no work, with nothing but daytime TV to keep you company? The horror. It reminded me of summer vacation, how long and boring it was. You remember that nerdy little weirdo on your street who could not wait for September? Yeah, I was that kid.
Now, I think someone could do without a job easily. First of all, there's Facebook - cyberstalk all your old boyfriends/ girlfriends/ crushes, there goes your morning. Of course, not leaving the house would make coming up with amusing status updates difficult, so you'd have to find something to do after lunch. You could go for a walk, all the way to your nearest coffee shop. Think Jared and Subway, only with less weight loss and more caffeine. Taking a book or laptop along purely for camouflage, you can people-watch for a while. Depending on how bizarre your neighbors are, this could take up several hours. By then, some of your friends would be getting off of work - all you have to do is con one of them into buying you dinner. Once you're done listening sympathetically to their work-related stresses, it would be time to go home and watch Netflix movies. Fall asleep right there on the couch, and you're done - you've just had the perfect day.
And maybe it would get old - but then you can always take a Yoga class or try macramé (or, if you're a dude ... I dunno, fix a car). These activities have the benefit of being easy to set aside if something more important comes along - like a Buffy The Vampire Slayer marathon on TV. If you're feeling especially ambitious, you can start a blog and publish your feverish ramblings two to three times a week.
Of course, there's one teensy weensy flaw in this plan. No one is going to pay you to do any of it. Which is a pity, really, because I would kick ass at unemployment.
Now, I think someone could do without a job easily. First of all, there's Facebook - cyberstalk all your old boyfriends/ girlfriends/ crushes, there goes your morning. Of course, not leaving the house would make coming up with amusing status updates difficult, so you'd have to find something to do after lunch. You could go for a walk, all the way to your nearest coffee shop. Think Jared and Subway, only with less weight loss and more caffeine. Taking a book or laptop along purely for camouflage, you can people-watch for a while. Depending on how bizarre your neighbors are, this could take up several hours. By then, some of your friends would be getting off of work - all you have to do is con one of them into buying you dinner. Once you're done listening sympathetically to their work-related stresses, it would be time to go home and watch Netflix movies. Fall asleep right there on the couch, and you're done - you've just had the perfect day.
And maybe it would get old - but then you can always take a Yoga class or try macramé (or, if you're a dude ... I dunno, fix a car). These activities have the benefit of being easy to set aside if something more important comes along - like a Buffy The Vampire Slayer marathon on TV. If you're feeling especially ambitious, you can start a blog and publish your feverish ramblings two to three times a week.
Of course, there's one teensy weensy flaw in this plan. No one is going to pay you to do any of it. Which is a pity, really, because I would kick ass at unemployment.
Jun 9, 2008
Go ahead and cry for me, Argentina
I must have had Fox & Friends for breakfast on Friday, because something I ate just did not agree with me. Ba dum chh!
Seriously, I was miserable. And because misery lovescompany coddling, my parents drove up to nurse me back to health. We spent the weekend fixing things (my dad), doing laundry (my mom), and sleeping (me). Good times had by all!
But I didn't force them to work all weekend - some of the time was spent on the couch, watching TV movies. We sat through My Big Fat Greek Wedding and The Princess Bride in rapid succession, to hilarious effect.
Gus Portokalos: I come to this country with just eight dollars!
Dad: I came to the country with only eight dollars! Though ... I did spend one dollar on the plane, to listen to music.
Me: Dad! That's 1/8 of my inheritance you threw away!
Wesley: *climbs Cliffs of Insanity*
Mom: Is that ... Zorba The Greek?
Me: Do you mean Zorro?
Mom: Yes!
Me: Um... Zorro is Mexican.
Laughter being the best medicine (take that penicillin!), I am sure I will be all better in no time.
--
Update: My expert in all things Mediterranean, FV, informs me that there really is a movie called Zorba the Greek. Who knew?
Seriously, I was miserable. And because misery loves
But I didn't force them to work all weekend - some of the time was spent on the couch, watching TV movies. We sat through My Big Fat Greek Wedding and The Princess Bride in rapid succession, to hilarious effect.
Gus Portokalos: I come to this country with just eight dollars!
Dad: I came to the country with only eight dollars! Though ... I did spend one dollar on the plane, to listen to music.
Me: Dad! That's 1/8 of my inheritance you threw away!
Wesley: *climbs Cliffs of Insanity*
Mom: Is that ... Zorba The Greek?
Me: Do you mean Zorro?
Mom: Yes!
Me: Um... Zorro is Mexican.
Laughter being the best medicine (take that penicillin!), I am sure I will be all better in no time.
--
Update: My expert in all things Mediterranean, FV, informs me that there really is a movie called Zorba the Greek. Who knew?
Jun 4, 2008
Words Have Power
My first speech at Toastmasters International ...
Good evening Madame Toastmaster, fellow toastmasters, and guests.
At a small departmental reception during my college graduation, I was happily introducing my mother to all of my favorite teachers. Over crackers and veggie dip my zoology professor, Dr. Heidemann, praised my scholastic dedication and complimented my mother on having such a studious young woman for a daughter. My mother replied:
“You know, we raised her just like a little boy.”
There I was, half-chewed baby carrot hanging out of my open mouth, mortified beyond belief. Dr. Heidemann stammered out a polite response and, with one last sympathetic look in my direction, excused himself back to the cheese cube tray. My mother simply smiled.
The thing is … I knew exactly what she meant. My mother was born in a small village in India. It was common for girls to marry young and never finish their formal education. My mother herself narrowly escaped betrothal to a man she didn’t love, only by excelling in her studies. Her education landed her a successful career and carried her across the ocean, to build a life in America entirely different from the one she was raised to expect. That her daughter was not only allowed to pursue the field of her choosing, but encouraged to do so, was remarkable to her. Of course, I wish she had found a better way of phrasing it.
These little misunderstandings are common in the Sri household, and are in no way unique to my mother. English is not my father’s first language – it’s his third. Whenever he goes to use a proper noun, I can almost see the Kannada and Tamil versions running through his head as he struggles to find the one that I will understand. He and my mother agreed not to teach these languages to my brother and me. I suspect it is because they wanted us to think in English, to succeed in the American school system before bilingualism was so highly regarded. English will forever be a foreign language to my parents – they never wanted that for their children.
But nothing could have prepared them for having a child who fell in love with the English language. Growing up, I would spend all day during my summer vacations in the library, soaking up the air conditioning and the written word. One year I developed spontaneous nosebleeds and my pediatrician blamed the constant exposure to cold, dry air. My mother was terribly concerned, but I could care less. Once I’d worked out a way to press a tissue to my nose, tilt my head back and read out of the corner of my eye, I was happy. My father developed a habit of searching me out a sunset, just to remind me to turn on a reading light. He warned me I would ruin my eyes and, sure enough, by sixteen I could hardly see without my glasses.
Even then, I was not content to merely absorb the English language – ever since I was a child, I have dreamed of being a poet or novelist. And my two biggest fans are my mother and my father. Often, one of them will read something I've written and shake their heads in wonder. “Where this is coming from?” They constantly underestimate their influence.
Words are what set my mother free from the constraints of traditional Indian society. Words are my father’s gift to me, that I may achieve even more than he did. Words are what I use to honor their dedication, their struggle. Words have power.
Thank you.
Good evening Madame Toastmaster, fellow toastmasters, and guests.
At a small departmental reception during my college graduation, I was happily introducing my mother to all of my favorite teachers. Over crackers and veggie dip my zoology professor, Dr. Heidemann, praised my scholastic dedication and complimented my mother on having such a studious young woman for a daughter. My mother replied:
“You know, we raised her just like a little boy.”
There I was, half-chewed baby carrot hanging out of my open mouth, mortified beyond belief. Dr. Heidemann stammered out a polite response and, with one last sympathetic look in my direction, excused himself back to the cheese cube tray. My mother simply smiled.
The thing is … I knew exactly what she meant. My mother was born in a small village in India. It was common for girls to marry young and never finish their formal education. My mother herself narrowly escaped betrothal to a man she didn’t love, only by excelling in her studies. Her education landed her a successful career and carried her across the ocean, to build a life in America entirely different from the one she was raised to expect. That her daughter was not only allowed to pursue the field of her choosing, but encouraged to do so, was remarkable to her. Of course, I wish she had found a better way of phrasing it.
These little misunderstandings are common in the Sri household, and are in no way unique to my mother. English is not my father’s first language – it’s his third. Whenever he goes to use a proper noun, I can almost see the Kannada and Tamil versions running through his head as he struggles to find the one that I will understand. He and my mother agreed not to teach these languages to my brother and me. I suspect it is because they wanted us to think in English, to succeed in the American school system before bilingualism was so highly regarded. English will forever be a foreign language to my parents – they never wanted that for their children.
But nothing could have prepared them for having a child who fell in love with the English language. Growing up, I would spend all day during my summer vacations in the library, soaking up the air conditioning and the written word. One year I developed spontaneous nosebleeds and my pediatrician blamed the constant exposure to cold, dry air. My mother was terribly concerned, but I could care less. Once I’d worked out a way to press a tissue to my nose, tilt my head back and read out of the corner of my eye, I was happy. My father developed a habit of searching me out a sunset, just to remind me to turn on a reading light. He warned me I would ruin my eyes and, sure enough, by sixteen I could hardly see without my glasses.
Even then, I was not content to merely absorb the English language – ever since I was a child, I have dreamed of being a poet or novelist. And my two biggest fans are my mother and my father. Often, one of them will read something I've written and shake their heads in wonder. “Where this is coming from?” They constantly underestimate their influence.
Words are what set my mother free from the constraints of traditional Indian society. Words are my father’s gift to me, that I may achieve even more than he did. Words are what I use to honor their dedication, their struggle. Words have power.
Thank you.
Jun 3, 2008
TV Blog Updates
MSCR: Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law (5/10/08)
Summer Lovin' - Law & Order: Criminal Intent (5/15/08)
Public Enemy No.1 - the many crimes of Flava Flav (5/29/08)
Summer Lovin' - Law & Order: Criminal Intent (5/15/08)
Public Enemy No.1 - the many crimes of Flava Flav (5/29/08)
May 19, 2008
"I haven't gotten to wear a poncho since marching band!"
Having a GC student rotating with us means I have zero opportunity to "home from work." This means updating in the evenings, which takes precious time away from vegging on the couch. But I told myself very sternly that I either had to blog or do chores tonight. And so, while my dishes grow mold (and eventually, sentient life), I give you Highlights in the Life of Sri.
Friday before last Maggie and I met up in Richmond for Friday Cheers on Brown's Island featuring one of our favorite bands, Carbon Leaf. Maggie was disappointed that it didn't rain, because she had her inclement weather gear all ready. I was amused that she was such a dork. We made a weekend of it - caught a movie (Prince Caspian, Edmund = love), went to Chris' birthday party on Saturday. I didn't know many people at the party, but I used my mad social skillz to make friends and influence people. Hahahahahaha, yeah right. I spent the first half of the party on the balcony trying to feed my soy dogs to Glen and Pheobe, the actual-dog dogs. I spent the second half of the party watching Golden Girls in bed with Chris' boyfriend, Kent. Actually ... I had a wonderful time.
That Sunday, Chris, his friend Stephanie, and I did the Washington Post Hunt. Basically, it's a game that combines all the physical activity of a scavenger hunt with all the mental activity of solving a Rubik's cube. Some of you are thinking, "that sounds like fun!" More rational individuals are wondering, "why the hell did you get out of bed before noon on a Sunday for that?!?" First of all, the top three prizes were trips to Florida (oddly enough, several teams drove up from Florida to participate). Secondly, one of the organizers was my writing idol, columnist Dave Barry. I imagined myself strolling up to Dave, making chitchat about slice-of-life humor and how it can change the world. Our actual interaction boiled down to this:
Me, Chris and Stephanie: OMG, WE SOLVED IT!
Dave Barry: If you're coming to me, you actually haven't.
Me: {expletive}
I'll get you next time,Gadget Barry! Next time!
Next Time:
So... I joined Toastmasters International. Don't judge me.
Friday before last Maggie and I met up in Richmond for Friday Cheers on Brown's Island featuring one of our favorite bands, Carbon Leaf. Maggie was disappointed that it didn't rain, because she had her inclement weather gear all ready. I was amused that she was such a dork. We made a weekend of it - caught a movie (Prince Caspian, Edmund = love), went to Chris' birthday party on Saturday. I didn't know many people at the party, but I used my mad social skillz to make friends and influence people. Hahahahahaha, yeah right. I spent the first half of the party on the balcony trying to feed my soy dogs to Glen and Pheobe, the actual-dog dogs. I spent the second half of the party watching Golden Girls in bed with Chris' boyfriend, Kent. Actually ... I had a wonderful time.
That Sunday, Chris, his friend Stephanie, and I did the Washington Post Hunt. Basically, it's a game that combines all the physical activity of a scavenger hunt with all the mental activity of solving a Rubik's cube. Some of you are thinking, "that sounds like fun!" More rational individuals are wondering, "why the hell did you get out of bed before noon on a Sunday for that?!?" First of all, the top three prizes were trips to Florida (oddly enough, several teams drove up from Florida to participate). Secondly, one of the organizers was my writing idol, columnist Dave Barry. I imagined myself strolling up to Dave, making chitchat about slice-of-life humor and how it can change the world. Our actual interaction boiled down to this:
Me, Chris and Stephanie: OMG, WE SOLVED IT!
Dave Barry: If you're coming to me, you actually haven't.
Me: {expletive}
I'll get you next time,
Next Time:
So... I joined Toastmasters International. Don't judge me.
May 14, 2008
More Lessons from the Family Sri
When dealing with household chores...
Lesson Four - Persistence Pays
Mom: Call Dad and tell him to bring green chili on his way home.
Me: You know, I asked you if you needed anything before I went out earlier. Specifically green chilies.
Mom: Really? You should have asked me again!
Lesson Five - Necessity is the Mother of Invention
Dad,
Thanks for taking out my recycling when you visited last weekend. But what did you do with the box marked 'shred'?
Sri
***
Dear Sri -
We put the papers in the garbage disposal at your place. It does an excellent job of compressing the stuff into unreadable pellet.
Love, Daddy
***
Dad,
?!?
Sri
Lesson Four - Persistence Pays
Mom: Call Dad and tell him to bring green chili on his way home.
Me: You know, I asked you if you needed anything before I went out earlier. Specifically green chilies.
Mom: Really? You should have asked me again!
Lesson Five - Necessity is the Mother of Invention
Dad,
Thanks for taking out my recycling when you visited last weekend. But what did you do with the box marked 'shred'?
Sri
***
Dear Sri -
We put the papers in the garbage disposal at your place. It does an excellent job of compressing the stuff into unreadable pellet.
Love, Daddy
***
Dad,
?!?
Sri
May 12, 2008
This is not the counselor you're looking for
Yesterday I was having lunch with two of my graduate school classmates and the conversation turned, inevitably, to the crazy things our patients say and do. No to worry, HIPPA activists, names were changed to protect the insane innocent. One common theme was that patients can't seem to remember which counselor they met with during their appointment. This makes the receptionists' task of fielding follow-up calls to the appropriate person difficult. Confusion arises, work is duplicated, and counselors get frustrated. It feels like a slap in the face - the counselor thinks, I spent and hour answering her questions, and she doesn't even know my name?
One might expect this in my friend Laura's office, as she is one of two blonde counselors of average height with a name beginning with the letter 'L.' More surprising is that the same situation arises for petite (also blonde) Kara, who works with a tall brunette. In our graduate program Laura and Kara were often confused for each other and for Emily, our other blonde classmate. I was fortunate enough to be a unique snowflake of a girl - almost six foot tall, Indian, loud and clumsy. Once I started work, however, I was shocked to find many patients couldn't recall whether they saw me or my colleague FV, a short Mediterranean woman with an accent. The mind boggles.
In actuality, this is a desired outcome of our training. During our clinical rotations, one of the evaluation criteria was 'professional dress and appearance.' We were encouraged to look nice, but not to stand out in any way. It may be depressing to be so easily forgotten, but at the end of the day the patient should be paying attention to the message, rather than the messenger.
I'm sure it's this way in any profession (the Oldest Profession being a notable exception). I'm just being my usual contrary self - wanting to stand out when I should blend in and vice versa. You can go about your business. Move along ... move along.
One might expect this in my friend Laura's office, as she is one of two blonde counselors of average height with a name beginning with the letter 'L.' More surprising is that the same situation arises for petite (also blonde) Kara, who works with a tall brunette. In our graduate program Laura and Kara were often confused for each other and for Emily, our other blonde classmate. I was fortunate enough to be a unique snowflake of a girl - almost six foot tall, Indian, loud and clumsy. Once I started work, however, I was shocked to find many patients couldn't recall whether they saw me or my colleague FV, a short Mediterranean woman with an accent. The mind boggles.
In actuality, this is a desired outcome of our training. During our clinical rotations, one of the evaluation criteria was 'professional dress and appearance.' We were encouraged to look nice, but not to stand out in any way. It may be depressing to be so easily forgotten, but at the end of the day the patient should be paying attention to the message, rather than the messenger.
I'm sure it's this way in any profession (the Oldest Profession being a notable exception). I'm just being my usual contrary self - wanting to stand out when I should blend in and vice versa. You can go about your business. Move along ... move along.
May 8, 2008
Dr. Hadrosaur is nothing but a quack
Recently, a couple atheist friends and I have been kicking around the old Evolution vs. Creationism debate, just for shits and giggles. As a health care professional, my world is filled with scientists. It comes as a great shock to me when I am confronted by someone who doesn't subscribe to evolutionary theory.
Ultrasound Tech: You believe in evolution?
Me: Well, yeah.
UT: So you believe we came from monkeys?
Me: Actually, I think that we have a common ancestor with -
UT: If we came from monkeys, why are there still monkeys in the world? Wouldn't they have become something else by now?
Me: But they did become something else. They became monkeys.
And at that point we just stared at each other in confusion. In my mind, this is the main sticking point of this debate. The two sides just aren't speaking the same language.
Science is all about empiricism - Charles Darwin didn't study finches because he had this great idea called "evolution." He studied finches and got a great idea. It took him twenty years to prepare his theory for publication. This was not something he took lightly, nor did he set out to disprove the Christian faith. As a young man he was deeply religious and had considered taking orders in the Anglican church. However, he gradually came to believe that "the Old Testament, from its manifestly false history of the world, with the Tower of Babel, the rainbow at sign, etc., etc., and from its attributing to God the feelings of a revengeful tyrant, was no more to be trusted than the sacred books of the Hindoos*, or the beliefs of any barbarian."
Creationists, on the other hand, come at things from a different direction. They know how the Earth was created, and they go looking for evidence to prove it. Anything that doesn't fit their theory is disregarded as false. For the Bible (read: God) tells them so. If there was no other reason, that right there is an argument not to teach creationism in the science classroom. Teach it at church, at home or in Bible study. Teach it as part of World Literature, for all I care. I think 'Dr. Dino' Kent Hovind said it best: "You're welcome to believe that. But it's not science and I resent that being taught in science classes at taxpayer expense ... The fact that you believe it doesn't make it true." Ironically, he was arguing to take evolutionary theory out of the classrooms, as he is one of the most famous proponents of creationism.
Check out the video that sparked this blog entry. Warning: it's almost three hours long and you probably won't get too far past Hovind's first product-placement for his Creation Science Evangelism company. I wish I was kidding about that.
--
*Ouch, Charlie. What did Hindus ever do to you? In his defense ... our creation myths include sleeping gods using cobras as beds, churning seas of milk, and metaphorical human sacrifice. If you're going to teach my kids Genesis 1-3, I get to teach your kids that god took the form of a boar to dig the Earth out of the bottom of the celestial ocean. How do you like them forbidden apples?
Ultrasound Tech: You believe in evolution?
Me: Well, yeah.
UT: So you believe we came from monkeys?
Me: Actually, I think that we have a common ancestor with -
UT: If we came from monkeys, why are there still monkeys in the world? Wouldn't they have become something else by now?
Me: But they did become something else. They became monkeys.
And at that point we just stared at each other in confusion. In my mind, this is the main sticking point of this debate. The two sides just aren't speaking the same language.
Science is all about empiricism - Charles Darwin didn't study finches because he had this great idea called "evolution." He studied finches and got a great idea. It took him twenty years to prepare his theory for publication. This was not something he took lightly, nor did he set out to disprove the Christian faith. As a young man he was deeply religious and had considered taking orders in the Anglican church. However, he gradually came to believe that "the Old Testament, from its manifestly false history of the world, with the Tower of Babel, the rainbow at sign, etc., etc., and from its attributing to God the feelings of a revengeful tyrant, was no more to be trusted than the sacred books of the Hindoos*, or the beliefs of any barbarian."
Creationists, on the other hand, come at things from a different direction. They know how the Earth was created, and they go looking for evidence to prove it. Anything that doesn't fit their theory is disregarded as false. For the Bible (read: God) tells them so. If there was no other reason, that right there is an argument not to teach creationism in the science classroom. Teach it at church, at home or in Bible study. Teach it as part of World Literature, for all I care. I think 'Dr. Dino' Kent Hovind said it best: "You're welcome to believe that. But it's not science and I resent that being taught in science classes at taxpayer expense ... The fact that you believe it doesn't make it true." Ironically, he was arguing to take evolutionary theory out of the classrooms, as he is one of the most famous proponents of creationism.
Check out the video that sparked this blog entry. Warning: it's almost three hours long and you probably won't get too far past Hovind's first product-placement for his Creation Science Evangelism company. I wish I was kidding about that.
--
*Ouch, Charlie. What did Hindus ever do to you? In his defense ... our creation myths include sleeping gods using cobras as beds, churning seas of milk, and metaphorical human sacrifice. If you're going to teach my kids Genesis 1-3, I get to teach your kids that god took the form of a boar to dig the Earth out of the bottom of the celestial ocean. How do you like them forbidden apples?
May 1, 2008
TV Blog Updates
As usual, you can find all my entries at TV Sluts here.
DT on Friday Night Project (4/3/08)
Thoughts on Miss Guided (4/16/08)
Buffy-a-thon 2008 (4/21/08)
Sequels and the law of diminishing returns (4/27/08)
DT on Friday Night Project (4/3/08)
Thoughts on Miss Guided (4/16/08)
Buffy-a-thon 2008 (4/21/08)
Sequels and the law of diminishing returns (4/27/08)
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