Comic Con, ho!

This time tomorrow, I will be basking in the warmth of sunny San Diego ... shortly before locking myself in a convention center for the next four days. Yes, Comic Con is finally (almost) here! For those of you who don't know, Comic Con is the O.G. comic book/cartoon/sci-fi/fantasy convention. It's the Nerd Mecca. Maggie, Rachel, Carly and I have been planning this trip for ages.

The only problem is that there is so much to see and do! Even when you factor in my general lack of interest in the mechanics of comics (how-to workshops and historical reviews leave me cold), my schedule is jam-packed. There are a lot of hard decisions to make. For instance, do I go to listen to Terry Brooks talking about the latest Magic Kingdom of Landover book or to "Mad Science: The Science Behind Science Fiction?" Should I stick with my plan to go to the "Meet The Guild" panel, or try to get Neil Gaiman's autograph when he comes to talk about Coraline? And at some point I should probably go out and, you know, see San Diego.

Hopefully I will have internet access at the hotel and energy enough to blog about all the wondrous happenings. If not, you can just imagine me in my Comic Con t-shirt, running from room to room according to my obsessively-complied schedule, surrounded by my nerd brethren and the occasional famous person, with a big grin on my face.

Per usual when my life is a mess, the blog suffers. Here are list of links to keep you amused during the current dearth. About 80% safe for work. Unless your boss is a real @$$hole about the firewall.

FailBlog - full of hilarious pictures, videos, articles and the occasional response to a threatening email.

FML - stands for F*ck My Life. A standard entry would sound something like this. "Today, my sister and I were kidnapped by hill folk never to be seen again. FML." The best part is that you can show your support/disdain by clicking, "I agree, your life sucks" or "You totally deserved it." FML keeps a running tally of the votes ... I always imagine someone coming back to their post, only to realize one million internet strangers think they deserve what they got. Glorious. Although some entries can stir up mixed emotions.

TFLN - no, I don't mean the Teaching for Learning Network. I mean Texts From Last Night, a hilarious catalog of the foibles of youth. For example...

(425): If I had a nickel for every time somebody called me a bad person I would have enough money to check into rehab

Enjoy!

You Call Me Haraam? Well, So's Your Mom!

If you are in the DC area, I have an event to recommend! Headscarf and the Angry Bitch is a one-woman play that is part of the Capital Fringe Festival. The protagonist, Zed Headscarf, is a Muslimah comedy folk singer who has been hired by a local mosque to do community outreach. Her outrageous personal stories and music about growing up Muslim in America speak of an irreverence born from familiarity, rather than contempt. There were plenty of shout-outs for the South Asians ("We'll get to Indo-Pak relations in just a bit," Zed promises at one point, with a twinkle in her eye. Later, we hear her ballad to her Indian ex-boyfriend. I won't spoil the ending, but it's good). Parts of it were really touching, and I'm woman enough to admit that I blubbered like a baby. I got the feeling that the character draws heavily from the life experiences of the author/actress, Zehra Fazal.

She's a friend of my friend Kristi, which is how I heard about the show. We met her afterward, and I totally fangirled all over myself. So ashamed.

A few bits of advice: Buy tickets ahead of time! I foolishly did not, and had to buy one of only ten standing room only tickets. The show isn't too long (less than an hour), so standing isn't a problem unless you're a lazy lump like me. Luckily I had friends there saving me a seat (thanks, guys!). In addition to tickets, you'll need to buy a Capital Fringe Festival button:


The final two shows are tonight at 8:30 and tomorrow at 3:30, at the Warehouse Next Door. There is a bar, but don't be seduced by the fact that they have Pina Coladas on tap - they're sickeningly sweet to start, and nothing but ice by the end. Maybe because mine was a virgin... insert a sexual innuendo of your choice here.

Signs

This may sound strange, considering the source, but I love roadside church signs. You know the ones - white with movable black letters, like fast food billboards. Only instead of two-for-one deals on greasy burgers, they advertise fellowship meetings and children's pageants. And sometimes they deliver little bon mots to make a long drive more bearable. For example:

- in front of a predominantly Black church near where I used to live in Richmond: SOUL FOOD SERVED HERE
- on 29 North, at what I assume was a nondenominational church: GOD WANTS SPIRITUAL FRUIT, NOT RELIGIOUS NUTS!

I know full well that there signs are not meant for me. None of these churches are seeking to recruit overly intellectual American Hindus who suspect Christianity may be secretly polytheistic.* But I love these signs, because their whimsy underscores an intrinsic similarity - I think God has a sense of humor, too. And my laughter as I drive past is an outpouring of joy at this shared revelation.

*The Devil? Are you kidding me with that?

"Research is what I'm doing when I don't know what I'm doing.” - Werner von Braun

Another re-post from the old writer's blog! Try to contain your excitement.

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We all know the old adage, "write what you know." But with the help of a little research, you can 'know' just about anything. I'm not entirely certain that this is a good thing.

Research is a natural part of writing for me. I usually like to research every detail, right down to appropriate name meanings for my characters' pet toads, but not everyone shares in my psychosis. In fact, I feel this practice has the potential to get me into real trouble. For one, it can break up the flow of writing - if you get hung up on if Chicago bus drivers wear blue or purple uniforms, you might miss your hero's stop. For two, there are potential, ahem, legal ramifications.

In one of my stories the heroine has to type a letter for her boss, the assistant district attorney. I wanted to show off his clout, so I addressed the letter to a politician in my heroine's hometown ... and used the politician's real name and address. Later I realized this was a BAD IDEA (yes, all-caps are necessary to contain the badness of this particular idea) and changed it. On the other hand, no one wants to read that your hero attends Nondescript University in Nowhere Special, Nebraska, regardless of that fact that his major is Underwater Basket Weaving and he's secretly dating the captain of the football team. You just need to find a balance.

The internet is the double-edged sword of research. Obviously you can get the facts on just about anything from databases like Answers.com and Wikipedia. I also like to use Google Images to find pictures of my settings. But the ease of obtaining information can often lead you astray. A good rule of thumb: if it takes you more than five minutes of dedicating Googling to find something out, is anyone else going to get the reference? Unless you're writing Star Trek fanfiction, the answer is probably 'no.'

Also, never underestimate the benefit of life experience. All the research in the world is no substitute for visiting your setting or observing/working at your hero's job, if only for a day. If your hero is a surgeon or cliff diver or some other job they don't let you temp in, bribe someone with expertise into having a nice, long chat. I find that cookies and promises of a spot in the acknowledgments work wonders.

Fat Lip

It's amazing to me what I can and can't do with the right lower quadrant of my face completely numb from Novocaine. I talk on the phone and eat a cup of yogurt. I can't purse my lips evenly or stop playing with my mouth. It feels like my lower lip should be huge, but constant checks in the mirror confirm that my face is as proportional as it ever was.

On the upside, I learned a lot about my dentist today. She enjoys ballroom dancing, and has been taking lessons for over ten years. She watches trashy reality TV shows like The Bachelorette and likes to pretend that her office (in the mountains) is actually located on the beach. I quite like her. Which is pretty remarkable, since just this morning she spent the better part of an hour drilling holes in me. And then told me I'd be too numb to eat much of anything until 3pm.

*pokes lip* Any time, now.

Urgh

There are so many descriptive terms for the biological process of emesis. Of course there is the most common, throwing up. But there's also getting sick or being ill for the more refined, and spewing or blowing chunks if you want to be descriptive. There is also context to consider - after a long night of partying, you worship the porcelain god. If you wake up to a churning gut it might be morning sickness, which may or may not be a good thing. So many, many ways to say the same thing. But my kind readers will forgive me if I speak plainly for once.

I am so nervous I want to vomit.

I don't usually have a sensitive stomach - I can (and unfortunately do) eat almost anything. I think it comes from being raised on Indian food. Growing up, being able to tolerate spices was considered a necessity for gastronomic health. More recently I've come to the conclusion that my stomach may actually be slightly larger than is typical. When properly inspired, I have been known to eat an IHOP breakfast and a half, as Maggie can attest. I have also won a Jell-O eating contest... The details of which I do not plan to publish. Sorry.

So what could cause a dedicated, resilient organ such as my stomach to stage a revolt? This afternoon I am expecting an important phone call. Life-changingly important. How-am-I-going-to-get-through-clinic-today important. So as soon as I got my breakfast down this morning, it immediately wanted to come back up again.

Fear not, gentle readers. I have not expelled the contents of my stomach ... yet. Lunchtime may bring new and unpleasant developments. Please think good thoughts for me and my bubbling gastric acid.

Not cool, President Obama. Not cool.

I'm really puzzled by the news of this DOJ brief on DOMA. On Friday, the Department of Justice called for the dismissal of a lawsuit that challenged the heinous Defense of Marriage Act. DOMA states that the federal government doesn't recognize same-sex marriages and that states don't have to, either. This DOJ brief contradicts President Obama's campaign promises to repeal DOMA, a law he described as "abhorrent." The gay rights movement, having supported the President's campaign en masse, was patiently waiting in line behind the global economic crisis and a slew of other "more pressing" issues. When this came along leading activists were, needless to say, pissed. Now the administration is saying that the President still intends to get rid of DOMA, but it is the DOJ's job to uphold the law of the land, whatever that law may be.

You know what else used to be illegal? Interracial marriage. Yeah, I said it! How the DOJ brief could compare same-sex marriage to incest and statutory rape and not make this much more reasonable connection is beyond me. My point is, we know that the law of the land is not infallible. It is the product of human effort, and as such can be wrong and scary and bigoted. If we wanted our government to follow the letter of law - no more, no less - we could install a system of computers for that. And soon we'd all be living on Mars, toiling endless to mine the ore they need for fuel. But I digress.

Over the past week the administration has paid lip-service to the ideas of equality, possibly trying to pacify angry gay rights activists. President Obama granted some benefits to the same-sex partners of federal employees (though, of course, not full benefits... that's outlawed by DOMA). And the DOJ has allowed one man to change his passport to reflect his married name. It's kind of like cutting off someone's leg, then handing them back a few toes.

This is, at best, a first-class f*** up (Joe Biden's in the back with his hands in the air, "Not me this time! Totally not me."). At worst, I've heard it called an attempt by the Obama administration to kowtow to "family values" conservatives. One thing is for sure - the trust has been broken. President Obama will need to offer up a lot more before he can again count on the support of the gay community and it's supporters.

Here's a link to a good summary article.

My library was dukedom large enough

When I was a child the library was my sanctuary, my summertime escape. I could avoid the sun, heat, and physical activity that typified most kid's vacations. In the library I didn't have to worry about my body, already plumping up in all the wrong places, and it's many athletic deficiencies. There it was my mind that was active - running through long reading lists, doing laps around the stacks. I was training my brain for the marathon of education that would follow - high school, college, grad school and beyond.

While running the race of higher learning, however, I had little cause to return to the library. My text books were purchased, not borrowed, so I could take notes in the margins and highlight important passages. I would never dream of defacing a library book like this, but such was my training. Reading was no longer a sport - it was my occupation. For the most part, pleasure reading fell to the wayside. For six years I read almost nothing but academic texts and scientific literature. Even when I started work and had a little more free time, I didn't go back to the library to browse and relax. Until this week.

I had requested a novel for a book club, and it came in on Monday. The book club meeting is today, and I had conflict anyway, but I figured I couldn't just let the book sit there. I went to pick it up from Marion the Librarian at the branch where my Toastmasters group meets. Please do not imagine her to be the precocious heroine from The Music Man ... think instead a short woman with gray hair, wire-rimmed glasses and hard features. I can tell that Marion disapproves of the noisy speechifying that goes on in the library's meeting room. She scowls impressively over her glasses every time I walk by the circulation desk - daunting, to say the least. Still, on this day it galvanized me to action - I would not flee before Marion's dour expression. I would stay, and leave when I was ready to go.

I wandered in and out of the stacks, admiring the classification by genre that mirrored my bookcase at home. I went from Mystery to Westerns to SciFi to Adult Fiction. Young Adult called to me from out of the past, but I resisted. I amused myself by confirming that I'd read all the Agatha Christie available and considered checking out Ralph Compton's last installment in the Danny Duggin series, Death Along the Cimarron. Searching for Neil Gaiman revealed three slim Sandman graphic novels, but no Neverwhere or Anansi Boys. I finally settled on a book suggested by my book club last month, that I had previewed on Amazon but never got around to buying. When I was finished, I used the self-checkout station (the wonders of our age!), snubbing Marion entirely. Take that, I thought childishly. I win at Library.

Mark my words

Here's an old post from the blog I started with my now-defunct writer's group. It consists of me fangirling Mark Twain for several paragraphs. *eye roll*

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"Let us guess that whenever we read a sentence and like it, we unconsciously store it away in our model-chamber; and it goes, with the myriad of its fellows, to the building, brick by brick, of the eventual edifice which we call our style." - Mark Twain

If this is the case, the entire basement of my house of style is made of tiny bearded bricks in white linen suits. Mark Twain saw the world so clearly. He saw the humor of things because he also saw the truth of them. Thus, Twain's self-awareness as a writer and a man just makes sense. His ideas about writing (and about life) are inspirational without being maudlin and funny without being trite.

"The time to begin writing an article is when you have finished it to your satisfaction. By that time you begin to clearly and logically perceive what it is that you really want to say."

"The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug."

"Substitute 'damn' every time you're inclined to write 'very.' Your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be."

Do yourself a favor - go read Captain Stormfield's Visit To Heaven. It will change the way you live your life. Or at least the way you use adjectives.

The weary traveler finally makes it home

Last week I was again up in New York for my certificate program. Eight hours in a classroom per day for five whole days, joy of joys. Two things made the week bearable - that I find the material endlessly fascinating (nerd!) and that I had plans to meet up with my friend, Ducks, and visit NYC.

Ducks' life is completely alien to me. She lives in a one-room apartment with a tiny kitchen and a minuscule fridge. Keeping a bunch of food around would only attract vermin, so her cupboards are constantly bare. On the plus side, anything you could ever want to eat is available in the city - and the store that sells it is within walking distance. While it takes me half an hour to get a box of cereal from Kroger, Ducks can pop over to the cafe (literally) around the corner and bring back the freshest, most delicious pastries known to man. We breakfasted like kings.

For lunch we met friends at a French restaurant - our waiter's accent was pronounced and extremely intimidating. I wanted to order the quiche, but hesitated because it was on the brunch menu. "Don't worry," our friends Ann and Alyssa reassured me. "Brunch in New York doesn't start until noon." Fascinating. Ducks and I then announced our plans to go to a festival at the Museum of Comic and Cartoon Art (MoCCA). Our friends Tom and Kristi immediately exclaimed in unison, "MOCHA FEST?!?" Once we explained it to them, they seemed less excited about joining us.

After our sadly-lacking-in-chocolatey-coffee-goodness festival, Ducks and I wandered about a bit. She took me to get Slurpees at a 7/11 (this is apparently a rare delicacy in NYC) and to an artifical beach at South Street Seaport. Finally, we met our friend Matt and his fiancee Makayla for dinner. It was Matt's birthday, 30 years young! But sadly the rest of us were too old to get up to any truly crazy shenanigans. Though we did wander back down to the bar at the artificial beach - they were playing house music, and there were only six people on the dance floor. We decided to call it a night.

And so ended my adventures in New York City - with an exhausted subway ride, a few hours of fitful sleep, and a far-to-early flight the next morning. *sigh* I wish I was still there.

Wait... there's an election today?

The Virginia gubernatorial* primaries are today. Why was I not informed? Oh wait ... maybe I was informed, but was too busy to make specific plans. No matter! With the power of teh interweb, I can become an informed voter in a matter of moments.

Party affiliation: you don't have to be a member of a specific party to vote in Virginia primaries - huzzah! In fact, you can vote in any primary you wish. Shock of shocks, I plan to go Democrat.

Here are the websites for the three Democratic candidates for governor:
Creigh Deeds
Terry McAuliffe
Brian Moran

Not sure where to go? The State Board of Elections has your back:
Where Do I Vote In Virginia?

You have until 7pm tonight - good luck and godspeed.

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*I love this word

Thoughts on Dr. George Tiller

As a student, I had the opportunity to hear Dr. George Tiller give a lecture on abortion at my first professional conference. He spoke with compassion and practicality, both of which are necessary to provide counseling regarding this sensitive issue. It was inspiring - after hearing him, I felt I was better equipped to discuss the full range of pregnancy options with patients.

When I heard the news on Sunday that Dr. Tiller had been shot, I cried. Not only for his family - his wife, his children, his grandchildren. But for every other family who will now face a terrible diagnosis in their (very wanted) pregnancy with one less choice about what to do next.

Pro-life groups were quick to denounce Dr. Tiller's murder as a "cowardly act," stating that they do not approve of violence of any kind. In my humble opinion, their aggressive rhetoric did play a role. It incites hatred, though obviously a person must be mentally unstable to begin with to act on that hatred. Unfortunately, I have little hope that pro-life groups will change their tactics.

The plain fact of the matter is that Dr. Tiller was providing a medical service - one that he knew put a target on his back - because he felt it needed to be provided. Regardless of your politics, you must acknowledge that he was a man with the courage of his convictions. He will be missed.

Sociology 101

I've got a lot of random stuff hanging out as "drafts" of blog posts, including a couple poems and snippets of short fiction. Now's as good a time as any to get some of it posted! Please let me know what you think.

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Class is well under way when she flings open the door. The professor, an eccentric Turkish woman with a booming voice, stops mid-sentence. Every head in the room turns toward the new arrival.

She is dressed in white short-shorts and a red halter top. Huge metal hoops swing hypnotically from her earlobes. Her dark hair is styled in that casual way that speaks of hours spent in front of a dorm mirror, getting it just so. Her eyes are laden with color and her lips glisten with tacky gloss. It's 10 AM on a Tuesday, and she's wearing body glitter.

"Sorry I'm late," she announces. "I couldn't find a parking spot."

The teacher nods uncertainly and gestures for her to take a seat. She clicks and clacks across the room in too-tall heels, as if she were walking down the runway rather than a row of desks. The purse that swings from her elbow matches her bright pink nail polish. When she finally settles in the seat next to mine, she dips those manicured fingers into her bag and fishes out a minuscule notebook and a stylish pen. She catches my eye and flashes a smile full of perfect, white teeth.

There's no denying that she's cute. Not beautiful or attractive, but cute like those overblown "teen" dolls with the jutting hips and bee-stung lips. I'm not sure what upsets me more - the fact that she's getting what she wants (attention, power, maybe happiness) from this sick-making display, or the fact that I'm actually jealous.

Coming soon...

In a world where something terrible has happened, probably in the distant future, archetypes will arise. A hero ... with a special ability and/or tragic past. A villain ... who is connected to that hero in some way. A woman ... useful mostly for sex scenes and being kidnapped. Watch as actions explode into violence in: Every Action Movie Every Made!

Note: much better when read aloud in the style of the late, great Don LaFontaine. Partly inspired by Matthew McConaughey’s Next 10 Movie Posters, partly inspired by random conversation with my roommate.

Watch out, Augusten Burroughs

Last night, I was thinking to myself that I hadn't seen Mr. Rogers in a while. Mr. Rogers is a congenial gentleman I met through Toastmasters, who also happens to live in my condo complex. That's right ... I live in Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. What's more, he and his wife are just too adorable for words. He's always giving me tips about how to conserve energy in my home and car (did you know it's better to turn the A/C all the way to blue, because otherwise you're mixing hot and cold air?). Her manners and style are impeccable - when I'm her age, I hope I look half as good. And when I needed to borrow a leveler to hang curtains, it was the Rogers(es?) to the rescue! I had promised to invite them over sometime for dinner, and last night I was regretting that I hadn't followed up on that.

This morning, who should I run into in the parking lot? Mr. Rogers. We chatted for a few minutes, giving me enough time to renew my invitation and make tentative plans ("sometime later in June - I'll email you!"). I came to work with a smile on my face. Clearly my thoughts had gone out into the universe and caused Mr. Rogers to take out his trash this morning at just the right moment to catch me on my way to my car. But Sri, you might say, isn't it much more likely that it was a coincidence? That's what the ladies at work said, in between fits of laughter. But all merriment immediately ceased when I delivered the coup de grâce:

One of my bosses came in early today, singing:
It's a beautiful day in this neighborhood,
A beautiful day for a neighbor.
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?
Won't you be ... my neighbor?

True story.

Good News! I'm Competent!

Last week I gave my tenth speech for Toastmasters, completing the introductory speech manual. I've posted several of my speeches on this blog, so you know that I've been working on this for about a year now. Here's a list of my completed projects (with links when available):

1 (Icebreaker): Words Have Power
2 (Organize Your Speech): Carrier Screening and You
3 (Get to the Point): Bringing Up Bunny
4 (How to Say It): Bridesmaid Bootcamp
5 (Your Body Speaks): My Trip to Egypt
6 (Vocal Variety): Speaking Indian
7 (Research Your Topic): Progress in Cloning
8 (Get Comfortable with Visual Aids): Learning to Knit
9 (Persuade with Power): Creationism vs Evolution
10 (Inspire Your Audience): Proud to be an American

Huh. I thought I had posted more of my speeches. Well, some of them are technical and boring, and at least one of them didn't actually get written so much as improvised ... *shifty eyes*

Now that I've finished these, I've earned the title of "Competent Communicator" - damning with faint praise, much? Still, I'm proud of myself. The next step is to work on Advanced Manuals. I was going to get Storytelling or Humorous Speaking, but I figured I don't need those as much as Persuasive Speaking and Facilitating Discussions. Blah.

Everything Old is New Again

I am not going to pretend that I watched the new Star Trek movie with any sort of critical eye. So don't expect a well-reasoned review, peppered with sarcastic quips and fascinating insights. Strap yourselves in for some pure, unadulterated fangirl-ish squealing. Oh, and just chock-a-block with spoilers. You have been warned.

1. OMG Uhura/Spock OTP!!!
From the trailers I got the impression that Kirk and Uhura were knocking boots, and just sort of rolled my eyes and went with it. I mean, she was female and within a 100 mile radius - of course he was going to sleep with her! But then she and Spock got on the turbolift and started sucking face - hotttt.

2. Scotty = LOVE
I knew that I was going to enjoy Simon Pegg's rendition of everyone's favorite Chief Engineer. I didn't know I would want to crawl inside the movie screen and cuddle him to death. When he said, "I'm givin' you all she's got, Captain!" I shouted in joy. I don't think the other movie patrons appreciated that very much, but whatever.

3. Kirk's nails are amazingly strong
He was able to hang by his fingertips from stuff for, like, 1/3 of the movie. He must drink a lot of milk. Or maybe he uses that seaweed stuff on his cuticles.

4. Leonard Nimoy should do cameos in everything
Old Spock: You should stay in Star Fleet.
New Spock: But there are so few Vulcans left, I have to go back and help repopulate!
Old Spock: Don't worry, I got that. I mean, genetically we're the same so...
New Spock: Are you sure?
Old Spock: Let me think - living a second lifetime of danger versus spending my golden years nailing hot Vulcan babes? Yeah, I'm pretty sure.

One thing I didn't like: Bones saying, "Dammit, I'm a doctor, not a physicist!" It came across as cheesey. But maybe that was the point. Overall, I'm calling this reboot of the Star Trek universe a win. It was a bold move - this fandom is notoriously detail-oriented and demanding, and rewriting canon was a bit of a risk. Any other Trekkers out there want to weigh in?


--

More lyrics!
"Don't throw the past away.
You might need it, some rainy day.
Dreams can come true again
When everything old is new again!"
Everything Old is New Again, Peter Allen

Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions...

Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great.
- Mark Twain

Ah, the artist formerly known as Clemens - he was so very, very wise. Of course he also has been quoted as saying, after seeing opera for the first time, "I haven't heard anything like that since the orphanage burned down!" Which is why he's my hero.

A month ago I applied to a fellowship up in D.C. I haven't heard word one since I got an email indicating my application had been received. As far as I know, none of my references have been contacted. Every day I check my email accounts (yes, accounts, plural... how else am I supposed to maintain my various secret identities?) with my heart in my throat, waiting for some news. Every day, I am disappointed. And every day, a little voice in my head gets louder and louder.

Why would they pick you? It sneers. You haven't given any talks or published any papers. You're not the expert in anything - no one knows your name. And even if they gave it to you, what could you possibly do with it? You're stuck in a dead end job because you belong there, because mediocrity is the best you can achieve. Just give up.

I want to keep away from small people. But sometimes it seems that I'm the person belittling my ambitions. *sigh*

By the way, I've noticed an increased frequency of "voices in my head" references. Don't worry - I'm not developing schizophrenia or dissociative identity disorder. At least... I don't think I am.

Big Game Hunter

This weekend I traveled up to D.C. to participate in the Post Hunt, an event designed to tease the brain, tickle the fancy, and make you hate Floridians. For those of you too lazy to click the above link and/or just freakin' Google it, the Post Hunt is "a scavenger-type Urban puzzle that is based on skill." It entails running around D.C. with a special section of the Sunday newspaper, trying to solve riddles and basically acting like a crazy person. Good times had by all!

A word re: Floridians. They've been doing a similar event in Miami for two decades now. Apparently, that's not enough for them; several teams come up from Florida to horn in on our hunt. Last year, the team that won was from Miami, but it was hardly a fair competition - it was like a college intramural baseball team going against a Little League. Plus, first prize was... wait for it... a freakin' trip to Florida. And this year, the winners got $2000 - less than a team's hotel/airfare/dining expenses. As my teammate Stephanie pointed out, "They just do it to be douche-baggy."

On the bright side, Chris, Stephanie and I found that our performance was much improved the second time around. We knew which of our brainstormed ideas were too far-fetched, and which were not far-fetched enough. Our team was rounded out by a couple of their co-workers, as well as Stephanie's family. We had figured out the penultimate clue before the end of the game. And while we didn't come close to winning, we did much better than last year. Even better, a D.C. team won the challenge! Take that, you smug Miami bastards.

For a detailed recap, check out my teammate Michelle's blog. She's a professional photographer, so the pictures look amazing! WARNING: the remainder of her blog may not be work-safe. I noticed that she has some (and I can't emphasize this enough - professional) boudoir shots up there.

Refinacing Woes

My dad once told me, "if you're not liberal at 20 you haven't got a heart ... but if you're not conservative by 40 you haven't got a brain!" And I laughed, because I knew deep in my soul I'd always be a pinko feminist tree-hugging Democrat. Nothing was going to change that.

And then I tried to refinance.

It was a seller's market when I purchased my condo, and I want to take advantage of the current low interest rate. Even after the housing market self-destructed, I figured I was still in a decent position. My credit is good, I've never missed a payment, and my mortgage is with the same bank I've been with all my life. Should be pretty simple, right?

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Long story short, after weeks of meetings and phone calls and emails and appraisals and fees, I've been rejected not once, but twice by my bank. They even told me they couldn't work with me through the Making Home Affordable program. When I went to the Credit Union, however, I was told that the only people who could use that program is my bank. So it's not that they can't help me refinance ... it's that they won't.

A tiny, angry voice in my head wants to know: "How come all those people who made bad decisions get a break, and I don't?" With dawning horror, I identify the source of the commotion. It's my inner Repbulican, who up until now has been gagged and bound to a chair. "This is bullshit! I'm a hardworking American - I pay my taxes!"

Bashing her over the head with a mallet, I drag her back into the corner where she belongs. Let's hope she stays unconscious for another couple decades... She scares me.

The Weirdness/Coolness of the Internet

Today my friend Chris' tag line read: "I need to know what a kidney looks like." I was ... on my lunch break (*shifty eyes*), so I decided to do a quick Google Image search. The results were pretty much what you'd expect - diagrams from DIY organ transplant instructions, photographs from semi-legal Chinese autopsies, that sort of thing. And then, inexplicably, this:

It's from a site called I Heart Guts - the happiest internal organs on Earth! You can order plush representations of all sorts of organs and glands. I checked out the FAQs, but apparently no one thought to ask, "Seriously?" or "WTF?" At the same time - plush organs! How cool is that?!? And just in case you wanted to know what to get me for my birthday...

It's a pancreas!

Chris' response: "Ha, thanks. But I'm looking at a CT scan. And I think the thing smiling at me is a gallbladder."

Too Much Food

I was having dinner the other day with my friends Brendan, Sarah, and their unborn fetus (whom I refer to as Malachi) at a Mexican restaurant. "I want either a fajita or a quesadilla," I said. Then, skimming down the menu, and saw it - Fajita Chicken Quesadilla. Perfection. A smiling waitress took our orders and within minutes we had our food. As I tucked into my exactly-what-I-had-in-mind meal, it occurred to me: Mexican is the new Diner Food. You walk in knowing what you want and knowing you can get it. This standardization is comfortable as well as practical - even in a group of relative strangers, going out for Mexican is a pretty safe bet.

That got me to thinking... what's the new Mexican food? Probably Chinese - almost everyone eats it, but it's still exotic enough to make the meal feel a bit special. "Let's go out for Chinese," you might say. "Shake things up a bit." That would make Indian the new Chinese food, Thai the new Indian, and - I dunno - Korean the new Thai. Then again, as Brendan very wisely pointed out ... what's the new Korean food?

--

P.S. Obligatory lyric reference:
"Now you're about to get cut up or get cut down
It's all about the know how all just a matter of taste
Stop telling me the way I gotta play. Too much food on my plate."
Too Much Food, Jason Mraz

Bigger Than My Body

Sometimes I catch a glimpse of myself in a full length mirror, or in a photo taken from a distance, and I think to myself, "ugh, I'm so fat!" This is not something that occurs to me when I'm dressing, or showering, or any other time I'm alone with my body. But then I get caught unaware by my reflection in an office window, and I'm struck anew with horror. I'm not an idiot - I know how much I weigh (too much), how big my waist is (too big), and how wide my thighs are (too wide). Somehow, knowing these things is different from seeing them. Knowing is what I can do in the back of my mind, privately chastising myself for eating a bowl of ice cream instead of going for a jog. Seeing is what other people do - I imagine them seeing my fat body and thinking, "ugh!"

Then again... I don't usually look at someone who is overweight with disgust. Empathy, maybe. The thing is, we all have body issues. When someone is overweight, or underweight, or has the right amount of fat but it's distributed "incorrectly," they assume that everyone around them sees them as ugly. When someone is "perfectly" proportioned, they worry that others look at the and only see a beautiful body. I mean, I assume as much - any supermodels (or supermodels in training) reading this blog, feel free to chime in. We are a society that is body-obsessed, when we would be better served to be health-obsessed. My mother has type II diabetes, and my father (despite his current state of denial) has heart disease. These should be my reasons to exercise and eat right, not the desire to conform to some impossible standard. Someday soon, I want to be able to see my body without thinking, "ugh!" More importantly, I want to be able to see my body at age 90, saggy and decrepit and alive.

--

P.S. Apparently, I've become addicted to song lyric post titles.
"Someday I'll fly
Someday I'll soar
Someday I'll be so damn much more
'Cause I'm bigger than my body
Gives me credit for."
Bigger Than My Body, John Mayer

Who's touching these monkeys pigs?

I was at IHOP yesterday with my friends Maggie and Rachel. As soon as we were finished, my phone rang. It was my father, with a dire warning regarding this swine flu outbreak: eight cases in the U.S. and dozens of deaths in Mexico (since then the numbers have gone to 20 and 103 - but still no deaths in the U.S.). I found myself intensely glad that my father hadn't called until after I'd finished my Pork 'n' Eggs.

Mmmmm, potentially contaminated meat.

Joking aside, the idea of animal-to-human disease transmission is kind of terrifying. The most famous cases are probably mad cow disease (from eating the brain or spinal cord of infected cattle) and avian flu (from direct contact with infected birds or their droppings). Since I don't eat beef and am not a poultry farmer, I felt relatively safe from those particular outbreaks. However, according to the Centers for Disease Control website, there have been documented cases of swine flu passing between humans. That's part of the reason the World Health Organization has declared this swine flu outbreak in North America to be 'a public health emergency of international concern.' In other words, "Don't freak out or anything, but this could become a pandemic."

So what's a girl to do - hole up in a bunker to wait out the zombie porcine apocalypse? My dad says that's not necessary... and as a veterinary microbiologist, he should know. Basically, he told me to pretend like it's flu season - wash my hands, take my vitamins, and get plenty of rest. On the plus side, staying warm in this 90-degree heat wave shouldn't be a problem. And at the first sign of sniffles (actually, fever or cough), I'm to report to my doctor ASAP for examination and respiratory swabbing (where they rub long Q-tip along the back of your throat until you gag a little bit). Yay.

The good news is that standard antivirals work well against this disease. While the common flu virus is resistant to such medications, this strain is actually a "triple assortment" - a recombinant virus containing DNA from avian, swine and human influenza. Science fact is always stranger that science fiction. Still, I'm on board with President Obama - we shouldn't panic. But hopefully, once the dust settles, we can take a look at why over 100 people in Mexico died from the flu.

--

P.S. I'm just kidding about the contaminated meat - you can't get swine flu from eating pork. Also, the title of this post is from the song Think About It by Flight of the Conchords:
"There's people on the street getting diseases from monkeys.
Yeah, that's what I said - they're getting diseases from monkeys.
Now there's junkies with monkey disease...
Who's touching these monkeys? Please,
Leave these poor sick monkeys alone -
They've got problems enough as it is!"

Latest Toastmasters Speech

As a health care professional, my world is filled with scientists - lab directors and geneticists, doctors and researchers. It comes as a great shock to me when I am confronted by someone who doesn't subscribe to evolutionary theory. For example, I was talking to a ultrasound technician in my office one day, and he asked,
Ultrasound Tech: You believe in evolution?
Me: Of course.
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 problem in the evolution vs creationism debate. The two sides just aren't speaking the same language. Moreover, they aren't even asking the same questions.

Creationism is based on a belief in the Abrahamic religions that God created the world, and all the creatures in it, according to His grand design. Of all His creations, man is the most god-like: according to the Bible, God made man in His own image and gave him dominion over the animals. This is an example of "revealed knowledge," an idea considered to be apparent and undeniable, in this case because it is "the word of God." And in a way, creationism is a very ennobling concept. Animals act on instinct; incapable of higher reasoning, they have only two options - fight or flight. By the light of creationism, we humans are better than animals, because we are essentially different. The first Western scientists studying the natural world did so by trying to make their observations fit with this worldview. When they observed changes in populations of animals over time, they posited that this change was goal-directed - God had certain patterns laid out for each animal, and as time went on each animal became more like the ideal God set for it. This concept of structure and purpose of the universe is very comforting: there is a place for everything and everything is in its place.

Evolutionary theory, on the other hand, offers no such comfort. Evolution works by a process of natural selection, which involves random variation and "survival of the fittest." There is no structure or purpose to the differentiation of species, because this theory was conceived strictly out of Darwin's observations. He did not start from the basis of God's grand design, and thus was liberated from forcing his observations to fit a pre-existing concept. This is the heart of the scientific method. Scientific theories arise not from "revealed knowledge," but by observation, hypothesis, and experimentation. Nothing is considered apparent and undeniable, because that leaves no room for revision and, therefore, no room for progress. Still, though he knew his method was sound, Darwin also knew that his conclusions would be extremely controversial. It took him twenty years to prepare his theory for publication. But publish he did, and the world was never the same again.

These two disparate ways of thinking, revealed knowledge versus the scientific method, are the reason why the two sides of this debate will never see eye-to-eye. Creationists view evolutionary theory as a threat to the revealed knowledge of the Bible. Thus, they want creationism taught in the science classroom along with evolution. Evolution proponents are offended by this, because creationism does not constitute a scientific theory. This year marks the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the publication of Charles Darwin's seminal work, On the Origin of Species ... and we're still fighting about it! What both sides often fail to appreciate is that, beyond speaking in two different languages, they are actually asking two very different questions.

Religion is all about giving meaning to existence, answering a multitude of "why's." Why am I here, in this place, at this time? The answers do not pertain to our physical bodies, but our conscious minds, the feeling of spiritual "self." These types of questions are best answered by “revealed knowledge,” a higher ideal that has value in and of itself - something for us to strive towards. Science, on the other hand, tells us not "why," but "how." How did I come to be made - this body, with this particular genetic code? These answers concern the physical world, things we can see and touch. As we begin to answer these types of questions, more questions arise. For this you need knowledge that can grow and change over time - that is, the scientific method. Each way of thinking has it’s own strengths and weaknesses. From this point of view science and religion are not at odds, nor are they mutually exclusive. To argue that one should supplant or challenge the other is ludicrous. Once we understand this fundamental difference, maybe we can finally lay the creationism vs evolution debate to rest.

The future of blogging

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

What kind of a childish game is this?

Since I don't watch TV news, sometimes it's hard to gauge how "big" a story has become. The upside is that getting my news from teh interwebs allows me to pick and choose the stories that are most interesting to me. Mel Gibson's wife files for divorce? Couldn't care less. How the chemical make-up of elephant tail hair demonstrates how they compete with other species? Oh, hells yes! The downside is that while I am ready to chat around the water cooler about the latest Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences (worst acronym ever) study on pachyderms, no one else is. What are the people watching, nowadays? What do they care about? I honestly have no idea.

So I guess I should assume that you all don't know about this Amazon SNAFU, and describe the situation a bit before I rant. Apparently, Amazon has removed a number of LGBTQ books from their rankings and product searches. This had the affect of burying these books, so that they would not show up as easily to consumers. Reportedly, an email complaint about this situation received this response:

In consideration of our entire customer base, we exclude "adult" material from appearing in some searches and best seller lists. Since these lists are generated using sales ranks, adult materials must also be excluded from that feature.

Hence, if you have further questions, kindly write back to us.

Best regards,

Ashlyn D
Member Services
Amazon.com Advantage

"Adult" material included children's books like Heather Has Two Mommies and a YA novel called The Filly, which contained gay themes but zero sexual content. I believe that some of the books involved had nothing LGBTQ in them, and were included in this purge because the authors themselves were gay. And a number of books that feature explicit heterosexual content were left alone.

As you can imagine, when this hit the internet people got so mad their faces exploded. Petitions were created (and soon accumulated over 20,000 electronic signatures). A hacker tried to take credit (to no avail). The Twit-ter lines lit up (while I still don't approve on principle, I have to laugh that #amazonfail became, for a time, the most popular hashtag) And Amazon scrambled to CYA, claiming that this was a "ham-fisted cataloguing error" that wasn't targeting LGBTQ authors or novels - it was all just a coincidence.

I think Gore Vidal said it best: "What kind of a childish game is this? Why don't they just burn the books? They'd be better off and it's very visual on television."

Still kickin' ass and takin' names, after all these years.

My question is this: was it "ham-fisted" or an "error?" I realize this is semantics, but when literary freedom is at stake it seems appropriate. To me, an error is something done unintentionally, while something is ham-fisted when it is an intentional action executed clumsily. And when you're talking website management, errors occur when a computer misinterprets a command. If all of the LGBTQ books had disappeared at once, I would be more likely to believe this was purely an error. But this has been going on for months - and while some titles have been re-ranked, progress is similarly slow. It seems more likely (possibly because of my latent cynicism) that Amazon was trying to reduce the LGBTQ presence on their site. Now that they've realized that this community and its supporters account for a significant proportion of their consumer base, they're scrambling to reverse what they've done. Even if they fix the problem, what's to say they won't find some other way to carry out this intent (i.e. censorship), a way that is not "ham-fisted?"

Will we ever get to the bottom of this? Sure, this story is all over the internet. But until it's in everyone's living room on the 6 o'clock news, inflaming us like a stack of burning books, I wonder if anything will ever be done to find out what caused this "error."

What's all this, then?

As you may have noticed, I've changed the URL from http://thebiologicalimperative.blogspot.com to http://thebioimp.blogspot.com. I've done this for a number of reasons. First and foremost, I got tired of typing the bloody thing. Secondly, I'm thinking of "rebranding" the site a bit. I know you all love stories of my wacky adventures, and those will continue. In addition to that, I want to start offering a bit more content - maybe something along the lines of topical discussion of the treatment of science and health care in American popular media.

Right now you're probably saying, "jigga-what?" But this has long been an interest of mine (from rolling my eyes at Good Morning America articles to yelling at the TV during Grey's Anatomy). It's not just about accuracy in the work itself - it's about the way misrepresentation lowers the level of discourse. You can't have advocacy or reform without basic health and science literacy. And for good or for ill, CSI and the blogosphere have more direct influence on people's opinions than high school health class or Biology 101.

One of my favorite online comics, Piled Higher and Deeper, really sums up what I'm trying to say here...

So nice, they named it twice

Long time, no blog! I've been super busy - hosting a games weekend, writing a toastmasters speech, getting charts for pregnant patients off my desk, planning my trip to New York... Wait, I didn't tell you about any of that? Well, balls.

1. Games Weekend - rousing success! Andi and Jeff came up from Roanoke, Maggie and Kristin came down from NoVA, Mike took time out of his busy schedule, and we had - count them - TWO Petes in attendance. While the addition of so many non-bridge-players meant that we played just a few hands, we all had fun playing Rock Band and watching the DVD commentary of Dr. Horrible's Sing-A-Long Blog. Good times, everybody, good times. Special thanks to Pete #2 for helping me carry groceries (I was running late and he was shockingly on time) and to Pete #1 for bringing a waffle iron and washing dishes.

2. Toastmasters speech - giving it tonight. Still not done. Oh, well.

3. Getting charts off my desk - sooo liberating. I'm imagining that I'm clearing them off because I'm leaving my job to raise alpacas. And then I'd make yarn, and then I'd knit a blanket, and then I'd take a nap in a warm, soft cocoon of alpaca fur. Yay.

4. Trip to NYC - the real reason I'm trying to finish charts is that I'm leaving tomorrow for a certification course in Public Health Genetics/Genomics at Sarah Lawrence College. I'm nervous to the point of nausea. It seems like all the other attendees have doctorates or are the directors of something. Then there's me, the junior genetic counselor in a small private practice. On top of that, as much as I heart NY, that place scares the shit out of me. I better get used to it, though - this week(end) is only the first session of three. *gulp*

a morning workout,
ruined: had Wendy's for lunch
whatcha gonna do?

Whores wear rouge. Ladies pinch.

I don't like make-up. I don't like the way it makes my skin feel, I don't like the way it comes off on my clothes or drinking glasses, I don't even like the way it looks. I can never find my skin tone, even among "true blend" or "adjustable" products, so I end up looking way too dark or way too light. I know there are more expensive brands that (supposedly) feel great, never rub off, and make you look like a supermodel - I'm just not willing to pay for them. And I resent the fact that, as a woman, I am expected to wear make-up to look professional.

The thing is, I don't really care how I look - you can't make a silk purse out of sow's ear, and all that. But if I came to work with blotchy skin and dark circles under my eyes, it would be completely distracting. While I was telling my patients about their risk for birth defects, they would be wondering to themselves if whatever I was dying of was contagious.

Even so, I have to subvert the process somehow. My weapon of choice is eyeshadow. I don' t use eyeliner or mascara, but I love painting my eyelids different colors. Even though my coloring makes it hard to find foundation, I can wear just about any shade of eyeshadow I want. Or, at least, I think I can. I really like matching my eyeshadow to my outfit, though I suspect that's a fashion faux pas. Right now I'm wearing dark gray slacks and a light gray sweater, so my eyeshadow is silver. I apply it lightly, so as not to blind my patients with sparkles, but still. Silver. That makes me happy.

Gettin' all twitter pated

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

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)

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:

1. 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.
2. 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.
3. Just because he has a titanium stent in his heart does not make him some sort of unstoppable cyborg.
   
4. 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.

If you have any further suggestions, please let me know - I need all the help I can get him to bloody well lie down.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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."

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.

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.

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 to judge 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.

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.

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.

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.

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