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.

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.

Fey Poehler 2008! Four more years!

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.

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.

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)

"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.

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.

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.

Bunny Pics! And Video!

The beginning of Gilda's apple addiction.



Nom nom nom.

Gilda with her food dish.



Proof that she eats.

Gilda with her water bottle.

So darn cute!

July was a slow month for me at TV Sluts

Olympics (7/8/08)
The House, M.D. Formula (7/29/08)

I will do better this month, I promise!

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!

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.

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.

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.

TV Blog Updates

I just "Expelled" my lunch (6/4/08)
Secret Boyfriend of the Week: so meaty! (6/8/08)
Rose by any other name... (6/18/08)
They're An-i-man-ee, totally insane-y, ANIMANIACS! (6/20/08)

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 the children 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*

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.

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."

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.