Okay, this blog is quickly devolving into a list of links. But I couldn't pass this one by: Kashmir girl overpowers militants. Apparently, a militant from the Lashkar-e-Taiba group had his sights set on marrying Rukhsana Kauser ... whether she liked it or not. Here's what Wikipedia has to say about this particular group: "members have carried out major attacks against India and its objective is to introduce an Islamic state in South Asia and to "liberate" Muslims residing in Indian-administered Kashmir." So Kauser's "suitor" and half a dozen other militants descended on her home - three entered and savagely beat her parents and uncle. Kauser's reaction?

"I could not see that and pounced on one of the militants while my brother hit him with an axe," she said. "I thought I should try the bold act of encountering militants before dying."

She and her brother disarmed two of the militants and opened fire on them with their own guns. They killed one militant (the commander, apparently) and wounded two others. But here's the really crazy part - BBC reports that the exchange of gunfire went on for four hours. In America, we'd be saying 'where the hell were the cops?' Local police departments would be scrambling, issuing apologies and promising to do better. The mayor, the governor, someone would point at this incident as evidence of a broken system. In Kashmir, the local superintendent "praised what he said was the "exemplary bravery" of Ms Kauser and her brother."

Is that it? Are they not even pretending to hold themselves accountable for keeping Kashmiri citizens safe? Maybe there was more to the superintendent's statement. I really hope this is an oversight by the reporter of the story. Though, I tend to trust BBC, and I haven't seen any statements of contrition in other articles I've skimmed.

Is this the Onion?

Cause I'm crying laughing.

Libya's Moammar Kadafi gives U.N. his opinions on Obama -- and more!

Exclamation point added by me ... but you know it was implied. Seriously, though, I love the LA Times. Here's a (verbatim!) quote from an interview with Courtney Cox about her new series, Cougar Town.

'...Cox has a terrible memory. Even about something extremely, um, memorable. "Did we get a million dollars an episode just for one year or two?"

She was asking the question over a recent steak dinner when the subject of the final season of "Friends" came up, during which all six lead cast members were paid exorbitant salaries.

Then, with half-feigned marvel in her voice: "Isn't that amazing? A million dollars an episode! What did I do with that money?"'

Well done, LA Times. Well done.

Physicians, heal thyselves ... and the world

Hello, my little chickadees. I'm up in New York this week, at my public health certificate program (Oh, yes - there are many layers to the Sri Onion). Anyway, one of the speakers mentioned an organization called Physicians for Human Rights. Intrigued, I went to their web page (http://physiciansforhumanrights.org). They are a group dedicated to investigating the health consequences of human rights violations and put a stop to them. The featured story when I went to their site: CIA Health Professionals’ Role in Torture Worse Than Previously Known.

Okay... worse? How could it get worse than that they had a role, even if it was just to sanction these violent acts?

"Medical doctors and psychologists colluded with the CIA to keep observational records about waterboarding, which approaches unethical and unlawful human experimentation," says PHR Medical Advisor and lead report author Scott Allen, MD

I got chills, reading this. But acknowledging these wrongs is the first step to try to right them. If you want to read the original white paper the article is based on, you can download it here: Aiding Torture: Health Professionals’ Ethics and Human Rights Violations Demonstrated in the May 2004 CIA Inspector General’s Report. Warning: not for the faint of heart, or the weak of stomach.

I’m a Terrible Person

Yesterday I was waiting for the NIH shuttle next to a middle-aged man wearing a face mask. It’s nearing flu season, and with the buzz about H1N1 I didn’t think much about it. Then he asked me how to get to a certain building – I looked through the shuttle schedules, which are posted at the bus stop, and told him. We struck up a conversation about how difficult it can be for newbies to navigate public transportation, both on and off the NIH campus. Apparently, he had just flown in from California and had to use the metro/bus system to get here. This naturally led to me asking what brought him to Bethesda.

Him: I’m going to see an immunologist. I’m one of those bubble boys – that’s why I’m wearing the mask.
Me (assuming he was kidding): Heh heh.
Him (sadly): They just can’t figure out why I keep getting sick.
Me: ...

It’s not really news that, if Hell exists, Satan is keeping a seat nice and warm for me. Hearing this, he must have turned the thermometer up a notch. I laughed … at the Bubble Boy. *sigh*

Public Transportation

Shortly after I moved to DC, I determined that I would not be able to keep my car. First of all, there were the various costs – insurance, parking, gas, etc. Add to that my complete lack of directional sense and the multitude of “roundabouts” here in the district, and you begin to see the problem. So I left Sheldon (yes, my car’s name is Sheldon) with my parents at Castle Sri and began the Great Public Transportation Experiment of 2009.

Every morning, I walk a couple blocks to the metro station. This necessitates wearing walking shoes and carrying my dress shoes in my purse. As this is a common practice among DC’s professional women, no one bats and eye. The metro takes me to the NIH campus, where I go through security and catch a shuttle to my building. At the end of the day I reverse the trip, and so far (knock on wood) I’ve managed this without incident.

Sometimes the train cars are crowded, and I hate touching strangers. I try to position myself so I won’t bump up against anyone, but it takes a lot of effort. And very time someone in my vicinity so much as sniffles, I think ‘omg, H1N1’ and start inching away. Sometimes the trains themselves are filthy, with gum and grime all over the floors. *shudder* I’m convinced I’m not alone in my revulsion. Just as no one is an atheist in the foxhole, everyone is a germaphobe on the metro.

At the end of the day, though, I like the idea of public transportation (even if I don’t necessarily enjoy the transportation itself). Seeing thirty people in a train car means that thirty cars were left in garages, parked on the street, or at someone’s parent’s house. Some were not purchased at all. Not to go all Martha Stewart on you, but it’s a good thing.

Cool stuff from work

Have you heard about the Human Microbiome Project? Scientists took samples from various sites on the bodies of ten volunteers, in order to map the genomes of the bacteria and other microbes living on human skin. Initial studies have determined that microbiomes are a lot like real estate - the three more important factors are location, location, and location. In other words, the organisms residing in your armpit are more like the ones in your brother's armpit than on your own forearm, no matter how infrequently he showers. On one level - so cool! On another, it kind of makes me want to never touch skin (even my own) ever again.

Also, the Department of Health and Human Services is hosting a PSA Contest to spread the word about their H1N1 flu website, www.flu.gov. One of the most popular videos is the so-called "health hop" rap by Dr. John Clarke. Definitely worth a listen - and a vote! The public vote (which closes tomorrow at midnight) will determine which video will become at televised PSA and which contestant walks away with a whopping $2500 (hey, it's a recession).

That's all I have for now. Toodles, poodles!

Why is it that I can spend all morning wading through budget reports dating back to 2003 with no one looking in on me, but the minute I take a break and start doing something asinine (like sorting M&M's by color before eating them in alphabetical order) my boss stops by to see if I've read the article for journal club?

Who are you and how did you get my email address?

The original email...

My dear friends,

Hope you all are well and enjoying the end of summer weather.

I want to know what you think on various issues in "politics." We don't all think alike. With that given, let me know what you think about:

The National Civilian Security Force. I understand that it will be under job core and has 1/2 billion or is it trillian [sic] dollars to build it up. They will be as well trained as the military. Why does Pres. Obama need his army? I don't know. As you know our CIA agents are being questioned by the attorney general. But the attorney general did not care to look into the black panthers intimigating [sic] the voters. And what about the black man that came armed to a town hall meeting. The TV media reported it, but failed to mention or show his color. Why?

Let me know your thoughts on this subject.

If you want me to delete you from my contacts list I will.

Thanks, in His love, [name redacted]

My response...

Here is an article from factcheck.org that I think you might want to read: http://www.factcheck.org/askfactcheck/is_obama_planning_a_gestapo-like_civilian_national.html

Please delete me from your email list.

Thanks,
Sri

The final word...

I guess I'm not so trusting in governments as you are. You can check this out or not. You're deleted.

[name redacted]

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,543822,00.html

My question to you, [name redacted], is this: you don't trust the government, but you trust Fox News?

First Day

Today I woke up at 6:20 (again - what the hell, circadian rhythm?!?) and wasn't able to get back to sleep. I puttered around my new apartment, trying to get by with whatever had been (a) packed in C'ville and (b) unpacked in DC. Last night I realized that I didn't bring any toothpaste, so I'm using mouthwash to brush my teeth. Stepping out the shower this morning, I realized I don't have any moisturizer. So I used hair conditioner... don't judge me. Leaving my apartment, I felt proud of my ingenuity (and, surprisingly enough, not at all sticky).

I should have realized that these were signs. My luck is strange - it never fails me for the big stuff, like getting this fellowship. Most of the other candidates (and all but one other fellow) have their PhDs, and are (one can only assume) not spastic nutcases. So why was I the chosen one? Pure luck, my friends. To balance out my good fortune, however, a thousand tiny frustrations will crop up when I least expect them.

1,000 tiny frustrations
a beat poem by Monkey Sri

first commute
hemline unravels
right pant cuff
falls falls falls
into the dirt of city streets
and urine, probably
clip it with a paperclip
doin' no good
at my destination, wrong destination
shoes not made for walking hike a mile
lost on the NIH campus
round and round and round and round
back to an empty office
no IT man, no security clearance
and there's nothing I can do
close my door
close my eyes
and rest

Last Day

I'm sitting in my office with the door closed, my second piece of Going Away cake souring in my stomach. This was the cake I specifically requested be ordered from Maryland, a rich chocolate topped with a decadent caramel icing. Too rich and too decadent, as it turns out. I wish I had a toothbrush.

But even if I were that kind of slave to oral hygiene, I cleaned out my desk yesterday. There's nothing in these drawers except a couple of keys without locks, a spare computer cable or two, and dust. Lots of dust. The only thing left to do is box up my textbooks and clear the last few personal items off the top of my desk.

Here's my graduation picture, and a few candid photos of friends. The good highlighters that I brought from home, and my tiny mouse-shaped pencil sharpener. I'm pretty sure some of my personal contacts got mixed into my Rolodex, so I should probably fish those out. Two thank-you notes from patients. In the corner, some bottles and boxes for recycling. My file box of scientific articles. My diplomas on the wall, mustn't forget those.

This morning, I was elated. I woke up at 6:20 and couldn't get back to sleep, I was so excited. My last day. Sitting at my desk, doing whatever busy work my boss could find for me, I was dancing in my chair. Then my mom called me during my lunch break and said, "It is your last day! Think of all the things you've achieved over the past three years!"

This job... this job.

Only an hour and half left.

Brownies

One of the best things about moving is that you have a valid excuse to use all the perishable items in your fridge and pantry. So today I decided to make brownies. Furthermore, I decided I was going to make delicious wine brownies, like the ones Jojo brought to our impromptu class reunion. Of course, she simply substituted wine for water (WWJD brownies, if you will) in a packaged brownie mix. I don't believe in using mixes unless circumstances are dire, so I figured I would improvise.

*cue ominous music*

First I started with this simple brownie recipe:

1/2 c. butter or oil
4 tbsp. cocoa or 2 sq. chocolate
1 c. sugar
2 eggs, well beaten
3/4 c. flour
1/4 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. vanilla
1 c. nuts, chopped

Mix all ingredients together. Spread in well greased pan. Bake a 350, 30-35 minutes. Let cool 10 minutes.

Already I'm excited because of the two-step instructions: mix, then bake. Except, nowhere is water mentioned in this recipe. How am I supposed to substitute wine for water if there isn't any water? Upon further consideration, several other problems make themselves apparent...

1. I don't have any unsweetened cocoa, only hot cocoa mix pouches. Gourmet hot cocoa mix pouches, but still.
2. After my dad's heart attack, the whole family switched from eggs (evil, cholesterol-filled sons of bitches) to egg-substitute products.
3. There isn't a drop of vanilla extract to be had in the apartment, and I'm sure as hell not going out to buy any for one batch of brownies.
4. My mounting frustration, evidenced by my increasingly colorful language. Dammit.

So ... I improvised further. Here's what I actually ended up using:

1/2 c. butter (melted from it's frozen state in an improvised double-boiler)
entire packet of gourmet "double dutch" hot cocoa mix (why not?)
3/4 c. sugar (cut back to compensate for sugar in hot cocoa mix)
2 egg-equivalent amount of egg substitute (shaking a carton is much easier than beating eggs, anyway)
almost 3/4 c. flour (ran out!)
a pinch of salt (since I used salted butter)
1/2 tsp. baking powder (...ish)
a generous dollop on hard cider

Wait a minute, you're thinking. Hard cider? I thought you were going to use wine!

Yes, yes. But for some reason (I blame nasty, devious, wine-stealing gnomes!) I have no open bottles of wine in my house. Or rather, open bottles of wine never last long in my house. Anyway, I splashed in some hard cider and then enjoyed the rest of the bottle while I waited for the brownies to bake (same temp/time as the original instructions). A win-win, if you ask me!

And here I am, sitting with the finished product. Here goes, fair readers.

*nom nom nom*

Not bad. The chocolate taste is muted, and there is the subtle flavor of cider without the alcoholic bite. And they're quite cakey, not really as dense as brownies usually are. Overall, though, quite delicious and a definite success. Now I just have to figure out how to use that box of sangria Liz brought me, and I'll be all set!

Has it really been five years?

Last night, my freshman hall got together for an impromptu reunion. I immediately covered myself in glory by imbibing several glasses of wine. Happily, I was not alone in this, and soon we were merrily insulting each other and cackling evilly. Next came a retelling of embarrassing stories from our shared past, to everyone's horror delight. These included, but were not limited to:
- The time Kristy, Diana, and Rachel ran The Triathlon in a single night (see the W&M Wiki entry and scroll down to "Traditions")
- That Erin's only defense in a physical confrontation was to go limp ... at which point I would drag her bodily from our room and leave her in a heap in the middle of the hallway
- How even though Diana and Jojo disagreed vehemently on acceptable television and movies (with Diana expressing a strong dislike for all things Jane Austen), they could both come together to judge me for my love of Star Trek

It's strange to think that it's been five years since I was at the same school as these women, and almost a decade since we first met. I still remember being startled, upon being introduced to Erin, by her enthusiastic exclamation and tackle-hug. And how, during orientation, Diana and I intimidated each other - to me she looked tough, to her I looked monstrously tall. I forgot to bring my favorite hairbrush to school, and Jojo offered to buy me a new one from Target. I still have that brush somewhere.

These moments are so fundamental to my character that it seems impossible, ludicrous that they happened such a long time ago. This feeling is reinforced whenever we get together and the intervening years seem to disappear. Despite the evidence to the contrary - jobs, spouses, houses, children! - it seems that in a moment we'll dump our trays, leave The Caf and return to Gooch 2nd Upper at the end of another idyllic day of our freshman year.

The Big Reveal

Well, my little chickadees, I have some news. At the end of this month I will be leaving fair C'ville and moving up to Washington, D.C. This is an exciting opportunity - I'll be getting out of the clinical realm and pursuing my interest in public policy, via a very prestigious fellowship. Many of you may know all this already, but I didn't want to blog about it until (a) I had gotten my official offer letter and (b) I had broken the news to my bosses.

I went apartment hunting last weekend, which was a somewhat frustrating experience. I didn't like the places I could afford and couldn't afford the places that I liked. On Monday, however, I got confirmation that the stipend I had thought was for all 16 months of my fellowship was actually annual. That opened up a lot of possibilities for me, and I sent in an application for a studio in northwest D.C. today. I should be all set, as long as their criminal background check doesn't find all those arson and embezzlement charges. It's like they say - what happens in Uzbekistan stays in Uzbekistan, right?

In my nerdy excitment over the new place I printed out the floor plan and made scale cut-outs of all my furniture, to see if it would all fit. It'll be a tight squeeze, but I think I can manage it. If I have to leave the infamous Swivel Chair behind, I will cry.

Can you believe I found a picture via Google Images?
God, I love the internet.

Despite a distressing amount of adverts*, I highly recommend this site: Emails from Crazy People. This is almost enough for me to wish for someone to send me a ranting, aggressive, foaming-at-the-mouth email ... despite my total aversion to confrontation. Enjoy!

*A word to any of my readers who are marketing execs - banner ads don't work. Anyone under the age of, I'm going to guess forty, doesn't even see banner adds. Our eyes skip right over them, enjoying our bliggity-blogs and facey-spaces while paying exactly zero attention to any and all sponsors. You're going to need more to capture my imagination than some random JPEG of a woman doing sit-ups. Also, WTF is up with the woman doing situps?

Awake and Dreaming

My dreams are intense. I've had lucid dreams, where you know you are dreaming and are able to control what happens next. Every once in a while I'll have a dream that is prophetic. Sometimes they're about trivial things - in high school I once dreamed an entire conversation with the boy I liked, the day before it happened. As a result I was able to avoid embarrassing myself (more than usual). More often, however, the meaning is less clear. Once I had a night terror about a flesh-colored sack filling with yellow viscous fluid. The next week, my father had a heart attack due to a cholesterol blockage. Even my regular dreams are so vivid that I will often confuse them, upon waking, with reality.

This morning I dreamt I was covered in spiders, and that they were spinning their webs around my head. When I woke, I screamed at the top of my lungs. My roommate came running, only to find me out of bed, batting at my ears and shaking all over. When she asked me what was wrong, I couldn't remember the right words to explain myself. 'Nightmare,' my logical brain called to me from across the vast ocean of sleep. 'Ignore the feeling of wispy cobwebs against your neck - it's only your hair. That sense of creeping dread is a figment of your imagination. You are not about to suffocate, or be eaten, or die. Go back to sleep ... if you can.'

"I... I had a dream," I told my roommate groggily, and crawled back into bed.

Yar, Give Me Tha Booty!

Sorry, I think I saw one too many Captain Jack Sparrow costumes at Comic Con. I just want to share all the fun stuff I was able to beg, borrow and steal while at the convention. Well, not actually share. More like... gloat.

SWAG, aka free stuff! I got a t-shirt from Burn Notice - sure it's neon yellow with Micheal Weston's face in day-glo orange screen printed across the entire front and I would never be caught dead in it. It was free. I also got tons of buttons to add to my collection (and you thought I couldn't get any nerdier). Possibly the best swag, though, was at the Viz Media booth - free manga! Well, free promotional books with the first chapter of five mangas, in order to get you hooked and force you to buy the rest. They're basically like a drug dealer ... the first hit is free, but the next will cost you.

BOOKS ... well, graphic novels. As previously mentioned, I got volume one of Piled Higher and Deeper. I also got volumes one and two of Strangers in Paradise, one of the greatest romance comics of all time. When I went to the booth, the author was standing about chatting with fans, so I even got him to sign my copies - score! Of course, now I wish I had gotten volume three as well - I finished volume two before I even got home. But my bag was so overstuffed I barely managed to zip it closed, so all in all I think I stopped at a good point.

Katchoo, how did you get to be so cool?

STAR COLLECTING. I dragged Maggie through the line for The Guild so I could get my picture taken with Felicia Day. I also stood in line for half an hour to get the autograph of J. Michael Straczynski, a famous comic book artist, for my friend Jeff. Everyone else in line had comics or posters for him to sign. All I had was a page torn from Maggie's notebook. I felt like such a n00b.

I'm back from Comic Con bearing graphic novels, colorful buttons, and shame. Because what vacation would be complete without utter humiliation?

The Exhibition Hall at Comic Con is a massive conglomeration booths providing everything from swag (free stuff) to books for sale to meet-and-greets with authors and artists. The hall is so massive that if you stood at one end you wouldn't be able see the far wall - even if the room wasn't full of so many colorful banners, advertisements and directional signs as to cause total sensory overload. You could spend the entire con in the Exhibition Hall.

I had come in to hit two or three booths and get out ... so of course I immediately got lost. I was turning yet another corner in the blind hope of finding an exit, when I saw it. A booth for Piled Higher and Deeper (PhD), one of my all-time fave web comics. I squee'd and rushed up to the attendant, gushing about how inspirational the strip had been during my grad school days. He smiled politely. Feeling a bit silly for fan girling in front of this random person, I asked about buying a t-shirt. He kindly pulled down several shirts for me, but none were to my taste or in my size. Frustrated, I was about to leave when he said, "Well, if you buy a book, I'll sign it for you."

The man I had taken for a low-level flunky was actually Jorge Cham, the author of PhD.

That's the thing with Comic Con ... you never know who you're going to run into. I saw Jimmy Fallon walking down a hallways in a green spandex costume, camera crew in tow. I swear I saw Beth Grant (as Maggie said, it was one of those "hey, it's that woman!" moments) waiting for someone by the escalator. And every so often, in a panel, a star would come up to the microphone during the audience Q&A. So I guess I should have expected that Jorge Cham might be manning his own booth. Once I realized it, I tried to play it off.

Me: Shouldn't you have a minion doing this for you?
JC: You know, I should!
Me: Talk to your publisher and demand a minion!
JC: Well, I have a pretty tough publisher.
Me (not knowing what else to say): Oh. Bummer.
JC: *wry grin* I'm self-published.
Me: Hahahahahaha, I'm laughing because I'm uncomfortable.
JC: ...
Me: I'll just go, now.

Just forward my mail to Ballroom 20

Greetings again from Comic Con! Look forward to many posts on the TV blog of the ah-mazing panels I've been in. Right now, on this blog, I'd like to talk about the thing about Comic Con that they don't want you to know ... the f*cking lines.

Today, I got up at 6:30 am to get ready, get my stuff packed, catch a trolley, and wait in line for an hour and a half. All for the sake of seeing David Tennant live and in person, but still. Here's the thing - if there's a panel that you really, really, really, really want to attend you have to get there stupid early. The plus side is that you meet interesting people in line. Some have fascinating jobs, like video game designers or interns at Cartoon Network. Some have wonderful costumes, as you saw in my previous post. Some have interesting ... odors, which is not as fun. Still, overall it's good.

There's a whole strategy involved, as well, For example, I want to see the Being Human / Torchwood panel this afternoon in this same room. I know that's going to be a popular, so I'm just going to hang out here all day. Yes, I'm insane. No, I do not care. Also, I'm not the only one. I'm here in the American Dad panel, and half the t-shirts I see around me are squeeing about Ianto Jones (character from Torchwood). That's just how we Comic Con-ers roll.

Day One (and a half) of Comic Con

You will be pleased to note that I survived my cross-country journey (starting at 6am) from Virginia to California.

First of all, Comic Con is amazing! Even if comic books, awesome TV shows, movies and novels aren't your thing (I imagine you would spend most of your day playing with your belly button lint), you have to admire the sheer organization it takes to corral some 126, 000 nerds in and out of meeting rooms all day.

I am currently sitting in the hallway of the San Diego Convention Center, watching heroes, villains and ninjas walk by. Don't believe me? Observe...

Kakashi and the 3rd Hokage from Naruto

American Maid and Sewer Urchin from The Tick

The Doctor, pictured with a Dalek, from Doctor Who

I love seeing and recognizing truly random costumes - and I think the people wearing them enjoy having their hard work pay off. For example, yesterday I saw a man dressed as Captain K'nuckles from The Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack.

Adventure!

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.