This morning I was in a bit of a melancholy mood... I don't remember what made me think of this, but I was remembering when a sophomore girl in high school came up to me and asked, "why do Hindus believe women don't have souls?" I was shocked and not a little offended - immediately I asked her where she got that idea. The answer: her World Literature teacher.

I went up to the teacher in question and asked about the source of this "fact." Off the top of my head I could come up with two to three examples of Hindu mythology* that refuted her statement. I had barely gotten through telling her about Draupadi, who took the five heroic Pandavas as her husbands because of her virtuous past life, when she made some excuse and fled. She never gave me an explanation, and I never found out if she issued a retraction to her class.

What bugged me more than anything else is that both these women (the sophomore and the teacher) were, in their ignorance, looking down on me. I won't try to claim Indians in general and Hindus in particular haven't treated women shamefully, often in the name of god. But to say that my religion disenfranchises half it's followers at such a fundamental level? Who would follow a religion like that? Oh, but I forgot - Indian women have no choice in the matter. We're not agents in the universe, only passive subjects. To borrow an expression... Jesus Christ.

This is why I don't understand why people want religion (e.g. Creationism) taught in schools. Ignore for a moment that the separation of Church and State is an essential part of the Founding Father's vision for America. There's a reason K-12 teachers became teachers, instead of members of the clergy or theology scholars. They simply don't have the expertise or inclination to teach religion.

/rant

--

*Yes, I refer to my own religious doctrine as "mythology." Mostly to remind myself that religion is a creation of people. And because you can't become in-mythology-nated.

Just in case you trust me implicitly

... yesterday's post was an April Fools' joke. Nothing near as good as the amazing trick I played on my friend Matt when we were in college. It had just gone midnight on April 1st, and he was talking rapturously about the girl he liked, a mutual friend. When he got to a stopping place and looked over at me with those big puppy-dog eyes, I grimaced and shook my head. I then proceeded to tell him that I knew for a fact that the lady in question was aware of his feelings but did not share them. He was CRUSHED. After allowing him two or three minutes to panic, I smiled broadly and said "April Fool's!" He laughed in relief - I cackled in evil glee. Then he looked at me and said, "But she does like me ... right?" Long story short - they're married now.

The first part of yesterday's post, however, was true. I haven't been posting lately due to being busy and stressed. Well ... mostly due to that. It's also due to the fact that I'm a big ol' hypocrite. I started a Twitter account. I know, I know. I've railed against microblogging on numerous occasions, both online and off. But it's for networking and other career-related thingamabobs ... don't judge me. Also, don't Follow me. Unless you care about genetics and health care (which you should!).

Have you heard...

Sorry for not blogging in so long! As you know, I've been going through some tough times lately. I really needed to take a step back and re-evaluate my life. But something wonderful emerged from this time of turmoil ... I discovered The Secret.

This book changed my life. It revealed to me the true power of positive thought - and the true consequences of negative thoughts. I realized that by thinking about all my problems, I was attracting negative energy towards myself. Every roadblock in my way, every disappointment I faced, every difficulty real or imagined, were all down to me worrying about my life. Now, with the power of The Secret on my side, I feel like I can demand anything from the Universe - anything at all! - and my demand will be instantaneously fulfilled.

But it's hard work to send out positive energy all day long. That's why I decided to hire a Secret Life Coach. Sure, the sessions are expensive - but wouldn't you be willing to pay $50 an hour to get everything you ever wanted? It's a bargain at twice the price. My SLC, Lindsay, is certified in clinically proven methods invented by Rhonda Byrne herself - it says so right on her business cards!

The thing is, Lindsay tells me that The Secret is much more effective if you can share its beneficial effects with three to five friends. A small group can concentrate their energies and get better results from the Universe than a single person ever could alone. Lindsay's even willing to offer a special, introductory rate to all my friends and family - just $39.99 a session! You really can't afford to miss out on this deal ... click here for more information.

My parents visited this weekend...

Me: I'm so stressed, I'm developing a facial tic.
Dad: Hey, I can see it!
Mom: Ha ha, look, it makes a little dimple!
Me: Urgh.

Thanks, friends

It's only been a couple of days since Gilda died, and I can't help but feel a little weird for being so emotional. I used to think people who obsessed over their pets were a little wacky. Now, I completely get it. While I didn't see my pet as my child, as some people do, she was family. It's this feeling of intense loss that leads cat ladies everywhere to take Fluffy VII to the taxidermist. We don't want to let go.

On the positive side, my (human) friends and family have been amazingly supportive. Everyone has a story about a beloved pet who has passed, and no one lets me feel crazy for missing Gilda so much. This is immeasurably helpful - otherwise I'd be locked up in my own neurotic head space, feeling alternatively stupid for caring and guilty for feeling stupid.

Today I even started singing again, which is a sure-fire indicator that the very worst of my emotional turmoil has passed. I'm not a good singer, but singing makes me happy (and vice versa). Of course, it reminded me of how I used to sing to Gilda. I'd always put her in the lyrics, like: "My Bunny Valentine" and "Hey, There, My Gilda." She would look up at me, nose twitching, with an expression that clearly said: 'What is that noise? Are you injured?'

*sigh* Good times, little bunny friend. Good times.

Goodnight, Gil. I love you.

Sad news, friends. Gilda died yesterday.

I don't know how to tell people this without being dramatic. I thought about writing a mass email, but I just couldn't face it. Yesterday, I woke up to Gilda making a strange coughing noise. I rushed to her side, but I could tell it was already too late. I begged her not to go and took her body to the emergency vet, but all they could do was confirm what I already knew - Gilda was gone.

Everyone at the vet's office was extremely kind - they let me take my time sobbing, and brought her in one last time so I could say goodbye. "They're very affectionate," the receptionist said, trying to console me. "I have a couple rabbits at home."

I wanted to say, no she wasn't. My Gilda was a snarly little misanthrope. If anyone tried to pet her, she would dart to the furthest corner of her cage. If you got in her face, she'd thump her legs and grunt angrily. When she met my friend's yorkie puppy, she charged at him (thank goodness he was outside of her pen). Once, she bit my mother so hard it drew blood.

But when I had a bad day, she'd let me pick her up and stroke her beautiful, soft fur. She'd sniff around my face, tickling me with her little whiskers. I didn't even mind the way she'd scratch and nibble at my shirt, because I knew that was her way of saying, 'this is mine.' And when she was dying, instead of retreating to her favorite corner, she came and lay down at the edge of her pen closest to my bed.

She was way too young to die. I wanted ten years with her, instead of the less than two we actually got. But I know she is one with brahman now, so she will always be with me. And I sincerely hope that I meet Gilda again, in her next life. I expect I'll know her by the way she glares.

Bye, Gilda. Be good!

Snow Woes

You'd think that DC being buried in snow and almost an entire week off of work would inspire me to blog more. Hahahaha, you'd be wrong. I spent "SNOMG" (aka Snowmageddon, aka The Snowpocalypse) holed up with my manga a good book. Per usual when my life isn't all sunshine and daisies, I didn't really feel like blogging. The sad fact is that, while I was meant to start in an office on Capitol Hill last month, I couldn't find a position. There are many reasons, but I've mostly been working on not attributing this to me being a total failure. Yeah, that didn't work so well for me at first.

But now I've left NIH and am working at the professional organization that co-sponsors my fellowship. That is to say, I'm doing my 3rd rotation now while still trying to line up something for Capitol Hill. Stress? You bet. But at least it's a change of pace. As much as I loved NIH, I'd wrapped up my major projects there. And there's tons of work to do here, so I'm happy. Silver lining of the snowstorm - having the campus closed for three workdays made my first "week" here a breeze.

So think good thoughts for me, my little chickadees. I'm off to work.

MUST WATCH

... for all alums of "The" College



Thanks to Anderson for sharing the link.

Good times with my Indian Friends

Recently, it was Restaurant Week here in DC. Accordingly, I made dinner plans with my two token Indian Friends D and P. The problem with making plans with Indian people, in my experience, is that we suck at it. Give us a date, time and place to show up and we'll be there - at least 30 minutes late, but we'll be there. Try to get us involved in the planning process is like herding cats (or, as I noted previously, like trying to eat Jell-o with a fork).

D's work schedule is crazy, so she wanted to meet at the ungodly hour of 5:30. I wanted to call every damn place on the list to try to make reservations, convinced that we'd never get a table. We were saved entirely by the fact that, against all odds, P actually has her shit together. She handled the reservations, and that Thursday found us supping at Notti Bianche (or as D called it, Naughty Bi-atch).

I had the bagna caoda, the organic baby lettuce salad, the apple and sausage stuffed porchetta, and we shared the three desserts. All were delicious but very rich. I feel like an old lady saying that ... like, as my palate matures so does my intestinal tract. Sorry - TMI? Anyway, the food is not the important part - we had lots of fun, chatting about all kinds of things that only an Indian Friend would understand. Our successful siblings, prideful papas, and marriage-minded moms all made for conversation more satisfying than even the torta di cioccolata.

So, thanks ladies! We will have to get together again soon :)

--

Feeling left out because you don't have an Indian Friend? Don't despair! (Warning: NSFW)

Security guards actually make me feel less secure

As many of you know, today is the 37th anniversary of Roe v. Wade. I was coming back from a meeting downtown around lunch time today, so I was present to witness the locust-storm of March for Life demonstrators filling Metro Center station. I should also mention that pro-choice groups gathered at the Supreme Court building around the same time. Many others have covered and will cover this fascinating application of free speech and the right to assemble. I would like, as I often do, to dwell on a tiny insignificant detail that may or may not have anything to do with the issue at hand.

There were security guards at the metro today. Tall men with badges and stern faces always pique my interest. So I went up to one of these gentlemen with a genial smile and a simple question,

"Excuse me... why are you all here?"

"Visibility," came the terse reply. Off my expression of pure huh?, he elaborated. "We're checking the track. That's all."

I looked at his cohort on the other side of the platform, who was staring unblinkingly at the gathering crowd of sign-wavers, and said, "Ah, okay. Thanks!"

Protests are a dime a dozen here in DC. Makes sense, being the nation's capital and all. But this particular issue is so contentious, and the current political environment so volatile, that apparently the Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Authority doesn't think we can be trusted to behave ourselves.

That's a bit too far, I thought to myself as I walked away from the nice intimidating man. Then I saw a girl with a bumper sticker attached to her forehead that read "Abortion is NOT Healthcare." It was all I could do not to rip the damn thing off, eyebrows be damned. And suddenly I realized ... Oh, hell. We can't be trusted.

So good luck today, everyone (on both sides). While I may or may not share your views, I support your right to express them... calmly and, if at all possible, rationally. And to the WMATA security guards (and the DC police, and anyone else charged with keeping the peace) - I hope this event turns out to be entirely uneventful.

Erin & Eric, hail!

Last weekend I had the distinct pleasure of attending my freshman roommate's third wedding ceremony. Despite the disappointing fact that all three of her marriages have been to the same man (civil and church in California, where they reside, as well as this informal do in Virginia for her family and friends), a good time was had by all. And by 'all,' I mean me. Who cares about those other bitches?

First, I met up with my freshman hall mates, aka the Goochies, to decide what we were going to do for the talent show. Did I mention the word informal, yet? We had planned to do a skit and/or interpretive dance to Journey's "Don't Stop Believing." Then we realized we didn't want to make total asses of ourselves (turns out we needn't have worried - there were two other dance numbers in the show, both with a distinct emphasis on cross-dressing). Rachel's husband Zak proposed we re-do the lyrics to "Our Alma Mater." Here's a taste of what we came up with:

Hark the Goochies' voices swelling,
Strong and true and clear.
Erin & Eric's love they're telling,
Ringing far and near!

Erin & Eric! Love so new,
Hark upon the gale.
Hear the thunder of our chorus,
Erin & Eric, hail!

Awe-inspiring, is it not? We even got the audience to join in on the last chorus, in the traditional W&M style (that is to say, they shouted the names and mumbled their way through the rest of the lyrics). After crafting this masterwork, we split up to get ready for the wedding. For Ashlea, Rachel, Kristy, Zak and Frank this meant donning their wedding frippery. As for Jojo, Kristin, Shawn and myself, we went out for ice cream.

Finally, time for the main event was nigh. Erin had asked me to bring props for a silly picture booth (informal), so I was lugging around a duffel bag full of junk. It amuses me that my old Halloween costumes and such will end up in Erin's wedding album. Once I had set up the props, I shimmied into my chudithar kurtha - so useful on such occasions, since it looks incredibly fancy but is actually as comfortable as a pair of pyjamas - and joined back up with J, K, & S.

The ceremony started with remarks from a couple minister friends of Erin's (she herself is a minister and Eric does something or another with humanitarian aid - they're both so wonderful, could you just vomit?), followed by traditional vows. Then, they invited their guests to participate in a variation of a Scottish (?) hand-fasting. Instead of the ministers tying their stoles around the couple's joined hands, each guest was invited to tie a small ribbon (informal). Most disagreeably, Erin would not allow me to tie their free hands together with my ribbon. I contented myself with a tricky knot that captured their thumbs. Eric later consoled me by saying that was quite the most difficult one to get off.

Me: Eric, I have something very important to tell you ... Tonight is your wedding night. And you have your duties.
Eric (without missing a beat): You know what they say about Greek women - they are lambs in the kitchen, but tigers in the bedroom!
Me: Well played, sir. Well played.

For dinner we enjoyed a simple, hearty meal of shepherd's pie (one vegetarian and the other filled with blasphemy ... I mean, beef). Erin & Eric came over to regale us with their difficulties getting their names changed - instead of her taking his name or vice versa, they decided on a portmanteau (informal ... no wait, just quirky). Long story short, they got the name they wanted but have been politely asked never to visit the county office again.

After dinner was the talent show, then the room was cleared and we danced the night away. At least, until about 10pm when the couple made their exit. I packed up my bag of props, grabbed my party favor (A bag of granola, Erin? Really?), and drove home. There is usually a big let-down following a wedding, but this one was just too delightful and odd to leave one with anything but amused bafflement and the final impression, they looked so happy.

Happy New Year!

As you can probably appreciate, December was not a good month for blog entries. My usual birthday-blues dovetailed nicely into holiday madness, with additional fellowship-related stress. Argh! Anyway, things have settled down a bit (or am I just resigned to my fate?), so here I am to ring in the new decade with a recap of 2009. Hold on to your keyboards, this ought to be good.

I started the year working in the same job I got right out of grad school. It had it's ups (my colleague FV and my awesome patients) and it's downs (pretty much everything else). I was definitely ready for a change, so I applied for and got my current fellowship in DC.

This has been a dream of mine since grad school, so I was super excited. But I was also nervous about the big transition. Happily, Gilda and I managed our move to DC with only a few minor disasters - going from a two-bedroom condo to a studio apartment took some serious downsizing. My family was amazing, helping me pack and taking a lot of my crap back to Castle Sri with them. Thanks Mom, Dad, and Monster - I couldn't have done it without you!

The fellowship so far has been good. I got to go to Hawaii for a work conference, so already it's been well worth the effort ;-) Right now I'm still working in public policy at an institute within the NIH, but my next move is to find a spot on Capitol Hill. Easier said than done, I assure you! But I am determined remain optimistic (because the alternative is curling up into a little ball under my desk and refusing to come out). Pray for me, friends!

On a more personal note, I love living in DC. So many of my friends from undergrad live in DC or NoVA, it's like being back at W&M again. I've gone native, exchanging my beloved Corolla, Sheldon, for a metro SmarTrip pass. This makes visiting home a bit more difficult, but my family has been great about visiting me in DC. We spent Xmas here - went to a museum, saw a movie, did some shopping, etc.

Those are the broad strokes, as I see them. It's been a good year - I'm definitely happier! Here's a little preview of what (I hope) will go down in 2010:
1. Finding a spot on Capitol Hill
2. Going to Atlantic City for Maggie's birthday
3. Finishing up my certificate program in NY
4. Refinancing my condo in C'ville
5. World peace (hey, a girl can dream)

Had to delete one of the previous videos, due to a broken link. To make up for it, I bring you a Bollywood Christmas Song (from Nickelodeon).

Crazy Songs/Current Obsessions

1. Das Racist: "Chicken and Meat"



2. Gogol Bordello: "American Wedding"
[redacted, due to broken link]

3. Brandon Walker: "Chinese Food on Christmas"



That last one doesn't quite qualify as "crazy," but I couldn't leave the list at just two :-P Enjoy!

Phoenixes and Ebirts and Bears, Oh My!

My thoughts on mascots...

Once a year, my high school would host a Spirit Week. If you dressed up you could earn points for your class, and the class with the most points won a prize. Because our team was known as The Indians, one day in Spirit Week was supposed to be for Cowboys and Indians. During my Junior and Senior years, a friend and I wore traditional Asian Indian clothes. I wasn't particularly militant about the issue of our team name/mascot (though I did try to claim the points). I just wanted to give people a little dose of awareness. Later, a group of activists successfully petitioned the school board for a name change. My former school's team is now the Bruins.

Which, to me? Significantly more terrifying.

Funnily enough, I went to college at William and Mary - The Tribe. Their mascot used to be an Indian, which was especially bothersome since the Brafferton building used to house an "Indian School." There, young boys were kept, often against their will, in order to teach them how to be more like white people. Yikes. So in the late 70's-early 80's the giant foam "Indian" head was phased out, leaving the college mascot-less. For a while we had Colonel Ebirt (that's Tribe spelled backwards). He was a green blobby thing in a tri-corner hat. A history of the mascot can be found here.

Once, the guy who played Colonel Ebirt tried to use the fact he was our mascot as a line to pick up my roommate. Yeah, that didn't work out so well for him.

Now W&M has embarked on a search for a new mascot. Suggestions include the Griffin, King William and Queen Mary, the Pug, the Wren, and my personal favorite, the Phoenix. I think this is a reference to the fact that the oldest building on campus (the Wren building, named after Sir Christopher Wren) keeps burning down. And we just keep... building it back up. Hmmm. Maybe that's not such a great connection to be making. Maggie Cats tells me that there was a campaign to adopt the Phoenix as or mascot a while back, but it was shot down by student opposition. But it makes me think of Fawkes in Harry Potter, which makes me smile.

I can see him now, soaring above the stadium, shedding life-giving tears on our football team. And then saving us all from the Basilisk.

Um. Wow.

Dana Perino thinks... No Terrorists Attacked America On Bush's Watch. In an interview about the Fort Hood shootings, the former Press Secretary had this to say:

We did not have a terrorist attack on our country during president Bush's term. I hope they're not looking at this politically. I do think that we owe it to the American people to call it what it is.

And of course, no one corrected or challenged her ... cause she was on Fox News. This is Republican Revisionism at it's finest, people! Get it while it's un-freaking-believable. President Obama may want to reconsider that job offer he made her last week.

My new life's ambition

... is to eat Linda Holmes' brain. I will then be able to write the hilarious Monkey See blog for NPR. Plus, I will have effectively eliminated my major competition in the field of monkey-obsessed pop-culture commentators. Behold, my nemesis' brilliant work:

Oprah's Long, Long, Long Goodbye.

In 25 years of The Oprah Winfrey Show, there is no emotion that has not been taken out and examined, fondled and caressed, inspected and X-rayed. Oprah celebrates happiness. And sadness. And pain. And fear. And fearlessness. And possibly vertigo and nausea. The Oprah Winfrey Show is where veins are opened.

Into this environment, we now introduce a goodbye that will last for two years.

For all you Oprah devotees out there - I'm sure she would have something to say here about the importance of not taking yourself too seriously. Besides, you'll always be OWN'ed by the Oprah Winfrey Network, coming soon to a cable box near you.

--

And for those who are wondering, I picked my blogging name (Monkey Sri) before I had even heard about Holmes' blog (Monkey See). Pure coincidence. Besides, her first post (on the NPR site, at least) was in August 2008 and I've been blogging under this nom de blog since May 2007.

I do try to live a virtuous life, free from the influence of intoxicating substances and mad scientists. How is it then, dear readers, that I find myself at yet another work conference? Much less at one that features the work of post-docs, or as like to call them, The Young People. During the day, The Young People presented their innovative research and stood smiling beside posters covered with diagrams of genetic pathways. At night, The Young People drained the hotel-provided cash bar and crowded the dance floor with their exuberant move-busting. As Detective Roger Murtaugh would say, I'm gettin' too old for this shit.

And that's not to mention the Talent Show, where even us old fogies got involved in poking ribald fun at our science and at each other. Skits in the show featured everything from an homage to Survivor to the full Thriller dance. For my part, I did a passable Kanye West impression ... but perhaps the less said there, the better. The funniest sketch, however, was one on how to deal with colleagues going through menopause, complete with haikus.

change the thermostat?
"go ahead, if you are cold"
pull back bloody stump

I was vaguely horrified, however, when I realized that someone's 8 year-old daughter in the audience. Not only was she exposed to off-color comedy and cursing (not from the menopausal ladies, but still), she is going to have a completely skewed view of appropriate behavior at work. She's going to burst in on her first day wearing a green wig, doing the chicken dance and asking "hey, how do you figure out if your girlfriend is ticklish?!?" You know - just like her father.

That pretty much sums it up.

Buzzwords: number of papers published per year with the corresponding word in its title.
Adapted (read: stolen and messed with) from one of my favorite webcomics, Piled Higher and Deeper.

Turkey Day II: The Revenging

As with anything I have absolutely no knowledge about, I turned to Google for help in preparing the turkey. Apparently you're supposed to buy 3/4 lb turkey breast (or 1 lb whole turkey) per guest. But when I got to the store the 7.5 lb turkey I was supposed to buy looked rather wimpy. I went for an almost 9.5 lb turkey instead ('cause you can't have success without excess). The next day, I rose at the crack of midmorning so I could have the bird ready by the early afternoon, when my guests were due to arrive. Then, I read the instructions: "Brush with oil or butter and season. Place on wire rack in roasting pan..."

Simple enough, right? Only I didn't have a brush, seasoning, or a wire rack. Oops. I tried rubbing the turkey down with vegetable oil, but I accidentally poured too much into my hand. I panicked and dumped it all on the turkey, drenching it. Not an auspicious beginning. I tried to remove some of the oil, but I only succeeded in further molesting the poor bird. Then I dug through my cabinets and found a chipotle rub that had served me well in the past. Sprinkled that on, and the turkey had turned a lovely light orange color. Faaaan-tastic. As for the pan, I improvised. Perhaps the less said about that, the better.

It was with some trepidation that I put the turkey in the oven at 10 o'clock. It was supposed to need 3 hours to cook, but when I checked it at noon, the little timer had popped out! I turned off the oven and Googled, "how to keep a turkey warm for two hours without drying it to the point of unrecognizability." I got a surprising number of hits. I ended up basting it and leaving it in oven. My friend Rachel was bringing the sweet potatoes, and would need the oven to melt the marshmallow topping (*drool*). I figured we could warm everything up at once, so I tossed the mashed potatoes in there as well.

Once most of the guests had arrived, it was time to heat up the food. I moved the top rack down to accommodate Rachel's casserole dish. Little did I realize, the rack was now sitting directly on top of the turkey. Pressing on the top of the turkey, as it turned out. So much so that when I tried to slide out the bottom rack to retrieve said turkey, only the pan moved. The turkey, perched precariously on my makeshift rack, almost fell out into the oven. In my haste to correct this situation, I jostled the bowl of potatoes and it actually fell out into the oven.

And now I was in a blind panic. Rachel and I yanked her casserole dish out and plonked it on the stove. I then shifted the top rack out of the way, hollering at Doug (who was closest) to move my dish drying rack out of the way. I quickly extracted the turkey from the oven, almost dropping it no fewer than three times. As soon as I got the turkey on the counter top, I whirled back to check the potatoes. Luckily, they hadn't spilled - which was probably more due to their consistency than their flimsy tin foil covering. Final score Sri: 1, malicious Thanksgiving foodstuffs: 0.

Happily, the turkey turned out well. The extra oil made the skin nice a crispy, and it was moist and delicious all the way through. Mmmmmmm. And unlike my family Thanksgiving where we end up with a freezerful of turkey meat, I had only one container of leftovers. Now all I have to do is figure out a way to use the "ruined" cranberry sauce (how I was I to know you were supposed to slice the gelatinous cylinder, instead of just mixing the hell out of the thing?) and I'll be all set!

Thanks to Maggie, Rachel, Doug, Lisa, Amanda, Jays, Susan and Patrick for enabling this mad experiment. And for bringing side dishes. Same time next year?