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

I must away!

This Friday I will be flying out to Los Angeles for a conference. I am super excited - I'll get to visit with my grad school classmates, say hello to my friend Alli's pregnant belly, and hang with my freshman roommate. Plus, work pays for everything and I don't have to use up my precious, precious leave. Wistar has kindly agreed to bunny-sit Gilda, my flight was booked ages ago and my hotel accommodations are finally settled. But I can't shake the feeling that I'm forgetting something...

Oh, right. I haven't packed.

Packing/unpacking are not my strong suits. When my parents came to pick me up after graduation (from both college and grad school), they found that I had packed a box and half before giving up. I still had unwashed laundry and hadn't even unplugged my computer. I moved into my current residence over two years ago and I still have unpacked boxes. After the first few months I figured that if I hadn't used what was in there by now I'd never really need it. Also, I'm extremely lazy.

My family has sent me a couple none-too-subtle hints to get my packing act together. I received a lovely suitcase set from my mother on my last birthday. My father enjoys giving me ugly purses with thousands of pockets. For the winter holidays, my brother made me a toiletry kit that could be taken in a carry-on (clear plastic, with less than 4 oz bottles for shampoo and whatnot). I appreciate their efforts ... but the suitcases are full of clothes from their last trip, the purses get tossed to the back of the closet, and the carefully-assembled toiletry kit has been scattered to the wind.

When I am fabulously rich and an international jet-setter, I will need fully-furnished houses on every continent. That way I can toss some cookies in my purse and fly out at a moment's notice. I'd never own a suitcase again.

Even More Lessons from the Family Sri

Lesson Six: Generosity

Mom: How many bags of spicy popcorn can I give you? Five?
Me: Sure.
Mom: If you say five, I will give you six.
Me: Uh, okay. "Five."
Mom: Okay.

When I got home, I had eight bags of popcorn.

This is part of Indian hospitality, to give more than is asked. The Tamil word for "enough," pothum, actually means, "I have to tell you to stop serving me now, so you'll only give me a little bit more." And if your hostess thinks you're not eating enough, be prepared for a sneak attack.

But I wonder if there isn't a deeper meaning for my mother. In our house, food has become the physical representation for her love. She demonstrates real anxiety when we're not stuffed after a hot, homemade meal. She bemoans my cooking skills (read: lack thereof) - if I can't make dinner, how can I show my (hypothetical) husband and children that I care?

When my mother was growing up and her family didn't have enough food for all ten children, the older siblings would give back their portions. "I'm not hungry," they would shout over the growling of their empty stomachs. "Give my portion to someone else." I cannot imagine the sadness and pride my grandmother must have felt, redistributing those meager meals. And all the while the girl who would become my mother was thinking,

Never again.

An Open Letter to the Republican Ticket

Dear Senator McCain and Governor Palin,

I see what you're doing. You trying to introduce the words "Obama" and "terrorist" into the same news cycle. You're hoping Fox News will start showing pictures of al-Qaeda and "accidentally" saying that Senator Obama is Muslim. You're trying to label him as "angry" and "dangerous." And you're counting on the fact that, in the privacy of our own voting booths, we Americans are quietly racist.

We're better than that. Stop it.

No Love,
Sri

--

Last night my friend Melissa and I went to see David Sedaris in Richmond. Ever the contemporary commentator, he peppered his usual slice-of-hilarious-life stories with bits of political humor. Beyond speculating whether each of the candidates was circumcised (I made sure to thank him for those disturbing images), he reported what fans had discussed with him at numerous book-signings. "America will never elect a black president," one midwesterner told him. "Maybe," he replied. "But half of America will elect a half-black president." Thunderous applause.

Is it weird that I want to be a tiny gay man when I grow up?

The thing is, I don't see Senator Obama as black. I see him as a level-headed, comparatively young Senator with a gift for oratory, who happens to be black (or half-black, as the case may be). Just as I see McCain as a hot-tempered, comparatively old Senator who doesn't share my values, and who happens to be white. I won't say that race isn't an issue for me in this election. It just comes at the bottom of my list, after the wars, health care, global warming, the economy, choice of running mate, fashion sense, favorite color, and soup vs salad preference. And I don't think I'm alone.

--

P.S. It's not OK to try to capitalize on prejudice, even - no, especially to win an election. Shame on you.

I heart my doctor

I was feeling a little under the weather the other day, so I went to my internist. He's a young guy who peppers his exam questions with chit chat (obviously meant to build a rapport, but to hilarious effect). "Any coughing? Are you coughing up anything? Are you still working in that ultrasound clinic? How do you like it? Any nausea?" Also, he handed me a prescription with someone else's name at the top.

Me: Who's Jane Doe?
Him: Oops, that's someone I was writing a prescription of {medication} for, and then didn't.
Me: Um... HIPPA violation, much?
Him: Oh. *nervous chuckle*

These gaffes might turn other people off, but I just find them endearing. I know how hard it is to talk to patients, so I can really relate to my doctor when he mucks it up. Plus, it's easier for me to like a doctor who's not also my boss.

--

In unrelated news, REGISTER TO VOTE! Today's the last day!

No, you may not call me "Joe."

Palin held her own tonight. Biden was better, but Palin did not live up to her train wreck of a reputation. After the VP debates tonight, I'm sure the questions about her credibility will subside ... somewhat. She's still not ready to hold national office.

My major problem is that she talks like a girl from my high school. Not any specific person, she just sounds like someone sitting in College Prep Government, talking to us "straight up" and telling us that John McCain is "right on!" When using present participles, she drops the 'g.' She throws around terms like Second Holocaust with no sense of gravitas, and she actually thinks that the war in Iraq is about Defending Democracy. She doesn't stumble over the names of foreign (and domestic) leaders - she tramples them. When she doesn't like or understand a question, she retreats to her happy place - Alaska. And the more flustered she becomes, the more folksy her speech patterns - "Doggone it, say it ain't so! *wink*"


It's not fair. She's a political light-weight, a decorative bit of fluff on John McCain's sleeve. But she gets to meet Gwen Ifill and Joe Biden, Henry Kissinger and Manmohan Singh. She may come closer to leading this country than I ever will. Just like all those other girls from high school, she'll get ahead by being pretty.

Bridesmaid Bootcamp

By popular demand, my latest Toastmasters speech. This was speech #4, "How to Say It."

--

Your best friend comes to you with stars in her eyes and a spring in her step. She flashes you a bright smile and a brand new diamond ring. “I’m getting married,” she squeals. “And I want you to be my maid of honor!” Don’t answer just yet! Take a moment to think. Being a bridesmaid is more than buying a dress and standing up during the “I Dos.” Your friend (or sister, or cousin, or college roommate) is charging you with a sacred duty. If you accept, it will be your job to make sure her Special Day stays “special.” Are you up for the challenge?

First, you’ll need a uniform. If you’re lucky, you’ll end up with a reasonably attractive dress. “You can totally wear this again,” your friend the bride will say. You will never wear this dress again. If you’re unlucky, or your so-called friend is particularly cruel, you’ll end up with an organza monstrosity that makes you look like you’re colorblind and on the way to the prom … in 1984. Regardless, you will also need a regulation haircut, make-up and accessories. And while it may seem like wearing flip flops beneath your floor-length gown could not possibly ruin your friend’s marriage, trust me on this one. It can, and it does.

Now, you’re all outfitted and the wedding is still months away. It’s time to kick back, relax, and wait for the nuptials, right? Wrong! It’s time to plan your friend’s bridal shower. The bridal shower is an exciting opportunity for female friends and family to shower the bride with even more gifts. You, as the bridesmaid, will be in charge of keeping track of who sent which gift so that the bride can (eventually) write thank-you notes. You will also be forced to play inane party games, like Tissue Bride – an excuse for the bride’s younger sisters to wrap you in toilet paper. This humiliation is nothing compared to the dangers you face if the bride should also demand a bachelorette party. You will drink. You will dance. You will make sure the bride doesn’t do anything that will lead to an annulment.

Let’s assume you survive the shower and the bachelorette party, and make it to the Big Day. It's time to rally the troops. You'll have ushers and groomsmen, who often have been given no further direction than "show up." You'll also have junior bridesmaids, flower girls and ring bearers; a passel of children who may or may not decide to behave. It's important to realize that everyone in the wedding party - including the groom - is merely window dressing for the bride. Once everyone accepts their role as scenery, things will go a lot smoother. The bride and her groom will come together before family and friends and declare their undying love for one another. The music swells, the couple kisses, everyone cries. The end? Not hardly.

The reception. In many ways this is the most arduous task of the bridesmaid. It is a new tradition for bridesmaids to "get the dance floor going." You will be expected to step into a big open space in front of a group of strangers and begin dancing like a fool. Typically the bride will have selected songs out of nostalgia, music that was popular when she was growing up. This will cause you to flashback to every awkward middle school social you ever attended. You will begin to sweat appropriately. The point is not, as you might think, to look good. Good dancing intimidates people. The point is to look like you're having fun - even if inside, a part of you is dying. This will encourage other wedding guests to brave the floor with you. Only when you are surrounding by a dozen aunts and uncles doing a colorful rendition of the Macarena will you be allowed to duck away for a piece of cake.

Halfway through the reception, you will be tempted to call it a night. You've done your part, and your friends seems happy. But there is one odious tradition left ... the bouquet toss. You'll have to herd all the single women onto the dance floor, and suffer in silence as overeager cousins jostle you for position. You may end up catching the darn thing, at which point you hope against hope that your friend the bride has not scheduled a garter toss. If she has, you may have to endure being pawed at by a drunk uncle who caught the garter, as he slips the used lingerie onto your leg. But all of these trials - the dress, the shower, the wedding and reception - pale in comparison to what you'll face if you try to leave with the bouquet in hand. Inevitably, you will be stopped by an older relative, who will pinch your cheek and say,

"You'll be next!"

September at TV Sluts

This past month I've intentionally posted nothing but politics. But let me remind you I also write for a TV blog, which has so far remained free of campaign coverage. This may change after the Vice Presidential debate, which has the potential to be hi-larious. Anyway, here are my most recent entries:
Asian Persuasion (Samurai Girl, 9/22/08)
The real villain is Sendhil's hairstylist (Heroes, 9/23/08)
Appointment TV - can I get a rain check? (9/25/08)
The Mentalist - it's like deja vu all over again (9/26/08)
Number one in the 'hood, G. (Aqua Teen Hunger Force, 9/29/08)
Pushing Daisies: Back for Seconds (9/30/08)

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)