Callie, Mt. Rose, and my good friend, E. Coli.

Cat
First, Callie rubbed her butt in my face to wake me up.
Then, she meowed pathetically until the achingly sweet arms of morpheus were no longer enough to hold me.
Now... she sits on her perch...waiting patiently...guilting my subconscious mind into rousting my conscious body. How she changes tactics so adroitly? Pshaw...the feline brain is beyond my limited ken.


Skiing.
On the first day, I wanted to sit down in the snow and pout. I wanted to be an insignificant, pathetic red dot in a sea of unforgiving white. I wanted to cry until the tears froze on my wind-blasted face. I wanted to give up (and go DOWN the moutain). In the words of those Disney Dalmation pups, "my nose is froze, and my ears are froze, and my TOES are froze."

That night I dreamt of skiing. I felt the ease with which I could shift my weight and flow into a turn. Swoosh! swoosh! I saw the snow leaping triumphantly into the sky as I scoured the virgin powder, rejoicing with me in my new-found freedom.

The next day, my body knew. It just KNEW. I attempted and completed turns I never imagined possible the day before. "Take that, Mountain!" my heels shouted. Snow, meet your new master, Ms. Samantha Grace.

I went from small green. to BIG green. to short bit of blue, then to a longer section of blu...oh wait. Crap - this is really steep. What did I get myself into!? I can't even SEE the bottom! I got slower, and my turns grew more forced. My muscles forgot everything my dreams had so carefully taught them the night before. I fell. A ski flew from under me, and by sheer force of will, I convinced it to traverse the steep incline rather than flying down the slope to its likely demise. After a highly undignified (harrumphing, scooting, sobbing) journey to retrieve it, I latched back in.... and braked ALL the way down the mountain, feeling suitably sorry for myself.

I had forgotten. My left turns were still there... my right turns were crouching up in the trees, jeering at my misfortune. I could not turn to the right. (this of course meant down a lot - left a bit - down a lot - left a bit - down a lot - left a bit).

I went down the greens again, somewhat less successfully than I had previously, but those pesky rights eluded me...as they continued to elude me that night in my dreams. I had no further chance to ski. No further chance to hunt those elusive right turns...

but I found them. In my dreams the following night...I found them. Or perhaps I should say, they found me.
Bring me that ski lift!



In the Lab
I don't think anyone else in the lab enjoys the smell of fly food wafting down the hallway, but I love the days when "unlucky" undergrad techs have to brave the world of hot nutrient fly broth. I inhale deeply, savoring the intriguingly alien, yet strangely comforting aroma of drosophila fodder.

Otherwise, while not sniffing fly food, I am doing lab dishes, making agarose gels, refilling aliquots of chemicals, running PCRs, and otherwise pretending to be a budding scientist. I listen to the intelligent rapport of the post-docs and grad students. We all listen for the tell-tale shuffle of the all-knowing master-man. We talk about political events (and no, not all scientists are liberal), and the conversation is notorious for plummeting straight into Laker Nation...and the undergrads talk under their breaths about MCATs and med schools a lot.

I'll never forget the day I first convinced a few disgruntled bacteria colonies to grow. Ahhhh! The elation I felt upon being greeted by their smiling faces when I walked into the lab in the morning (i bet bacteria have faces if you look hard enough).

"I did it," I think. "I created life!" Well, sort of. I guess I really just gave a bunch of rapidly dividing cells an excess of gourmet food.

I'm working on a big project right now. Really big (at least my lab professor says so). It's ironic (or, maybe just jarringly literal), because the DNA construct I'm making is Gigantor. It's the Godzilla of plasmids. But, it'll work, he assures me.

Otherwise, I sit, stand, shuffle...and look for odd jobs. Today I refilled a small bottle of bleach, made 70% ethanol from 100% ethanol, refilled a huge multi-liter jug of distilled water, fixed a quasi-broken pipette pump, and ran an abysmally unsuccessful PCR. AND I WENT ON FACEBOOK ABOUT 20 TIMES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Because I've been encouraged...

Last summer I got rid of 60% of my possessions, I re-painted my room, I chopped up my bed (to make a much shorter bed), and I put two of my desks together into one. The desk turned out marvelously well - it had a honey-colored wood top, with pale sage support slats and drawers to match my newly-painted walls. It feels... beachy? The ornamental shells and polished rocks don't hurt.

This summer, I have no such lofty goals. Once I'm all moved back in, I'll have to direct my energies elsewhere. Perhaps to exercise? No - that's too intimidating, I've forgotten how. Perhaps I could turn to expanding my literary vocabulary? No - I'll just revert to historical romance novels. It's inevitable. Or maybe I should sharpen my wits... fine tune the knowledge I assimilated this past year by reviewing old organic chemistry notes - HECK no.

At any rate, I've only got a month to do it - and then I'm off to Julian, CA for some outdoor adventure.

Today - I helped my brother move an enormous 47" projection TV. What else are big sisters for?

Grandpa

He had the softest hands. Not like a rabbit's fur, or a baby's cheek... they were aged. Weathered, but not coarse. They were infinitely smooth, and where the crows feet ended in his face, they continued in his palms. They were soft, wizened, and dry, and this is probably going to be one of the memories that stays with me the longest. Why? Because he always gave high-fives. to everybody. He had straight, strong, elegant hands - i think they were definitely bassoon hands.

i'll remember his computer room. The room that was intended for brooms, mops and vacuum cleaners, but was packed instead with cutting edge sound equipment, a modest LP collection, Macintosh paraphernalia, and books. Not packed in the disordered, chaotic sense - rather, the walls were covered from floor to ceiling, and there was a tiny slot for his chair.

He loved digital photography - he loved the digital age.... the biggest tragedy of his death was that he would have delighted in every new technological marvel, through fresher eyes than mine. Technology actually MEANS something to people born before 1950.

He loved his cabbage. He never drank alcohol - I only learned this a few days ago, but it struck me powerfully. Why does anybody really need to drink it? Perhaps in the quiet of your study, with a few quiet friends....a glass of something unassuming and comforting could add to the atmosphere...but how much more does your brain assimilate... how much more do you retain.... and how much more potential would there be for that wasted time? Don't worry - this is just momentary... I had a glass of beer tonight. I'm such a hypocrite

Science fascinated him. Sound fascinated him. The science of sound... well... let's call it an obsession. His mind was something truly special - he was never labeled a genius, but I think that's only because he didn't have to be. He had infinite patience.

He was probably the dearest grandfather any little girl could ever wish for. He was not gruff, he had no pretensions, and he pushed no religion, no political advice. No pressure. I wonder what he was up to in the 1970s..

He laughed when I didn't get one of his jokes, or when I was slow on the uptake... and he would say... "sound travels slow in here."

I mean - he's from albuquerque. I don't think it gets much better than that. He had the southwest in his veins.

So, I just noticed that I really like starting my posts with the word "so"... And if I don't start a whole post with the word "so," I guarantee there will be at least one paragraph that begins with it.

recital is fini.

I enjoyed my recital - in fact, I regret not pushing myself harder. I was feeling more musical than I'd ever felt before. I wanted to sing through my instrument. It helped that I was playing on perhaps the best reed I've ever had the privilege to know (I didn't make it, more's the pity).

Recital had great turnout - about 130 people, and there were at least 20 people I didn't even know. Lots of my mother's work friends.. lots of my grandmother's school friends (the principal of the school where she volunteers was there with his wife, wtf?).

So now what? I'm starting to feel like this is the end of my musical career, but.. somehow, I don't want it to be the end. The recital galvanized me.. I realized that - with a good reed - I could enjoy playing the oboe. aka career. We'll see, I suppose. Oh yah, and everybody at the recital.. EVERYBODY, asked me "so what's next?" The first time I heard that question I thought it was inspired, so I gave a long-winded answer. By the time the last person asked me, I had shortened it to about half a sentence, to the point of sounding positively laconic.

Is it bad that I don't like the cohen brothers' movies? I missed out on that section of brain entitled "Cohen bros' humor" - I just sit stony faced through their films looking for an excuse to laugh (granted, I've only seen a couple...)

Friday is Phi Beta Kappa induction, and I get to wear one of my new dresses (plus the adorbe black pumps I wore to my recital). That alone makes being a good student worth all of the painful hours of studying.

Guess what - it's time to tan again. Maybe even lighten my hair with some chamomile (i heard that it works). I love the feeling of being bronzed and relaxed, and I love the smell of the sun on my skin.... yes, it has a smell. I love fizzy lemonade accompanied by a beautiful novel...lounge chair and bikini required. I love snorkeling. I love getting so hot from the summer sun that you have no choice but to fling yourself into a cool body of water. I love summer brunch. I love iced mochas (only as a relaxing, pleasurable drink - not as a necessary stimulant). I love walking around barefoot on the warm (noon or before) pavement (too hot after noon). After months of cold floors and even colder feet, warm concrete feels fabulous.

Ok, now I'm going to go outside.

So... I don't know about you, but I just got my life thrown back into perspective. Slammed back into perspective, rather.

Here I am, chugging along - an excellent academic automaton, if you ask me - feeling good about myself, my accomplishments, my work ethic, etc. Then I read this one girl's blog... a girl I don't even know. Such is the power of facebook, and the stalking that ensues. She's following essentially the same academic trajectory (music + biology) and upon graduation ('09) she is doing med-school work in Africa, learning swahili (mastering it, as far as I can tell), relating all of her daily events in full and entertaining detail, and sounding disgustingly dynamic, witty, and fascinating in the process. I can barely remember two things that happen to me every day... and if I do remember something, it gets garbled and basterdized in translation, to the point that really cool activities are downgraded to worthless, blog-filling fluff.

This girl (if you happen to read my blog and you happen to know who I'm talking about, I apologize), completely inspired me. As per usual, when something inspires me, I tend to catalogue it as something inspiring, and I even plan on acting on that inspiration come dawn... at which point I completely forget I was ever inspired in the first place. Convenient, no? oh.. and she's gorgeous.

Anyhow - first recital rehearsal tomorrow at 2:00 pm. stoked. good reeds, mouth back in shape, music learned. I'm ready (i hope).

Axel is loving his eco-commute to PCC, and I'm loving it too, because it means that I don't have to feel guilty about trapping him at my place in dark (dank) rental rooms. Seriously, the lighting at my house is terrible. Axel cooked black beans from scratch, and heated up some Saurkraut (sp?) - tasted like pooh, but it felt ethnic.

Hmm, sometimes I worry that I have my academic priorities mixed up - every once in a while I feel like I am getting good grades to prove wrong anyone and everyone who doubted my intellectual prowess. High school teachers who warned me about hubris... ex-roommates who condescendingly implied that I had a light "liberal arts" workload (when I was just doing music). Then, at other times... most other times... I feel genuinely interested in what I'm learning. I love knowing WHY and HOW everything works. Life, instead of being cheapened by learning all the secrets, becomes infinitely more beautiful and fragile.. yet powerful at the same time.

I also believe that I am finally completing the transition from a sophomoric dependence on sweet coffee drinks to a more dignified reliance on black coffee. No awful sugar high - just a pure caffeine high.

Also - i'm potentially running into a problem with letters of rec- I know lots of music teachers VERY well. I also know that they'd be more than happy to provide glowing letters of recommendation. I DON'T know any science teachers... at least not beyond the occasional question in lecture. I should really start building relationships.


And as usual - worthless acquaintances pass like ships in the night (that's the expression, no?), and the ones that matter - well, they're not going nowhere.

Urushiol - science fact of the day

So, in researching poison oak (because, now that I'm a scientist, I should be able to comprehend complex mechanisms of allergic reactions blablabla), I learned that the oily toxin, urushiol, found in poison oak, poison ivy, and poison sumac (or maybe it's just called sumac), is a catechol - a benzene ring with two neighboring alcohol functional groups - with an alkyl substituted side chain... in this case, the alkyl is a long hydrocarbon side chain, either saturated or unsaturated (which gives the compound its oily nature). The urushiol oil is actually a mixture of these catechol substituted groups, with varying proportions of the saturated and unsaturated side chains (and different degrees of unsaturation). Interestingly, people are more sensitive to the unsaturated versions, and lo! Poison oak has lots of unsaturated side chains. Who'da thunk?
When the oil/ toxin touches a skin cell, it binds to proteins on the cell surface, and changes their conformation. THEN (now this is the craazzyy part) - our immune system doesn't recognize our own cells any longer (because the surface proteins are different), so our immune system attacks the cells in an allergic response.


ok, now that that's over, let me just say that I despise people who don't do their homework and then try to weasel out of responsibility for their laziness. In my keyboard class (ok, so I realize that it's a lower division keyboard requirement for most music majors, so "who cares"), NOBODY practices... or if they do, it must be like ten minutes tops. We had our second midterm today, and half the class didn't even show up until there were only 15 minutes left in the class - hoping there would not be enough time on that day for them to go - and others begged to go last, or next-to-last. I, and a few other pseudo-prepared students offered to go, if only because we were then allowed to leave upon completing the midterm...
A few weeks ago, during the previous midterm, one girl (who had obviously not prepared at ALL), asked if she could go on the following monday. Teacher said no (thank goodness). Then she couldn't play any of the scales, any of the pieces, or any of the finger excercises. NOTHING. By the end of her miderm, she was tearful and resentful, and the teacher was furious. Not directly at her, but at being put in such an uncomfortable position. nobody likes to make girls cry, least of all a sweet mormon pianist, and after she left (tears streaming after her), he ranted at the rest of the class... i guess it felt like he was preaching to the choir, but I'm sure there were some dissidents in the class....
why can't people just take care of their business.
GEEZ

ok, that's all for now
oh, and the poison oak welts on my face were oozing fluid all day. gross.