The End

Today is the last day of NaBloPoMo.

What do I think? What do I feel?

I don't know, actually. I like posting everyday, but at the same time I'm relieved it's over. Sometimes, remembering that you haven't posted yet and the day is soon over isn't very healthy stresswise. It can lead to heart-attack-like symptoms and can ruin movie-watching or other activities.

However, it gave me something to do and something to look forward to every day... Sometimes I find myself writing posts in my head, and when I actually write them down, they come out completely different than what I had expected. But I anticipated the fact of writing down my feelings for the day and sharing my experiences. So what if no one reads it? Just writing makes me feel like it was a productive use of my time--something tangible, even if it is only a series of 0's and 1's in the cyberverse... Plus, if I posted everyday, then I would be doing my share of the work in NaBloPoMo, and somehow, in my mind, that means that other people will keep posting too, and that's how I can read other blogs such as C. Beth. Blog, Cake Wrecks, Destroying my appartment one recipe at a time, and my favorite, Clever Girl Goes Blog. And every once in a while, I get a surprise post from the not-as-regular posters like Spin Me Around, Apifera Farms, Cheaper By The Half-Dozen, do not read this blog, dooce, and other blogs I randomly stalk. They cheer me up.

November is over, but I'm not done talking. I think that, for the sake of my sanity, although probably not for the Internet's sake (well, it was a lost cause anyway), I'll keep posting. Maybe not every day, maybe twice a day, or even more, or even less, but regularly enough to not bore too many people.

And maybe once I get the stress of mandatorily (self-inflicted, yes, but mandatory nevertheless) having to post every day, I'll start making sense again and even say something profound every once in a while.

This is not the end, my friends. It just keeps going.

A suivre...

Christmas nesting

Because I'm going back "home" and not coming back until mid-December, Dad let us decorate the house for Christmas so I could be part of it this time instead of missing out on the decorating.

And by "decorating." I mean Bro and I outside the house for two hours, arguing about which lights should be put in which order, then placing said lights on nails whilst precariously perched on a rickety stepladder, then calling Dad outside and putting on a balancing act on top of the stepladder to show him how unsafe it is. I love it!

And Dad is getting a stepladder for Christmas. We bought this one over ten years ago, and so far it's seen five different homes and crossed the Atlantic twice. It's spattered with at least five different colors of paint and primer, taped in a couple of places, bent, nailed together, and wired together. It's wobbly because one of the tip protectors for the legs fell off a long time ago and the entire frame is barely held together. I know my father loves it, but it's gotta go. It's a public health hazard.

Even though I'm going to miss out on decorating the tree, I'm still glad I got to put up the lights. We never did that when we lived in France, but that is the one American tradition the entire family has embraced fully. Even though it is not carefully planned or designed to look like a winter wonderland (like you can see on many houses), the color explosion that is typical of a fraternal collaboration and a series of compromises no doubt violating several laws of physics and the advised (read: fire-safe) connection of the lights brings our personal touch of holiday cheer to a house that usually looks very orderly and quiet.

Besides, I know what the Christmas tree will look like: every singe decoration we've ever acquired will be piled on the branches, from the paper garlands of my hand when I was three to delicate baubles that look so much like soap bubbles I am always afraid they will burst that Mom bought over twenty years ago, passing by metal animals, a garland of tiny bells, and oranges studded with cloves. It's messy and disorganized, and I think it's the most beautiful tree in the world.

Christmas already?

We went to the plant store today so Dad could get some shade-loving, cold-resistant plants to add to our constantly improving and morphing garden.

Even though Thanksgiving is barely over, there already were Christmas trees on sale. I went around and stuck my nose in all of them, and every single species had a different smell.

Some were sweet, some were bitter, some were salty, and others smelled exotic. Some reminded me of the sea because when I was young, "the sea" meant my great-grandmother's house in the middle of a pine forest, with the beach right down the road. Some reminded me of the country, because "the country" meant my grandmother's house with the giant fir in front. And some reminded me of Christmas, because "Christmas" used to mean busy streets in Paris filled with shoppers, decorated trees in the storefronts and doors, and warm roasted chestnuts wrapped in newspaper cones sold right out of homemade tin can ovens by vendors in carts.

I can't wait for Christmas. But I'm sad that everything moves so fast, because there is still so much time and the seasons should be enjoyed as they come, not consumed greedily and immediately forgotten.

That's what I think, but the supermarkets think otherwise. Oh well...

Giving Thanks

Today is Turkey Day, ergo I get to do your standard blog post about being thankful. But I don't mind, really, because I really wish I told everyone how much they mean to me, and I rarely do because sometimes I can't work up the courage to. And because there's more than can fit on the fingers on a hand turkey, I'll make my list as long as I want.

I am thankful for:
-the most amazing guy in the world, he keeps me sane and happy and loved even though he lives a million zillion miles away in the frozen expanses up North
-Sis and her late-night talks with me, because she's going through the tough times with me, and I'm thankful for the happy times too.
-Bro because he's not as crazy or annoying as he thinks he is
-Mom even though she drives me nuts sometimes, I miss her and I wish she would come home soon
-Dad because even though he's not the easiest person to live with, he is pretty cool sometimes
-the man at the dining halls who always says hello to me and asks me how I'm doing
-not living at home any more
-my education and all I've been able to accomplish so far
-the friendly people at the lab for being so nice and helpful and patient with me and the other two
-the little things in life that I don't take time to think about
-you, because you are reading this, all one of you (maybe two or three, you never know) I love you!

Have a happy Thanksgiving!

Pre-Turkey Rant

Goodness gracious, I almost forgot to post today... And I definitely had all the time in the world, I don't know why I wasted so much time not being productive...

Well, anyway. I am home and safe for Thanksgiving, even though Mom isn't here, so it will be Dad, Sis, Bro, and I for a twelve-pound turkey... I don't really like turkey... However, Sis and Bro made chocolate chip cookies (for me!), so that's what we will eat. Even though they are severely overdone. A bit. Much. Crispy, crispety crunchety and a tad bit burnt around the edges...

It was a lovely day, though. All of my morning classes were cancelled, so I could have gone home 24 hours earlier if my darlingest Bio professor had not chosen to hold class. Maybe I should have skipped. But I am a good student and a bio nerd, so I didn't. And I'm glad I stayed. It was a beautiful day, I slept in (first time on a Wednesday!), I walked around the deserted campus in a Tshirt, and I had lunch with a mysterious stranger I keep on running into and his girlfriend. Turns out he is a Terry Pratchett fan, which can only bode well. I met him the first time when he was looking for somewhere to sit and didn't want to be by himself, so he sat with me and started talking to me. He's an anthropology major. Then I ran into him the next day at a bake sale for the fencing club (even though he doesn't fence and neither do I), and then today again at lunch. I definitely hope I see him and E. again. We may develop quite a good friendship.

I was doing my laundry when that girl whose name I don't remember came in and started doing her laundry too, and because she is nice and I like her, we started talking. And then she ran out of soap and put her money in the wrong machine, so I helped her move her clothes and lent her my detergent. I do wish I could remember her name...

First time I ate at McDonald's in a million years (well, at least two full years), and the first time I ate there with my family since I was six. Ah, family. Also, gross. I somehow have gotten an aversion to junk food and soda since moving to college. I am thinking this is a very good thing.

Anyway, that's too much Internet for me in a single day, so I will log off and bid thee a good night and a merry Thanksgiving should you not come read me tomorrow (plethora of readers that you are, yes, do not deny it!)

A find

I had dinner with the guy I sat next to all semester in Psychology.

He's not the kind of guy I would have naturally associated with if I hadn't met him beforehand. I met him when my roommate and I decided to have an ice-cream run with our separate friends on one of the weekend nights before classes started so we could get to know each other. She brought two of her friends, I brought three of mine. It was a great evening.

I was waiting for the previous class to empty so I could get a seat, and someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and at first didn't recognize him, but the lip stud that I'd admired the week before because it sparkled jogged my memory, and I recognized him. We sat next to each other and began to talk, to know each other a bit better.

Over the semester, we became close friends. Because we sat in the back row of the front section, we jumped over the backs of the seats to sit down, so we could get in even if there were people already sitting down at either end of the section (which, if you ask me, was a smart move... There wasn't much legroom and even less to move around. I hit my head several times on the backs of the seat in front of me whilst attempting to retrieve stray writing utensils). He'd share his food with me, and sometimes brought me candy because he had extras. He wasn't a very good student, so I'd help him study for his tests and give him tips on how to take notes and study. We'd have our little jokes and every once in a while break out into spontaneous scenes in the hallway after class: "Don't... Don't leave me!" "I'm sorry, but I can't stand it anymore... I can't live with myself." "But... I thought you loved me!".

We talked about sex, sometimes. He's only the second guy I've ever talked to about sex. And the first one who wasn't actually involved with me. He's gay. Together, we secretly lusted after the ridiculously handsome professor, who looked like a sophisticated 7-foot tall Jesus with a British accent and a suit. We'd make up crazy stories. He pointed out hot guys in the 500-strong class, and I'd give my opinion.

Sometimes, he drew hearts on my notes. I can't stand it when something that isn't class material is on my notes, especially in pen. But I let him, because I knew he meant it.

Today was the last day of psychology. After we thanked the professors, we had dinner together. And it was the closest I've been to anyone except for one other person all of this semester, if not the entire year.

I found out so much more about him tonight. He's got dreams. He's astoundingly smart. He wants to be an environmental scientist. The Collegeboard is begging him to take part in an REU in New York this summer. When his parents divorced, he waited for hours every Monday night for his dad to pick him up and take him to dinner, even though he never came. His mother would find him asleep in his nice clothes when she came home at midnight. His sister is pregnant. He wanted to go to the University of Monterrey in Mexico, but it was more expensive than here, so he came here.

We took the bus home together, and promised that we would go for ice cream together when the weather was warmer.

And then he went home. I went home.

I'm glad I talked to him.

It's surprising what you can find in the people you'd otherwise never talk to. I found a friend.

Game Over

For the fourth and last time, we ran the PCR process on our lovingly purified, processed, and prepared DNA samples, and then ran a gel.

Three hours in the lab. One little minute for the machine to bathe the fruit of our labor in a heavenly UV glow.

And then the verdict: negative.

Nothing.

Zilch.

The PCR did not work. Our DNA samples were obliterated.

And we have no time left to figure out WHAT went wrong. Again.

So, we are going to have a very, very short results section and a very, very long discussion explaining why it didn't work.

At least, we don't have to worry about the lab part of the paper anymore...

I'm down, but not out. We shall overcome?

Look, pal...

I'm glad you like Paramore to the point of wanting to share their music with the entire floor, but how would you feel if I blasted Shostakovich at two in the morning? (Side note: why is Milla Jovovich the first thing that comes to mind when I watch Paramore's videos?)

Speaking of mornings, I'm going to write that review that's due tomorrow morning. That paper needs my love and attention. Plus, editing someone else's paper for a grade? Whoo! I love editing! (I actually do. I'm weird.)

Sorry this is kind of a short entry, but I'm trying to focus. I really am.

Step #2 of the 12-step Application Essay Process: Read the Prompt:
Hokay. So here's what I think of it: WTF?

Houston, we have RESULTS!

After a grueling two hours spent toiling in an empty lab on a Saturday morning, we have our first actual, tangible, for-real results.

Well, we don't actually know what is in our samples and what kind of bacterial critter it came from, but we know we have DNA. We have the concentration of DNA in our samples. We have actual numbers! That means that if everything else fails, we can write something about the very low DNA content, what that means, and why it is this way.

Also: our mentor did a test run on the E. coli and our samples to see if we were messing it up because we somehow did something wrong, and it came up negative. So that means there is something wrong in the process somewhere and 1) it's not our fault, 2) that means we can include that in the results section if nothing else works.

I love science. Even if it doesn't work, you can still get an A-worthy paper out of it.

In which I ponder the likelihood of It Being A Sign

I saw ninjas three nights in a row.

There was a random ninja fight club performance at Madrigal dinner.
There were ninjas in last night's movie (well, not really, since they were Chinese. Close enough, though)
There were ninjas (surprise!) at the Japanese Fall Festival.

Is it a sign?

(Also, people were smoking stuff that WASN'T tobacco tonight, too. I think I see a pattern.)

Oh, and I won tons of stuff at the fest. 50¢ per ticket, two tries per ticket. I spent $3, won six out of twelve times. Including a $100 gift card. Best $3 investment ever. Christmas shopping? Oh yes. (Although, if I do find an awesome purse from Fossil (!) (eep!) under $100, that's where the money will go.) (I really shouldn't have gone to their website... Now I really want this. But I can't buy it, because I do not have a Fossil giftcard. Flaw in the plan.)

Anyway.

There was plenty more schtuffs to talk about at the festival.

Like taiko drums. And a kendo practice. And dancers. And a couple bands. Both of the bands were pretty bad, although the second one had a decent drummer. Also, this female singer sang with both bands, and she was good. But not the bands. Alas. And they were so loud we had to sit on the wall across the street to save our eardrums from extermination.

And Japanese fangirls. Lots of them.

I want to be a Japanese fangirl.

Sort of.

A Day Of Science!

This morning, I woke up just in time to see that I had missed my eight o'clock class because I had forgotten to turn on my alarm clock. But that's okay, because today:

I sold plants for two hours on the University mall where every club, organization, and money-stealing scumbag test prep agency sell stuff and hand out flyers. It was freezing cold, but I got to do the Sudoku in today's paper, sell plants to adorable little old ladies (yes, they are professors with Ph.Ds and their very own lab, but they are old[ish] [note proper use of brackets here] and adorable.) with British accents (did I mention she had a BRITISH ACCENT???), meet new people, have my brain picked by someone who wants to set up a research organization in the Liberal Arts college (even though they won't ever be as good as us, because, c'mon, no one can beat Natural Sciences. Yes I am an elitist scientist, thank you very much.), eat THE MOST AMAZING cookie ever ("If you sell plants with us, you have to eat a donut. Or a cookie. Or both. Or a donut-cookie sandwich."), and socialize some with my favorite science geek organization officers.

THEN

I went to a one-hour program that had free food and drinks and advertized itself as an info meeting about research opportunities in the biotechnology and genetics field (Lies! All lies!) but was in fact an attempt to trap unsuspecting bio majors into premed-oriented programs. My intellect is offended. Yes, I am a bio major. NO, I do not intend to go premed. I am studying biology because YES, I like it. NO, I will not go to med school. I will go to grad school for the rest of my life and have a lousy salary and be happy with it because I want to do research for the fun of it and not become a doctor because you get money. So stop asking already. You imposter bio major. Also, FYI, you are NOT allowed to use "I'm Premed" as an excuse for ANYTHING, because premed is nothing more than you signaling your intent of someday applying to med school. So shut up already. I have more classes than you do.

AFTER THAT,

I went to my German class in a different building than where it usually is because we were being filmed for some sort of university promo or other. The classroom was amazing, and it was warm and had WHEELIE CHAIRS WITH CUSHIONS AND THAT LITTLE TABLE THING.
Also, the prof was so happy we showed up that she gave us all A's for the semester.

IMMEDIATELY AFTER,

I ran over to my bio class, which went by in a flash, then to the lab where we redid the DNA extraction and will be working tomorrow (erg. But it's science? Yay?).

AND THEN

I went to a Summer Research Opportunities workshop where I learned how to apply to summer research programs. And how to write good application essays. Yay science!

AND NOW

I must be off to the Japanese Student Fall Festival, which I got a flyer for as I was walking home, and looks pretty cool even though I am not Japanese.

AND GUESS WHAT?

All the food I ate today was free. Even breakfast. Plus, I brought home lunch/dinner for tomorrow. I really am getting good at that college student thing!

SO.

I will apply Step #1 of the 12-step Application Essay Process: Accepting The Fact:
Ima gonna write that baby. Yessiree, I am.

National Public Marijuana

In the course of the same evening, I attended both a talk by THE Michelle Norris (of NPR All Things Considered fame) and Seth Rogen's Pineapple Express. Which is like a first-person shooter game while on a marijuana high.

Michelle Norris was amazing, the movie was... beyond words. Plus, I think someone was smoking in the theater, and it smelled really bad. Blech, cigarettes. Ew.

There's nothing much more to say.

(Other than that, I feel like my brain is going to explode. Is that an aftereffect of the movie?)

The difference between a moose and a camel is...

I went to the Madrigal Dinner instead of my Ochem test, and it was awesome.

I learned many very dirty songs, one of them about a moose. And I got to eat good bread, almost real baguette. I miss eating bread with my meals... Also, ninjas? In a Renaissance court? Awesome, if slightly random.

Also, I learned that Americans celebrate Christmas with mistletoe. Personally, I think that's strange. Holly has always been the Christmas plant for me, and mistletoe has always been for kissing underneath at midnight on New Year's. Au gui l'an neuf, like we say.

I know, we're only in November. But what's wrong with starting the Christmas cheer a bit early?

(OK, fine.)

But I still want to burst forth into rapturous "Adeste Fideles" and light a candle carousel. And make bûche. And wrap gifts... I do love to wrap gifts.

That's enough Yuletide merriment for now.

Mud bottom

I feel like pond scum.
You know, the green one that crusts on stuff? Yeah, that.

I've decided to not take my Organic Chemistry exam. I'm just not going to show up.
It's not going to affect my grade. It's going to get dropped, and I will still have a solid B in the class. It will be my only B, and I think it's a decent grade for a class that most people, including the chemical engineering students I hang out with, have trouble with. And also that I'm basically the only freshman in that class. And also since grades tend to be consistent and I've gotten the same exact grades on the past two exams. Which means I'd be likely to get the same grade again were I to take the test. Plus, lots of other people aren't taking it either because they took the last two and don't need the third exam.

But I still feel like scum.

I told the TA about my decision, and he looked brokenhearted. Literally. He looked at me like I was the last hope he has in the world and said "You... you're not taking the test?" And then he did the quiet disappointment thing.

It's the first time in my life I am failing a test on purpose. One of my friends asked me to come in and write my name on it, then turn it in and leave. But I just can't do that. Psychologically, I can't. I feel bad enough not taking it. Maybe I am trying to escape that fact and am trying to justify myself.

So be it.

I feel like scum.

Here we go again

It happened again.

The being ignored.

The "Oh hey, she probably doesn't care if we eat lunch with her or not, so let's have a party up in my room instead of going to the dining hall for lunch!"

While I waited an hour for them to show up.

When I asked one of them about it, the answer I got was "Oh, they said you never ate lunch with us on Tuesdays, so I believed them."

On Tuesdays, instead of sleeping in until 1 or 2 pm, I get up in the morning so I can have lunch with them at 11. Every Tuesday.

And when we had dinner together tonight, no one mentioned everything. Just shifty eyes and avoiding each other.

Now, maybe I'm paranoid, but still...

If I ask one of the others, I'll probably get an answer like "We didn't know you were going to eat with us! Why didn't you tell us?" Like it's my fault. I suppose I'm to blame for not being psychic and knowing what they decide to do without telling me, I guess. Sorry for the fact that having lunch with you at a constant time every Tuesday since the beginning of the year is not an indicator that I'll show up every week in your opinion.

It's getting to be like this every time.

This is driving me crazy. I can't stand being ignored and pushed around all the time. I've spent the first ten years of my life like this, and it was enough to make me never want to live through it again.

I guess I'll just eat by myself and ignore them for a while.

But I doubt they'll even notice. They'll just keep on doing their things without me, like they have for most of the semester.

None of the three feel like making the minute effort it would take to inform me.

The couple's so wrapped up in each other they don't even talk to anyone else any more. It doesn't matter which phone you call, one of the two will answer it. If you only see one of them, it's because the other is sick and taking a nap in the first one's room. If no one is showing up, it's because one of them is taking a shower or a nap, and the other one didn't want to wake her up or bother her. If you call them over for dinner on weekends, you'll get the answer that they already had dinner together at a restaurant earlier, and "they assumed no one else wanted to come." If there's something interesting to do or an event to go to, neither of them will go if the other's not coming along. "She has a class then... So I can't come."

It was wonderful when they started dating, they were both so happy, and we were happy for them, too.
But now it's just taken over our friendship.
We were six, now there's them, and the other four scattered off by themselves.

I guess it's over now. No matter what happens after. We've drifted too far apart. They'll be together until it's over, and then all of us will go our separate ways. We can't ever be as close as we were again. Too many things have changed, and not for the better.

It hurts.

This is what Alexander Fleming felt like, only without the discovery of penicillin.

There's nothing like crushing defeat to finish a perfect day.

We spent four hours in the lab waiting for the PCR to finish, waiting for the gel to run. And there were no results. No DNA.

We're going to have to redo the procedure with an E. coli test. If the E. coli show results and our samples still don't have DNA, we're going to have to redo the extraction. That's another ten hours of my life planned right there. If everything goes as expected, which it won't.

And since I didn't spend the night at the lab, I went to see The Dark Knight and drowned my sorrows in a pint of Ben & Jerry's.

And now I wish I had a phone so I could call someone who's probably asleep right now. So I guess it really wouldn't matter if I called or not. Because no one would answer.

But if someone could come up with a way to transport myself across thousands of miles instantly, that'd be nice.

I'm just depressed now, so I'm going to sleep. Goodness knows I need it.

Monday Night Lab... The last one of Forever?

The paper is turned in.

The lab is working.

The PCR is... Um. PCR-ing.

The gel should be on it way to being poured (damn! I broke the pattern!)

And the lab crew will take care of the cloning.

All I have to do now is sit in this lab until 6:30 waiting for my PCR to get done, then run a gel and let the nice friendly Doctor take care of the rest. We really owe him our souls. Also the poor UGTA who took care of us and put up with us. I'm sure he hates every minute of it, poor guy, but hey. He's being paid $10.50 per hour by the University for this, so I guess it's only fair.

Film Committee is running "The Dark Knight" tonight, but I don't think I can make it in time after the lab. I haven't eaten dinner yet... Plus, I am exhausted from last night's paper write-upping. Which, by the way, was finished at 1:00 am, and necessitated an entire South American rainforest to print, all 43 pages of it. I'm glad I wasn't using my printer, and also isn't it wonderful that students enrolled in a chemistry class have a quota of 150 pages of free printing per semester at the Chemistry Computer Lab?
I think I will just go to bed early tonight. Early-ish, I mean.
Oh, who am I kidding? I'll go to bed as late as usual (thank you roommie dearest, eh.), but I just won't go to the movie. I'll just see it later... at some point. Yeah. You can tell I'm motivated.

XKCD has been oddly philosophical lately.

Currently Listening To:

(Star Trek) Science: the final frontier
(Snow White) Someday my paper will be finished/published
(Notre Dame de Paris) Your research will kill me
(Beauty and the Beast) No one writes papers like Gaston
(Aladdin) A whole new methods section
(The Beatles) All you need is PCR

My research paper is due for peer review tomorrow, 10 am.

Status: Needing results.
I could use a little help from my friends (with a little help from my friends)
Oh, I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends
Mmm, I get papers done on time with a little help from my friends.

The ISI Web of Science is my friend.

I might possibly get this done before 5 am?

Let's hope so. Oh, and my printer ran out of ink...

Swim a mile in my shoes

Today was the most intense day of my life.

I spent seven hours pitting myself against the elements, fighting hypothermia and exhaustion.

Today I went sailing on the lake.
Temperature: cold. Wind: 17 knts. Speed: epic.

I originally intended to go out on the J, because it was cold and windy and I wanted to have a lazy Saturday, but then someone mentioned it was perfect check-out weather, so I decided I could use a little practice on the Sunfish and possibly get my checkout so I could go to the next level. One of the People-In-Charge noticed I was wearing jeans, and gave me a bone-chilling lecture on what could happen if you wore jeans on a day like today. I therefore proceeded to run over to the Shed and grab the only decent wetsuit and changed into it. The marina bathroom was surprisingly warm and clean. After changing, I went back to where the small boats were stored, to wait for the other guy who was supposed to get into the Sunfish with me. It turned out that several other people wanted Sunfishes and Lasers, and we were only allowed to check out one of each because of the weather conditions and safety issues. In addition, one of the newer Laser tillers had been dismantled. Confusion ensued, no one knew who was going with whom on what boat and when, and who was going to fix the tiller and when, until the Commodore bravely took action (he's a former Marine) and got everyone in order.

I set out on to the docks towing a Laser with my new redhead buddy. We had some difficulties in rigging up the boat, notably when the sail was flopping around so violently because of the wind that we had to take the mast down to tie it on, then it tore off, so we had to try again, and then we couldn't get the mast back on the boat because the wind had turned and was blowing the sail (and the mast and the guy holding it) backwards, and we had to call for help from one of the other guys. Finally, we left the parking lot and towed the boat down the steep slope to the water, avoiding a major catastrophe when it started sliding off the trailer because of the wind. We eventually made it to the water, where we got into the boat along with a third quidam who hitched a ride to catch up with the J and its crew (who were long since gone).

Now, sailing is a sport of skill, tactic, strength, agility, and sheer luck. You have to be responsive to the boat's every movement. You have to see the wind on the water and act accordingly to direct your boat to where you want to be. You have to be strong enough to maneuver your boat. And you have to be agile enough to move from side to side when tacking or jibing, or when the wind catches the sails and does everything in its power to tip the boat. Sailing, real sailing, is not for wimps. After all, this is my idea of an extreme sport. Also this. And this too. (Yes, all three are about the same thing. But you should pay attention to all three, because this is the stuff of legends.) Ever since I was a child, that's what I wanted to do when I grew up. But now it seems unlikely I'll ever get that far. Sigh. Still, a gal's allowed to dream...

Anyway, back to the lake. The Laser caught the wind and glided at an exhilarating speed. With three people to weigh it down, it was pretty stable and we did not flip once until we dropped our passenger at the J. Because we were pretty far out, we decided to go back to the dock. Without the extra weight, the Laser was 1) insanely fast, and 2) very unstable. Even with extensive use of the hiking strap, which consisted of us two throwing our weight around like crazy at every gust of wind, we capsized twice and broke the traveler, which slightly impeded our return to port.

There, we were welcomed (fortunately) by two other club members, who caught and anchored our boat so that we could get off.

They were busy setting up a Hobie Cat, and one of the sails had just fallen into the water and sunk. They were about to give up on ever getting it back, and were resigned to face the Commodore's wrath (trust me, that's not something you ever want to see), when (My Moment Of Glory) I proposed to dive in and look for it. I told them that although it was pretty deep, I'd been to the bottom before (yay for summer explorations!) and was wearing a wetsuit which would keep me from freezing to death (or so I hoped fervently, I was already pretty cold from the wind). They agreed, although they said it was all right if I couldn't find it. I dove in and found the sail three meters or so underwater. It was so wide the drag kept it from sinking too fast. The look on their face was priceless as they took the sail from me and helped me get back on the dock (I'm sure they'll stop making fun of me for falling off the *very safe and unsinkable* J that one time. Or the time I spent the day in the emergency room because I got hit in the head by a boom when we were playing Pirates in the Scow. Um. Yeah. I'm accident-prone. But that's beside the point.)

Anyway, after several mishaps in taking down the Laser's sail and mast (it tried to fly away again, all 50 pounds of it) and rigging up the Hobie (spare parts, spare parts, thank goodness for spare parts), all four of us set out with the intent of finding the J (again!) and bothering them so we could have some fun.

Now, the Laser was fast, but it was nothing compared to the Hobie. The wind blew at 17 knts, which propelled us to a dizzying 20 knts (about 37 km/h, 23 mph for you silly nonmetric Americans).

Moreover, being on the Hobie was like taking a shower. Within the first 28 seconds, every one of us was drenched and shivering (except for our excellent Mr. Captain, who is a freak of nature and has a body temperature one degree (Celcius) above that of us mortal fools, and thus was, according to him, "toasty warm").

Being on a catamaran is a lot more physical than all of the other boats combined, and we scrambled around on the trampoline and trapezes (sounds like the circus, doesn't it?) to keep the boat upright (and failing, as the hulls were 75% in the air and the back was a foot underwater by this point). We ventured out from the cove a few miles into the channel, where we capsized for the first time. We flipped the boat over and got back on track, but could not find the J anywhere. We decided to turn around, because we were pretty cold and it had been quite an adventure already. The wind marked its agreement on the decision by capsizing us over again. We righted the boat and headed back. In a particularly nasty and shallow part of the channel, the Hobie flipped over again, and the most trying part of our day began.

Although it didn't turtle, which would have been a disaster, as it would have necessited a motorboat to pull us out of that one, we were stuck on slippery rocks with a capsized Hobie. Rotting tree stumps caught everywhere on the boat, ripping a sail and almost dislocating the tiller. The wind caught on the trampoline, pushing the boat toward the rocky cliff, trapping us in the middle. To right the boat, we had to push it to deeper water and far enough from the wall that the top hull would not hit the rocks when we pulled it down. Every time that we managed to push the boat into the wind, a gust of wind would suddenly slam into us and aim the boat into the cliff. After nearly an hour of treading freezing water, slipping on rocks, and pulling at the boat, we were becoming dangerously exhausted. My partner from the Laser was in the most danger, as he had no wetsuit or high body temperature to protect him from the cold. He shivered incontrollably and started cramping, the first signs of hypothermia. We deposited him on the rocks so he would not drown, and proceeded to once again attempt to right the Hobie. This time, I swam out to the end of the mast and used it as a lever to keep the boat in place as the other two angled it into the wind. Then, as I pushed the mast up as far as I could to lever the boat, the others attached themselves to the upper hull and used their combined weight to pull it down into the water. A couple of minutes later, the Hobie slowly began to shift and rise, and the mast rose from the water. Immediately, the wind caught the sails and began to tug (by this time we were not in the wind but in broad reach), but we each caught a line to keep it from drifting away. Mr. Captain managed to climb aboard and maneuvered it into the wind again, so that we might get on. After reclaiming our spots, we headed to the docks, right as the J appeared.

As the Hobie sped on, we dipped our hands in the water and splashed our faces to warm them up. The water felt like a very warm bath. As we regained our spirits, we noticed various body parts streaming blood. I found that a large area of skin was missing from my hand and that bruises could be felt forming over various areas of my body. I suddenly understood how my father came home from a regatta with bleeding gashes and multiple bruises, without ever being aware of them.

As we arrived at the dock, several people were standing there, ready to catch the Hobie and help us off, bearing blankets, towels, and sweaters. All of us sported a lovely tinge of blue on our lips and hands, and we gratefully accepted the warm offerings. I ran off to change into the dry clothes I had brought (yep, thought something like that would happen) and warmed up somewhat in the wonderful bathroom. I went out barefoot (my shoes were drenched) and stood around shivering for a while until there were sails to put up, which I did, then stood around some more and shivered.

Eventually, carpools formed and we headed back to the city.

Two hours after leaving the water, I regained the use of my fingers. Seven hours later, I am still wearing two sweaters and shivering slightly.

Lessons learned:
1) Always, always wear a life jacket. Even if it looks silly. First of all, you get a $50 fine if you don't. Second, it might just save your life.
2) Shoes. Wear them. Not flip-flops, actual shoes. Otherwise your toes might get cut off, and I am not kidding about this. It doesn't matter if your shoes are ruined, at least you'll have your appendages.
3) When you turtle or otherwise capsize, let out the mainsheet. Otherwise, your boat might just leave without you when you get it upright again. Also one of the "Oh Shit" maneuvers. If you are about to capsize, let the mainsheet out and the boat will right itself. (You may risk getting hit in the head with the boom, though, and that is not fun.)
4) The wind is more powerful than you. Work with it. If you fight it, it wins.

I've never been that close to death, and yet, if I could, I would do it all over again.

Friday evening

I am frustrated at the Mellow Mushroom cashier for having no math skills whatsoever She tried to overcharge us by a lot. It took twenty minutes and two managers to get us a refund, and by that time we had to leave. Pizza for nine, however delicious it is, does not cost $88.

Sigh.

But I went to see The Broccoli Project's showing of "Three Murders and It's Only Monday," which is like "Ten Little Indians" on crack. It frankly was an amazing play, with an amazing cast, and amazing props.

AND AN OLYMPIA TYPEWRITER.
Plus a guy with a German accent.

And tomorrow I am going sailing down the river to the end of the world! Whoo!

A life

We talked about Judaism today at lunch. It's one of the recurring topics. It came up because we were discussing stabbing people to death, and then whether that hurt or not, and then how it applied to Kosher meats. For meat to be Kosher, you have to kill the animal quickly, with a couple stabs, to spare it from feeling pain. Jews are, according to the rules, only allowed to eat Kosher meat. Except if they are about to die of starvation. In which case they are allowed to eat anything.

Because there is one thing that is sacred above all in Judaism, and that is a life. All of the other rules can be overlooked if it will save a life.

That is one of the many things I like about Judaism.

Visions on a street corner

I was sitting outside on a bench in front of the common building, watching people go by. The recent November chill pierced through my light jacket and made me shiver. The street nearby flashed a million colors as the early night began to fall.

I was in Texas until several students walked by carrying paper bags from an obviously recent shopping spree. The bags crinkled, and I suddenly felt like walking into a bakery and buying a chocolate éclair to consume on a green wooden public bench and a warm baguette to take home.

Suddenly, I was propelled into the past. I noticed the two grad students conversing in French over their cigarettes and, for lack of a proper French alternative, all-too-American Starbucks lattes. I noticed the streetlamps glowing softly in the dusk. I noticed the fashionable European-style raincoats and turtlenecks walking around campus. I noticed the buses, stopping and going. I noticed the pigeons fighting over crumbs. I was in Paris again, on a Saturday evening after a long day of roaming the city in the honor of winter sales with my exhausted but elated mother.

And then I noticed my mother's absence, the squirrels, the lack of freezing rain, the leaves on the trees, the bearable temperature, the girls walking in shorts too short to be mentionable, the loud cell phones, the telltale earbuds, the worn t-shirts advertising some camp, team, church, club, or other, and I was back in America.

It was a short vision, but it was heaven.

Catastrophe averted

This time, at least.

Well, looks like we won't have a results section in time for the peer review. But at least we'll have a results section by the time we have to turn in the stupid paper. Or, you know, in the events that nothing works, which is likely, we will have a results section stating we didn't get results.

But that's OK. That's how science works!

I do science.

Tonight, I lab.

From 3 to 9, I will be extracting DNA, prepping said DNA for PCR, possibly starting the PCR, also possibly running to the MBB to beg for 63F, 1387R primers, and playing around with my $150 dangerous chemicals.

Yep, that's how it's going to go. No sleep for me! Or dinner.

Science is so unhealthy.

A holiday

When I left home this afternoon for the two-hour drive back to the university, I realized it felt more like being on vacation than being home.

When I lived at home, it was unbearable. Everyone yelled, everyone argued, everyone got depressed. Apparently, it's quieted down a bit since I left, but things are still tense. I'm glad I got out. I couldn't have stood another year of this.

Now, everyone misses me and I miss them. So when I go home, it's a big circle of love. Bro lets me smother him with play kisses and Sis snuggles up with me to watch movies. Mom asks me what I want to eat and fusses over my curls and wants to buy me nice shampoo, and Dad... well, it's Dad. He kisses me hello and says it's nice to see me and asks me if I've decided to be a math major yet, and then he changes the topic when I say I'm sticking with biology. Plus, no one actually asks me to do any chores. I just do 'em 'cause I'm a responsible college student, yes m'am!

It's like a vacation, but it's just an ordinary weekend. Except it's not every weekend, so I guess it makes it extra-special.

That's the point, though. It's not home, but it's home. I know where everything is in the kitchen. I take things out of closets, I wrap presents, I clean dishes, I laze about in my PJs, I take out the recycling, I get the paper... But I feel like I'm on vacation.

It's a nice feeling.

And yet it makes me feel strangely lonely.

Was it only yesterday?

My baby brother turned twelve today.

I can't believe it's been twelve years since the day I came home from school and Dad told me and my little sister that we had a new brother.

I can remember when he was a baby and he didn't want to eat his food so he threw it on the ground.

I can remember when he was at the toddler crèche and we picked him up after school, and he was playing with his best friend.

I can remember his favorite stuffed giraffe.

I can remember when he was in first grade, learning to read and write.

I can remember his first burglar alarm.

I can remember the pillow forts we used to make together.

I can remember how I used to be able to pick him up, just like that, and we'd have tickle fights.

I can remember so many things, and they all seem like yesterday. Did it really go by so fast?

Now, he's all grown up.

But he's still my baby brother, and that means I'm allowed to make fun of him whenever I want.

Happy birthday, Bro.
Joyeux anniversaire, Frangin.

Hotel Rwanda

Paul Rusesabagina spoke at the university last night.

For those of you who have never heard of him, he is the man who, at the peril of his own life, sheltered 1269 people during the 1994 genocide in Rwanda.

Last night, he spoke about the genocide. He told us the entire story again. All of it.He didn't tell us a simple, heartwarming story to touch our hearts and make us feel slightly guilty about what had happened. He told us the truth, in all its details. Every single detail.

Details enough to tear your heart. Details enough to make you wonder why, why humans would be so cruel, so beyond animal as to act like this.

Listening to Mr. Rusesabagina recount his story was very personal for me. You see, when I was younger, my neighbors hosted a young man, Olivier, from Burundi. He had escaped the war and come to Europe through networks of helping hands and churches. I was too young to understand what war really meant, or the horrors it entailed. Listening to Mr. Rusesabagina opened my eyes. Finally, I understood what Olivier had been through. Finally, I understood what mankind was capable of.

This isn't another one of the horror stories the media brings to the wide-screen TVs in comfortable, safe, familiar living rooms. This is much worse. It's real.

I don't understand why. I don't understand why anyone, in any possible situation, would feel such hatred for a people to want to exterminate all of them. I don't know why these killings would escalate into a full-blown war. I don't know why the battles would grow so meaningless as to become only mass killings, with no sides, no victory for anyone and death for all. I don't know why children would be forced to join the ranks of the killers when there are no adults left alive to continue the conflict. I don't know why civilians are massacred routinely. I don't know why it's been going on for fourteen years now. I don't know why UN peacekeepers pulled out and let the carnage continue. I don't know why the world turns a blind eye.

Something he said during his story touched me, and I don't know why I haven't seen it before. During commemoration ceremonies of the Holocaust, world leaders all pledged two words, two words Mr. Rusesabagina said were the most overused and hypocritical words in the world: 'never' and 'again.' To him, this promise has turned into 'again, and again, and again.'

Over six million people have died since the beginning of the genocide. Why then is no one doing anything? Standing over a Holocaust memorial pledging to keep such horrors from ever again becoming reality means nothing if at the same time, people are dying because they are Tutsis, Hutus, children, men, women, black, white, Muslim, Christian, Tibetan, or simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. All the time.

Why are we not doing anything?

In his conclusion, he told us that we are the world's future leaders, we have the power to change this. Someone asked this question: Even if we are the future leaders of the world, this is happening now. What can we do to stop it?

And he gave the most straightforward answer I have ever heard: Paul Kagame, Rwanda's current president, is responsible for much of the genocide. He is not a democratic leader. If he had his country's best interests in mind, he would help it get up. He would build roads, build schools, create systems to pump life into the mutilated ghost it has become. His children would go to school in Rwanda, not to private schools in Europe. His wife would live in Rwanda, not in Europe. His money would go to the people, not to weapons dealers and private bank accounts. Because of his immunity as president, he is not affected by the many indictments issued against him by several countries. To stop him, to make him think twice about killing, we have to stop the source of his power: money. Freezing his assets will slow him down.

I know this won't solve all of the killings. People in Darfur are still dying. People in Rwanda will still be killed.

But it will be one step forward.

We can't just sit here and watch. We are hypocrites, each and everyone of us.

We need to do something.

The Mysterious Crunching Noise

I was walking along the street this afternoon when I heard this loud clacking, rustling noise. I looked around to see what it was, but alas! I could not determine the cause of the noise.

I did see something which bothered me, though. On this street, there is a tree under which the grass has completely died and the soil eroded because of its precarious placement on the edge of a small hill. Recently, steps have been taken to resolve this: an artificial woven mat was spread at the base of the tree to retain (future) roots and vegetation, and grass seeds were sown. So far, this seems to be successful.

As the new grass was growing sparsely, though, a second batch of seeds was sown. The grackles had taken advantage of this manna from heaven and had congregated in droves under the tree to feast on the seeds. As a fervent supporter of all growing things, I scared the grackles away... and was immensely surprised when the clacking noise stopped. The grackles were the cause.

In the past, when I came close enough, I have heard squirrels munching on pecans and sunflower seeds, my brother eating yogurt, and my grandfather slurping soup, but I had no idea anyone or anything could eat as loudly as those grackles.

There were so many of them that the tiny noise of one seed cracking was magnified to become a huge, incessant droning murmur.

Every little thing counts. I guess I could go on to make a wonderful, deep, heartwarming, and meaningful analogy about something like voting, global warming, freedom of speech, love, viruses, or tacos, but I won't.

I am astounded.

FRUSTRATION.

Is what I am feeling right now. More later.

Breaking News

We have a new President, and his name is Barack Obama.

Thank you America!

WE DID IT!

On Not Being Able To Vote

Today is a great day.

Americans everywhere have gone to the polls and made a choice. Americans have chosen their future leader (let's just forget about the Electoral College for a moment).

Everywhere, the streets are lined with "Vote!" flyers. Everywhere, headlines are proclaiming "Vote!". Everywhere, shops are offering goodies and freebies to everyone sporting an "I Voted" sticker. Professors are excusing students from class so that they might go vote. Even Facebook is reminding Americans to vote. An aura of well-being, good deeds, and patriotic duty surrounds today.

But what about those of us who cannot vote?

I've been looking to my eighteenth birthday for so long as the age at which I, too, would follow my parents into the booth and cast my ballot. I am part of the phenomenon, the cohort of newly voting-age citizens who are expected to be one of the major factors of this election.

Except for one thing: I can't vote.

For the first time in my life, I have followed an election from its very beginning, from the moment the first candidates announced their intention to run. I have followed the longest-ever campaign with substantial interest. I have weighted issues, debated them, and chosen my candidate. I can even brag that I know more about the election than many Americans.

But in the end, my voice will not matter. Because I will not vote.

I have been living in the United States for six and a half years. Only last year, after three years of paperwork and nonstop hassle, was I awarded the title of "permanent resident." I have to wait four more years to begin applying for naturalization, at which point it will probably take an additional five years to actually receive citizenship. By this point, two more presidential elections and many more, less publicized elections will have gone by.

I doesn't matter that I have followed the American curriculum through high school. It doesn't matter that I have achieved results on American standardized tests which count me among the elite of the American student population. It doesn't matter that I go to a public, American university, pay taxes, or participate in community activities. It doesn't matter that every choice made by the government affects me.

Because, no matter what I think, I can't do anything about it. I can't vote.

Oh, sure, I could start an interest group, write petitions, contact government officials. But how likely is that to have an effect? That would take as much time as a full-time job. I don't want to have to sacrifice my personal goals to make my voice heard on an issue that others can resolve at the booth.

The choice that will be made tonight is not mine. It's yours.

But please, I beg you, make the right choice. For those who don't have a voice. For me.

Ah, the wonders of bureaucracy...

Here is my story for today:

I am a freshman with enough credit from Advanced Placement exams to be a junior, but I only applied for sophomore standing. My university requires credits to be "claimed" or "petitioned for" by 5 pm to be processed on the next business day. Last Monday, after meeting with my adviser, I set out to hunt down and claim 38 hours of credit so as to obtain sophomore standing in time to bump my registration date for next semester's classes two days earlier. After completing the online form and paying the $152 it cost me to claim those credits (with AP test fees, that comes up to about $75 per class, but it's still cheaper than paying college tuition for them), I walked over to the Registration office to claim sophomore standing (because having those credits on your transcript just isn't enough for them, they just assume you want to stay in your class year), and found out that my credits hadn't shown up on my transcript yet. I assumed I had just shown up too early for them to have updated it, so I decided to come back the next day.

I walk into the office the next day, and am told my credits still aren't here. I am slightly upset, because time is a' wastin', but the better part of the week still remains, and besides, these kind of setbacks tend to happen to me.

Repeat the next day.

And day after next. The guy sitting in the registration office is starting to know me really well by now. I push the door, walk in. "[ID #]? No, your credits haven't come in yet."

On Friday, I become slightly nervous because the university closes down on weekends and I am supposed to register Monday. I go to the office once again, get the same response, but this time I walk out laughing because the employee has dressed us as a Mexican skeleton for Halloween, and it is slightly unsettling to speak to a black and white face in a Mexican hat about paperwork. He suggests I talk to people at the Place of People In Charge Of Your AP Grades (not the actual name, but I pay very little attention to such insignificant details as the names of various buildings and offices) (except for the Student Services Building, fucking SSB, I spend so much time in their various medical wards I should have a frequent-flyer card).

I let it go over the weekend, because there is nothing I can do, and I won't waste my Halloween worrying over what I can't do much about anyway.

Monday morning, that is, today, I run over to the Place of People In Charge Of Your AP Grades, where a very unhelpful clerk informs me to give them until Tuesday, 5 pm, to process my credits, and that, contrary to the information posted on their websites and provided to the advisers, it now takes an entire week to process credits, and the cutoff is Monday 1 am, not 5 pm. Well, I've got news for you, silly: If I wait until Tuesday, 5 pm, there will be not point to being a sophomore, as all the sophomores will have registered already.

Also, I found out that registration times aren't by alphabetical order and I get to be in the next-to-last slot anyway. For some reason, both the beginning and the end of the alphabet get to go before the middle. I wish my last name started with an A.

Moral of the story: Our registration system is complicated, convoluted, confusing, and anything but logical. Unfortunately, so is everything in this world. I suppose college really does prepare us for real life, then...

Bookstores, DNA, and the Internet (All in all, a Not-So-Epic Post #2)

Among the many odd things I like to do, reading in bookstores is one of my favorites.

Last night, after eating for the first time in a vegetarian restaurant, I went to the most famous independent bookstore in town, possibly state or even the country. After fooling around in the gadget section (I love geeky gadgets, don't you?) and drooling at the notebook section for a while (I don't know why... They are ridiculously expensive and what need do I have for a leather-bound journal anyway?), my friend modestly stated that if it were up to her, she would go to the second floor and read the ninth installment of the most marv and fabby series ever written. At which point we proceeded to race to the second floor, grab two copies from the shelf, and throw ourselves upon the vair comfortable beanbags amiably provided for this precise purpose.

Unfortunately, the bookstore closed at twenty-three hundred hours, and thus I had to tear myself away from page 196 and place the tome reverently back on the shelf before running downstairs to avoid being locked in for the night (although I wouldn't have minded, the beanbags were comfortable, there was a plentiful supply of books to read, and I had a flashlight in my purse). Come to think of it, wouldn't it be great if bookstores had all-night reading lock-ins every once in a while? I'm sure they'd be popular.

Georgia dear, I'll be back.

Only now I have a whole chapter of fascinating recombinant DNA and gene cloning to read before tomorrow (speaking of which, I went to a pet store the other day to hunt for a birthday present for my darlingest little brother, and they sold GloFish there. It was like a biology geek heaven.)

(I have now discovered linking. Have you noticed? It's fascinating.)

NaBloPoMo! And Halloween Happenings.

Today is November first. And I've taken the challenge.

I will blog EVERY DAY for an entire month. (Or at least I will valiantly attempt to remember to do so.)

I watched one of my friends participate in NaNoWriMo last year. It was an epic endeavor of awesome proportions (50548 words). And supposedly involved giant mushrooms. Alas, to this day, she refuses to let me read it. Hopefully she will participate this year. As will several other of my acquaintances. I, however, am too lazy/too busy (at least I like to think of it that way) to commit to writing 50000 words in a month. Therefore, I have decided to instead participate in NaBloPoMo (which I learned about from reading this amazing blog).

This being Post #1, it is fated for posterity! fame! greatness! a slightly inflated ego! and so on and so forth.

I will tell you about my Halloween night.

Now, college students are famed for their partying skills. I, as a newly established college student, attempted to live up to this image and went to a party on Halloween night. The dress code being, of course, "the sluttier the better" for those of the female persuation, I dressed as a gypsy. While "plunging neckline" may have been too mellow a term, skirtage was ample enough to cover three, possibly four other female partygoers (aside from my friends), who were not wearing much clothing at all.

However, I did encounter many interesting costumes. There was, of course, Sarah Palin, a very pregnant-looking Bristol Palin, and Tina Fey dressed as Sarah Palin. Also expected were Juno (both male and female) and Pauli Bleeker, as well as your standard skimpy firefighter/policewoman/referee/Tinkerbell/french maid/heidi. Of notable interest: the Second Amendment, a centaur, Dr. Horrible, and an iTunes ad.

Because there was a lack of many things, notably breathable air and room to move, we sat outside on the porch for about an hour and then went to the campus' favorite 24/7 breakfast place, which, by the way, has the most amazing brownie sundaes you will ever get for $3.50. It took three girls to finish it. Well, two plus a number of others who stabbed at it with a fork every so often, but it adds up to three (sort of). Also, the waiter was dressed in drag and looked quite pretty. He asked us if his mascara was running or not.

I got back home at three a.m. and did not wake up my roommate! (I should have. I'm still holding that grudge from when she got back from the NIN concert at three and turned on all the lights and ate fried chicken and sprayed so much perfume I now hate my favorite perfume ever. All that while I was trying to sleep, because I have Organic Chemistry at 8 in the mornings. We'll settle this someday.) However, I did kill my left contact because I screwed the cap on the case in the dark and did not realize the contact was stuck in it. Now I have a shredded contact. Which is cool, but not useful.

Overall verdict: it was a pretty amazing night.