Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Confessions

Girl From Nicaragua and I had a talk tonight.

About... stuff.

About life, about love.

Her boyfriend--whom she only recently met--is moving to California this week.

We talked about past loves, current loves, futures loves, loves that might have been and loves that could not be. There was seriousness, there was humor, there was bitterness, there was happiness.

If somewhat presumptuously, I took the liberty to wonder what would have happened had I not, in a moment I both deeply regret and cherish beyond measure, made a choice last August twenty-fourth and penned a missive that ought not to have been yet had a thousand reasons to be so.

It is entirely possible my life would, finally, have had a chance at a beginning of normalcy.

But, from what little retrospect I have, would this normalcy I sometimes pretend to crave have satisfied me? I think not.

I don't know what the future holds, and may come to dread it sooner than I'd like (when what you want is eternity, any time is too soon), but for the moment I am happy.

Monday, June 29, 2009

Today's ramblings

I've been playing around with the new version of Safari--it's a lot like Google Chrome, which I like a bit better than Firefox, but has some annoying characteristics I need to get used to (or perhaps I need to change the settings, but I haven't gotten around to that yet.) I'm still waiting for Chrome to be available for Macs, but it seems like a long wait still... Not to mention that the updated version of Firefox comes out tomorrow, too. This is too much technology for me, but just like candy, you can't have just one bite!

***

I've been reading Dracula, and aside from the nagging feeling that I should have cloves of garlic by my bed at all times, I have the strong urge to say "to-morrow" for no reason at all and call people "dearest Mina" all the time.


***

I've finally mailed Sis' birthday package, which cost about as much as all of her presents combined! $23, that's rather a lot for postage, don't you think? It didn't even weigh a whole pound! And of course, they will take their sweet time to deliver it... 10 days to get to France, and goodness knows how many more to reach her, after La Poste takes up the relay!


***



I saw this little fellow on my way to the bus stop this evening. For some reason, he kept on flattening to the ground every minute or so. I don't know why... I've seen him before, on this exact same tree. Could it be that tomorrow will be lucky for me? (It must be noted that there has not actually been an albino squirrel for some time at the University--merely a colony of blonde squirrels, which have very light fur and appear "albino" to the genetically unschooled. To be albino means that it completely lacks pigment, therefore its fur will be entirely white, and the eyes red and pink.) [Note: any redness here is caused by the camera, it appears that red eye remover does not work on squirrels. Again, I don't know why. Any thought?]

Sunday, June 28, 2009

It's like porn... but for biologists!

I've always been more attracted by documentaries than actual movies.

This weekend, I discovered that Netflix has a rather large collection of them, including a magnificent series about the planet's oceans, with breathtaking photography and narrated by David Attenborough, no less.

5 hours 48 minutes and counting, just this weekend. It's like Wednesday afternoon documentaries at Grandmothers' only better.

I could get used to this.

Friday, June 26, 2009

Portrait de famille

As happens in, I assume, every single family, all of the older relative I have ever met have tried to classify me according to whom I had the most resemblance.

She's got her father's hands. The hair, definitely her mother's side. She's a spitting image of her great-grandmother. No, I swear she looks more like your side of the family. But look at the skin! It's got to be her grandfather!

Eventually, though, it became obvious that I was most like my mother. Place a picture of her at seven next to a picture of me at seven, and you would be hard-pressed to tell which is which.

Until the summer before my thirteenth birthday, I had never seen a picture of my mother as a child. When Sister Cousin and I were looking through boxes of forgotten boxes, one afternoon in the attic, a picture of my mother and her four sisters commandeered nearly fifteen minutes of our attention.

Dis... C'est toi, ça? Où bien ta mère? Putain, c'est pas possible! Vous vous ressemblez trop!

I'd never noticed the similarity before, but as I grew older it became more apparent.

Mother and I now look so similar that someone has actually mistaken us for twins in a restaurant once (whether that is a good thing or a bad thing, I do not know.)

Several years ago, one particularly mild New Year's Eve, my family and I spent a week in City By The Sea, enjoying the warm weather and surprisingly balmy water.

I was walking back to the water, to enjoy a final dip before we left to go eat dinner at a restaurant, when I happened to run into my mother who was getting out of the water.

Time stopped.

Or rather, it zoomed forward.

I knew, in this one single instant, that I would look exactly like her in thirty years. I'd previously owned a red swimsuit like she was wearing now, which made it all the more easy to imagine.

Coming out of the water, she had the same hair as I knew I did in that moment. Dark, uncurled under the weight of the water. The same nose, with a little bump on the end. The same smile, thin lips open and teeth showing. The same posture, arms angled slightly out and shoulders hunched against the drips and the wind. The same gesture to tuck a strand of hair behind an ear, out of the way.

It's a strange feeling, to be confronted with one's future so certainly when one is only fifteen.

Tonight, I was walking home from the grocery store, thinking about my family, as I had been the whole afternoon. I noticed my shadow projected on the sidewalk by a streetlamp.

And it struck me, for some reason, that if I cut my hair short, like I've secretly been wanting to do for several years, I would look, save for the hair color, exactly like my grandmother sixty years earlier. The same nose, the same smile. I would look so very similar to all of my great-aunts, to my great-grandmother. And to who knows who else?

It's an odd feeling. It's terrifying to know what I will look like in the future, almost exactly, but it is also, in a very shallow and selfish way, oddly comforting.

My grandmother is eighty and regularly hikes and skis and swims. My mother is nearly fifty and can wear a two-piece bathing suit unashamedly. My great-grandmother lived to be ninety-six and to meet ten of her great-grandchildren.

The thing with family resemblance is--it tends to run in families.

French philosphers are all cynics

Myself included.

I just spent two hours debating my fairly radical viewpoints on humankind with The Boy (my argument has slightly evolved since I first considered it). All very civilly, of course, but it got rather heated. It is too late in the night for me to completely recount all that was discussed (although I will need to do so at some point--how many ideas were lost for want of having been written down?), but in short he argued for the humans and I argued for the entire living world. Both of us saw a bit of the other's side, and discovered ideas over the course of the discussion that we hadn't considered before.

On the whole, however, he refuses, as I expect the majority of people to do, to accept my point of view. I know it's a lot harder theory to consider than the Earth orbiting around the Sun, but the fact remains that, however flawed I know this theory still is, and how difficult it is for any human to accept (for obvious reasons), it makes sense to me.

I guess that there are just things that are beyond human comprehension, and once you get around to trying to understand the meaning of life, it gets fairly complicated.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Thesaurus issues

We spent a fair amount of time in lab this afternoon pondering the meaning of "module timetable," which a fellow student headed for study abroad in the UK later this year had to provide to some bureaucracy or other, until we magically thought to Google the term and found that it meant "class schedule".

How we all speak the same language yet still manage to confuse ourselves utterly bamboozles me.

I like the extra vocabulary, though.

***

We also spent ten minutes discussing the definition of Biophysics ("calculating the force and angle with which you have to chuck a cow to get it to land on the X"), so I'm not actually sure how productive the literary excursion was.

***

I'm unusually exhausted this week due to very long hours in the lab (but at least they're not wasted! It's working!), it's off to bed for me. Good night everyone!

Monday, June 22, 2009

Misfortunes

Summer is making its presence known. Today was unbearably hot, and it will get even hotter during the week. I know I signed up for it when I chose to remain in Texas, but it is unusually dry for this time of year. The City is already four inches of rainfall short of where it ought to be, and it is already in a semiarid climate zone.

We discovered today that the A/C in the kitchen is broken: the ceiling was leaking and, upon opening the trapdoor that hides the cooling unit, we were showered with cold water, mold, and rotted wood. 

Not a good sign.
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Sunday, June 21, 2009

Home in the City

Childish Booksmart Friend spent the night here in the City while her parents went to a wedding she wasn't invited to.

She came bearing a box of her mother's cookies. Childish Booksmart Friend's mother is, without contest, the best baker of cookies on the planet. She has about a hundred different recipes, and all of them are delicious and decadent (not to mention surprisingly healthier than most baked goods due to a complicated bit of culinary magic involving cocoa powder and applesauce).

For the first three hours she was there, we talked about school and the future, and ended up working online practice problems of the Complicated Graduate School Entrance Exam because we had heard from older students it was fiendishly difficult, more so than Money-Sucking Standardized Test Corporation's College Entrance Exam (which was on the whole somewhat of a laugh). After deciding that we needed to spend a bit more time on freerice.com to improve our vocabulary for the analogy and antonyms section, we read several of the philosophy prompts, which were quite interesting, and debated the argumentation section, which was a breeze after the extensive training we'd received from Twain-Obsessed Teacher. We moved on to the logic and reasoning section, which was easier than expected because the problems weren't exactly mathematical problems, they were logical brainteasers of the kind you might actually encounter in real life and sometimes find in the back of the newspaper next to the crosswords section. The verdict: there is nothing to worry overly much about, but it would be a good idea to work on not making stupid mistakes and thinking soundly every step of the way.

We had dinner with Internet-Savvy Friend at Mothers' Day Restaurant, then went back to the apartment, where we fooled around on YouTube for a while, then talked until late in the night (or early in the morning). A typical night, quoi.

This morning, her parents took us both back to Mothers' Day Restaurant (where we had had lunch with a combination of parents and children for an early Mothers' Day a couple of months ago) for a Fathers' Day Brunch. I think of Childish Booksmart Friend's parents a bit as my "second parents" because of all the time and care and attention they brought to me when my real parents were a bit lacking in that respect. They are truly wonderful people.

Now, I am listening to Toccata & Fugue in d minor, an old favorite of mine, one in a list of thousands of songs I am listening to today in the background in celebration of the Fête de la Musique and the summer solstice.

Enjoy the day and remember to make a wish before midnight!

Close to home

I found out today that one of my acquaintances has swine flu.

Who'd a thunk?

Friday, June 19, 2009

Consolation prize

Daytime. Interior light. A molecular biology laboratory.

DOCTOR: Do you like madeleines?
ARCHDUCHESS: Of course! (Sighs wistfully) I haven't had a decent one in a whole year, though. The fine art of bakery is lost on Americans.
D: Well then. C'mere. (They move to the hallway. DOCTOR hands ARCHDUCHESS a lemon madeleine from a paper bag and takes one for himself.)
A: (Eating madeleine) This is delicious.
D: Of course, I'm only giving this to you for a reason.
A: (Mouth is full, spews crumbs) Fwatza reefon?
D: (Sighs) I've got bad news for you.
A: (Lifts eyebrow) What's the news?
D: You know the PCR you've been working on? [Ed. note: PCR is a very, very long and rather complicated process, not to mention that you have to get everything juuuust right for it to work. There are usually several small altars to the PCR gods located around the campus every research University fit to claim the title.] The one that didn't work yesterday and that you attempted to optimize and redo this morning, three hours ago? (ARCHDUCHESS nods) Well, I gave you the wrong primer. (ARCHDUCHESS' heart stops) I... I designed it wrong.
A: What happened?
D: I forgot to flip the sequence. You have a tube full of junk that doesn't match your DNA.
A: (Life flashing before her eyes) What now?
D: I ordered some new ones. They should be here next week.
A: (Somberly) More vacation time for me, I suppose.
D: Actually, you should get working on that parallel project, in the meantime.

***

Sooooo, that's about 36 hours of my life down the metaphorical drain (metaphorical because the result of those 36 hours is technically a biohazard, so it's in a -20°C freezer and not a sink, which is fortunate).

But all's not lost.

In any case, I got practice out of it, didn't I? And a really good madeleine. And I saved my cultures by refrigerating them a day early by coming in today.

Stuff happens. In any case, it ended up being a good Friday, so I shan't complain (too much).

Thursday, June 18, 2009

We are alive

Tonight, Girl From Nicaragua, three of her friends and I went to see Goran Bregovic and his Wedding and Funeral Orchestra. I had never heard of him, but one of the friends had and recommended him as the greatest artist she had ever heard.

***

I have never seen, nor expected to see, the audience get up and dance in the middle of a concert hall. Where, only a few months ago, a breathless and utterly silent audience had listened to Itzhak Perlman, a thousand people were now shouting, jumping, dancing, clapping.

At first, it was only the twenty or so fans, those who had brought a Serbian flag and were waving it around. Little by little, at each new song, a dozen or so more people stood up. Eventually, everyone was up and dancing. Couple waltzed, twisted, and tangoed in the aisle, hands were up in the air, strangers held hands and self-consciousness was forgotten in the happiness.

This is the kind of music you hear at weddings. The kind that keeps you on your feet until four in the morning, celebrating. There was also funeral music, when the otherwordly voices of the Bulgarian singers sent shivers down the spines of all listeners. While it is, after all, both a wedding and a funeral band, it's obvious they have a preference for the happy times. "Don't die, we're expensive for funerals!"

It was the kind of music that wakes up a universal urge to get up and dance.

A concert best enjoyed on your feet.

***

I wasn't able to find a decent clip on YouTube, but I think I may go and buy the albums/watch the movies because this is not an experience to be forgotten. If he happens to be giving a concert in your vicinity, I highly recommend that you go. You won't regret it.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

The Good:

Girl From Nicaragua and I finally figured out what was making the chirping noise in the kitchen: a smoke detector with low batteries... in a plastic bag in a cupboard over the sink! Apparently, the previous tenants replaced the old detectors but did not throw them away for some reason. They left the batteries in, the batteries wore out, and the rest is doubly history. No more imaginary crickets for us!

The Bad:

I woke up this morning, made a couple unpleasant discoveries health-wise, freaked out, went to the University Health Services, saw a nurse, the nurse freaked out, sent me to the laboratory for a urine test and then on to Urgent Care. It's nothing too bad, but I'll be taking antibiotics for a week (looks like I was so intent on getting colonies in lab that I decided to grow some E. coli myself) and am now $100 poorer--$16 for the test, $18 for medication, and $70 for a summer 'subscription' to Health Services, since I am not enrolled for classes (even though I am a University employee). On the plus side, I don't have to pay for future medical consultations this summer ($60 each), and the extra $10 for the subscription seemed worth it because I just know I'm going to end up in there again at some point, somehow. Even though I'm usually a careful type of person. Stuff just happens to me.

The Ugly:

We have some new neighbors who like loud music and parties. One of them is quite rude, the other is decent as far as I can tell, and so far they turned the music down like we asked them to. Developments pending.

Monday, June 15, 2009

Hot stuff

It's official, summer is here: we had the highest temperatures so far this year today.

Officially, 38°C, and not a cloud on the horizon. Inside the University, it's probably several degrees higher. The whole week is going to be like that.

It feels like you are stepping into an oven when you walk out of a cool and air-conditioned building. The heat radiates off the pavement while the sun beats from above, leaving no stone uncooked.


It could be worse. At least it's not muggy.

Sunday, June 14, 2009

The Nightmare

I rarely dream, or at least, have dreams that I can remember. Last night, however, I had a dream I can recall in every detail.

We are outside, in a meadow that could be someone's backyard or the grounds of some small country castle. A small river is flowing on the lower edge, behind a screen of trees. There is a stone wall on the upper edge of the meadow. I am with Mother, Sis, Sister Cousin, Bro, and a couple more unidentified female family members. There are people around us too, thousands of people. It feels like a picnic or a wedding or some sort of large gathering of people. I don't notice faces, but I see that everyone is dressed in the same fashion--jeans and a tshirt. Groups of people assemble by color, without effort. Green, blue, yellow, red--I can see pools of color. I know the colors mean something, but I don't know what.

Out of nowhere, people in army uniforms and guns appear and pour out of the gate in the stone wall. I know that they are going to shoot us. For some reason, I decide that sitting in a circle with our backs outside will protect us. I and Sister Cousin gather our family in a small circle and huddle up. My heart is pounding, and at the same time I feel happy.

Without warning, Bro jumps up and runs to the creek to join a little girl in a pastel pink dress--she can't be more than four or five. Oblivious of the danger, they crouch by the water, hunting for frogs. For a minute or so, we look at them, strangely unfazed.

Suddenly, I feel as if my stomach filled with lead. I remember having a dream like this. I remember the girl running after the frog, all the way up the slope, and falling in front of the soldiers. I remember the shot, the silence, then the panic, the utter terror, the people running everywhere. Strangely, there was no blood.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see splashes on the water--a frog is jumping, skipping on the surface like a well-aimed stone. I jump to my feet and run as fast as I can toward Bro and the little girl, who has already begun to follow the escaped frog. Strangely, she is running much faster than me. I fear I won't catch her in time.

By some miracle, I reach her several meters before the gate. I hoist her in my arms and yell out to whoever is near me. Courez! Vite! Ils vont tous nous tuer!

I don't know who heard me, I don't know where my family is, but I run. I remember it is the way I headed last time, but I also remember there was a trap. I think that there is another way to escape. I run.

Suddenly, there is a crowd of people in blue shirts and blue graduation robes on the side. They wanted to finish the ceremony before running away, and are just now getting out of their seats in an open-air amphitheater. I don't remember them being here last time.

I run down a flight of stone steps, there are mosses and plants growing between the cracks.

The river is at the bottom, much wider than the creek in the meadow. People are keep going down the stairs, wading straight into the water. They pass under an arch. When I get to the water, I see a stone statue bobbing in the water. The head turns, and I realize that it is an escaped convict dressed to blend in with the statue he is standing on.

The water disappears, and I am in a room. You can still see the river through the arch. Mom walks out of the elevator. I am not surprised to see her. The little girl I was holding has disappeared. I was waiting for Mom before going into the river.

Together, we walk out. There is something like a quay, and adults all dressed in red are sitting on what seems to be a barge. Mom gets in and sits down. The soldiers are posted all around the quay, but for some reason cannot see me. I know I am not supposed to get in the barge.

The barge is moored with plants. Someone barks an order. One by one, the adults throw the plants off the barge. Mom reaches towards the plant closest to her, but I tell her that it is the last one holding the barge to the quay, and that if the barge leaves, they will be taken somewhere and killed. I remembered that from the other dream. She puts the plant back in the barge.

A short soldier with a ponytail notices this, and she walks over to us. She cannot see me, but yells at Mother for not throwing the plant away.

Before she can do anything, a voice booms out of nowhere. It is the leader of the soldiers, who is explaining why he kidnapped everyone, but I can't hear the words clearly. I don't care. When he is done talking, a young woman wearing a red target on her white shirt jumps out from behind a row of soldiers, yells that it is inhuman, shoots the leader, and claims power in the name of the Italian Government. Someone shoots her too.

It seems like the world is about to become a bloody brawl for control when a man in a dark suit and a mustache, who looks suspiciously like Hitler, stands up and makes a speech and claims power for himself in the name of the greater good. Everyone cheers.

I toss and hit my head on the wall. I wake up. My heart is pounding so fast I have trouble breathing. I look at my alarm clock, there are only thirty minutes left until it rings. I turn it off and get up.

Friday, June 12, 2009

Surprise!

I walk into the lab.

A mentor passes me by on the way to my bench.

"You should look really closely at the plates you put in the incubator yesterday." She smiles.

My heart stops.

I run over to the square box, throw the door open...

And immediately notice the pale, translucent white dot.

A colony! Something, hopefully a successful clone, probably a mutant, has survived! It's the first time in six months.


The 1812 Overture played in my head for the rest of the day.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

It's a strange feeling

to know that my nearest relative (in any sense of the word) is 6 000 km away.

They're all gone to France for the summer, and I remain the only member of my family this side of the Pond.

I wouldn't say it feels lonely, but it's slightly sobering. I can't rely on my parents at all for the next two months. It's likely that I won't even be in contact with them aside from letters, and those take at least a couple of weeks to cross over.

The baby bird is out of the nest.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Incidentally

I noticed that my chosen pseudonym was Alice, that we had a bothersome White Rabbit in our backyard, and that I own an Alice in Wonderland teaset.

All of these are unrelated.

Perhaps I am a bit too much taken by my love of Carroll's universe? In any case, I'd rather laugh at the coincidence than worry about my soundness of mind.

I think I'll have a cup of tea. Fancy joining me?

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Playing with chemicals

An occupational hazard of working in a laboratory includes unexpected chemical reactions when one is cleaning up after some procedures.

I have learned, early on, that bleach makes brown paper towels turn yellow and cell pellet dark orange.

Today, however, I was cleaning up a waste beaker after purifying DNA from a gel like I had many times before, but to my surprise the yellow solution turned lilac when I added soap and water!

I don't actually know what chemicals were in the beaker, as I was using a kit labeled with the oh-so-helpful names of "Buffer QG," "Buffer PE," and "Buffer EB" (the company wants to keep the ingredients secret so we don't buy chemicals in bulk and make our own kits but instead pay $450 per box). It is quite likely that the basic pH of the soap and water combined with the mix of other liquids (I know there was at least some isopropanol and ethanol in there) caused the color change, but I cannot be sure.

My high school chemistry teacher would have a fit if she found out that the lab safety rules of her lab are mostly disregarded here (No goggles? Gasp! No aprons? Goodness me!). Fortunately, we handle the chemicals (most of them, except for ethidium bromide [which we handle in quantities no greater than 0.5µL], are not harmful) in such tiny quantities that it does not matter that much (Oh nooooo, I spilled 5µL of buffer! What ever shall I do?)

It's somewhat of a far cry from the idea of chemistry I had when I was a child (exploding things in Erlenmeyer flasks), but it's still rather nice to be able to play in a lab. The next time we are expecting a delivery of frozen chemicals (and consequently the box of dry ice they are shipped in) I will bring a bottle of bubble soap to play with during lunch break.

Monday, June 8, 2009

Backlog

I don't have any late mail to answer like this fellow here, but I haven't actually read any blogs since... Goodness me, about a week!

I'll get on to that, chop chop, as soon as I get some sleep. Today was a long day.

G'night y'all!

Sunday, June 7, 2009

By the Kitchen's Way

It is peculiar, the bonds you form in the kitchen.

I've liked to invite friends over to cook something since I was little.

It started with chocolate cakes--easy, simple, always satisfying: "Yeah, it's not baked entirely through, but man, is it delicious!"

Then, a different culture: "A cake? OK. What kind of mix do you have?" A mix? I, madam, bake from scratch!

My repertory diversified: "I don't really like cream cheese. Can we make a cheesecake without it?"

My friends had varying levels of experience: "The recipe said a tablespoon of sugar. That is not exactly a tablespoon. Let me level it for you." ... "A leek? Never heard of it. How do you peel it?"

The results varied, too: "You are the goddess of lasagna!" ... "I think the smoke is clearing up..."

So did technology: "Just put it in the machine for ten minutes, it will stir it for you." ... "Looks like I'm going to have to beat those egg whites with a fork."


Girl From Nicaragua and I have started cooking together over the past few days.

First, a pie. She was having trouble with the crust, and I was hanging around the kitchen, talking to her. It seemed natural to show her how to crumble the dough.

Next, lunch. "I have some tilapia fillets, but I'm not going to eat them all. Want to help me?" "Sure! Let's stew them with tomatoes and onions!"

She points out the best place in town for fresh fruits and vegetables. I describe the taste of rabbit and how to cook a duck. She shows me a strange wooden utensil we found in a drawer and explains that it is used traditionally in Nicaragua to make a "super-drink" out of corn flour and spices. I list the ingredients of cheesecake.


Food is a very private business--after all, it is your palate doing the tasting, and a lifetime of memories are stored within your taste buds--just ask Proust. Consequently, sharing a kitchen produces a kind of intimacy that would be hard to find elsewhere. It's a tricky business to start with, but it gets easier as you go along.

A moment for the world

Tonight I watched the newly released (as of June 5th) movie "Home" by Yann Arthus-Bertrand.

It puts into images what I feel for the planet, better than I could ever write it.

Coincidentally, I've just finished (re)reading "The Poisonwood Bible" by Barbara Kingsolver.

It puts into words what seems like the whole of humanity.


Both are, in my opinion, masterpieces. I strongly urge you to listen to what both have to say.

***

"Home" is visible online until June 14th.

Friday, June 5, 2009

On Religion

I recognize her.

I sit down next to her, ask her how she is doing. We begin to talk about classes and research. She works in my Seminar professor's lab, which I admire and have visited several times.

We sit in silence for a few minutes.

She turns to me and asks quietly, "Are you a believer?"

"Pardon?"

"Are you a believer--are you a Christian?"

"No."

"What is your faith? Do you have a faith?"

"I used to. I don't anymore."

"I believe that all who call upon His name shall be saved. This is my stop, but call me if you want to talk about it."

She walks off the bus.


I know her, but not that well. We played together in a quintet several weeks ago, and are both part of Highly Selective Science Program. Other than that, I've never seriously talked to her or become acquainted beyond the exchange of names.


After some thought, I realize that I answered her incorrectly. I do have a faith.

On Earth, I believe in life. I believe in all things that grow and live together, forests and oceans and deserts. I believe in chemistry, in DNA and proteins and neural impulses. I believe in psychology, in stimuli and intentions and learning. I believe in physics, in protons and neutrons and electrons. I believe that life is far too complex for a human mind to fully understand, a dimension beyond our own where those sciences interweave and interact perfectly to make the world such as we know it.

In humans, I believe in love. I believe in kindness and friendship and love, in peace and freedom and equality. I believe in what has failed to be, but may yet be, what is seen as weakness but conquers all.

In the Universe, I believe in what I do not know. I believe in planets and their suns, galaxies and nebulae and black holes, photons and pions and muons, the four forces and the Higgs boson. Once again beyond our comprehension--how could we fathom anything as gigantic as a single galaxy, let alone the whole of the Universe, when we are mere specks who once believed--and still do--that they are the center of everything? How could we understand anything as minuscule as a neutrino, which passes through our body by the billion every second and at the same time dictates the behavior of the Universe?

That is what I believe in. That is my faith.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Some people you meet at bus stops get a bit too inquisitive sometimes

As far as he knows, I am Alice, a 20-year-old tuba performance major from Calgary, Canada.

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Audience

As I was waiting at the bus stop this morning, a construction crew was tearing up the sidewalk.

I watched.

A bulldozer lifted one end of the section, two and a half meters of solid concrete, on its end like a lever. One man placed a small chunk of concrete where the slab had been, and the engine dropped it back on top. It snapped cleanly into three smaller pieces.

I watched.

The dust was stirred. It reminded me of my grandfather, building things.

I watched.

He shoveled gravel and cement dust in the old bétonnière, connected to the tractor for power. The mixture inside turned and turned--sloshTHUMP, sloshTHUMP.

I watched.

He kneeled on the floor of the chicken coop, smearing the whitish paste with a flat mortarboard. Countless times, I had seen this gesture. When he tiled the kitchen floor. When he made the bathroom. When he transformed the back room into a bedroom. When he changed the potato room into a cellar. When he tore down the first chicken coop and replaced it with a second living room and yet another bedroom. When he built the pigeon volière I'd been asking for since I learned that birds could fly and decided they'd be happier there than in a small birdcage.

I wasn't allowed to touch, but I watched.

The woman was moving her arms over a dark sidewalk. Her hand held a piece of chalk. A drawing took shape. Before I could see what it was, my father pulled my arm and I had to move on.

I watched.

The men clad in yellow slickers threw dozens, hundreds of fish on the ice. In the early morning light, bids were under way for the night's catch, fresh out of the ocean. My five year old hand held on to my father's.

"Are you here to buy some fish?"
"No, she's just watching."

I watched.

The cook threw a handful of onions in the pan, waved his spatula around in one flowing movement and grabbed spoonfuls of several sauces and spices. He angled the wok down and there was flame all over. In one smooth wave of his hands, the fire had consumed itself and the dish was ready.

I watched.

A line of ants crept along the crack in the stairs. They walked along the stair all the way to the wall, disappearing into a crack. Their nest had obviously been disturbed, and they were in the process of moving out.

"Did you lose something?" Someone stops next to me, looking concerned.
"No, I'm just watching." I receive a strange look in return for my simple reply.

Still I watched.

The Venerable Great-Uncle brought his dog to obedience training. The dogs and their owners went round and round in a circle, exercising various commands.

I watched.

The Venerable Great-Uncle brought his dog to obedience training a second time.

I watched.

"Aren't you bored? I though you came because you felt like you had to, like my grandchildren did."
"No. I came because I like to watch."

I like to watch.

Watching doesn't take much, but watching well takes more concentration than doing nothing.

I am sad when the people I am with move too fast for me to watch. There are so many interesting things to see on the side. When I go to a festival or an exposition or a museum, I prefer to go by myself, although I do miss the company a bit. By myself, though, I can take the time to stop and watch. I can stay as long as I please, watching whatever I find.

Watching is interesting. Drawing a portrait, fishing off a dock, cooking a tart, cleaning a railway station, feeding a hippopotamus, carving leather, writing a letter, playing an instrument.

Everything is interesting. I don't know why more people stop and just watch.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Bonding time

In the last couple days, I have barely seen my roommate (or rather housemate). We both work all day, and she is finishing up her dissertation so she stays in her room for extended periods of time.

However, tonight we had dinner almost together and watched a movie.

She'd originally brought the movie so she could watch it in her room while I had two friends over, but Crazy Redhead Mathematically Inclined Friend remembered at the last moment that it was her sister's eighth grade graduation ceremony, so the evening was rescheduled.

We talked about where we came from, what we did, what we liked. She likes seafood and I like cookie dough. I think seafood is too chewy and she could never fathom the idea of eating cookie dough. She's thirty-one, I'm eighteen. She studies Anthropology, I study Biology. She wants to move back to Nicaragua, I want to stay in the US.

She is very nice.

We watched "The Dark Knight," and were both very glad not to be watching it alone when the scary parts came up.

I have no idea what one is supposed to do when one lives with a complete stranger, but I think this may be working itself out very simply. What a wonderful feeling!

Monday, June 1, 2009

In which I am further frustrated by bureaucratic proceedings

My ongoing battle with bureaucracy continues:

Being a French citizen, living in the United States, and having recently turned eighteen, I received an envelope in the mail describing in detail the procedure to follow so as to fulfill my patriotic duty and elect a (one, not several) representative for the entire Southern United States to the Council Representative Of French People Living In Places Other Than France. Titillated at the thought of exercising my newly acquired and much longed-for right, I eagerly turned the page to find the candidates' bulletins and little propaganda spiel.

And found one page.

Apparently, the vote is so hotly contested (or not, as the case would appear) that only one person bothered to run for the position.

Too overcome by the novelty of the whole process and too cheap to spend money on stamps, I logged on to the website in order to finish registration and cast my ballot online.

I was greeted by several Astutely Constructed but Rather Obnoxious and Numerous Ypsiloid MonikerS. Eventually, I ended up on a Portal Of Very Important Information, which instructed me to enter my passport number and electronic voter ID.

A message popped up: "The number you entered does not match your file. Please retry or use the number on your national identification card."

I retyped the code slowly.

"The number you entered does not match your file. Please retry or use the number on your national identification card."

I tried the number on the card.

"The number you entered does not match your file. Please retry or use the number on your national identification card."

A question mark blinked hopefully at me. I clicked it.

"After further consideration, we have decided that we cannot review your file. Please contact a representative from your consulate as soon as possible."

"Further consideration," my foot.

I decided that I'd wasted enough time and did not care enough about casting a ballot that would not make a difference anyway to undertake the long and tedious process of contacting the consulate.

damn not given


The patriotic duty will have to wait some time longer.

First day of work

9:00 - Showed up at lab, bright and early. Nobody there.

9:15 - Beginning to suspect something. Went to research office. Doctor's whereabouts unknown.

9:24 - Took a nap in the nice couches in Confederation Edifice

10:03 - Back to lab. Doctor still not there, but Professor Who Shares the Lab has set shop and agrees to supervise.

10:04 - Realized that our side of the room is a complete mess. Went on cleaning spree. Organized receipts worth around $50 000 in reagents and scientific equipment. Ponder the fact that research is expensive. Redistributed lab supplies equally in cabinets around the room. Labeled things.

10:36 - Noticed fossilized gunk at the bottom of used pipette tip jars. Used half a bottle of bleach.

11:18 - Doctor shows up. Notices clean lab. Comments on the amount of boredom it must have necessitated. Organizes lab plan for the day.

13:49 - Lunch break. Turtles and pigeons curious as ever about the contents of my lunchbox.

14:31 - Back to lab. Wait for ligation to finish. Proceed to transformation.

16:04 - Place Petri dishes in incubator, skip all the way to bus stop. Have accomplished a week's worth of work in a day.

***

So far, there are only two other students in lab, although more are expected to show up in the coming days. It feels nice to not be crowded and have no time constraints. Looking forward to defrosting of -80°C freezer, as it supposedly leads to sneak attack on rival Integrative Biology labs and snowfight in the middle of June.