Why?

Dad is back.

He is the only one home, the first one to enter the house in a little under two months. He found the A/C broken, two jasmines and the big oak in the front yard dead.

And a week ago, Mom told him she didn't want to come back to live with him.

My father is not an emotional person. I rarely get more than a smile when I present good news or an accomplishment to him. I've seen him cry only once. His rages, on the other hand, are terrifying.

But he was not angry.

He was heartbroken.

He didn't say it, but it showed on his face, in his sighs, in the hand he passed over his eyes.

I talked to him on Skype, for the first time in a long time. All I wanted was to tell him it would be all right.

But it would have been a lie. A blatant lie.

Things aren't going to be all right. Things haven't been all right for a long time now. Part of it is his fault. Part of it is my mother's fault.

There are things for which I will never forgive my father. But this is something for which I will never forgive my mother.

I can understand that she hates being here and that she wants her children to have a French education. I can understand that she wants to lead her own life, without following anyone or being dependent on anything.

But I can't understand that she came all this way, she let us move and grow up in what amounts to a second life, before deciding to go her way.

I can't understand that she willingly chose to follow Dad here, to a better job, a bigger house, a better life than we've ever had before. And leave because she has vague ideas about getting a diploma in architecture and plopping my siblings down in a boarding school somewhere. I can't understand that she can't understand that we don't belong in France anymore. She might, but Bro and Sis don't. I can't understand that she doesn't see that she won't be able to make it alone.
I can't understand that she wants to end this family.

It's been coming for such a long time, but I don't want to believe it. I don't. I can't.

Why is it that a child, any child, the product of a union of love for better or for worse, a child whose parents ought, by the laws of nature, to love unconditionally, could be faced with such a horror?

Why?

I know there are far, far worse things in the world. But to me, right now, this is everything. Right now, I don't even want to think about anybody but myself. Right now, I am not even thinking about my brother and sister, six thousand miles away, who are asking themselves that same question.

Right now, I am nothing more than a child crying herself to sleep.

Trekkin'

SPOILER ALERT! (Although, really, this movie came out nearly eighteen years ago, so I don't feel too bad spoilin' some of it.)

Tonight I watched Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, and I must say it is my favorite to date.

Maybe it's because I've seen it fragment by fragment instead of all in one sitting, but I do enjoy the political discussions, the philosophical debates, and the odd bit of humor.

Quoting Shakespeare seems a smidgen outdated in the 23rd century, but the script is well-written and logical.

It is with a heavy heart that I must accept that both the quoting of Ahab's revenge in the climactic moments of The Wrath of Khan and the last words of Sydney Carton as a eulogy to the greatest Vulcan who ever lived [scroll to next-to-last quotation] (the combination of the latter two I still maintain is completely unfair, especially since either would be enough to make me bawl my eyes out) have been bested by this opus, which, although lacking such a magnificent villain as Khan, is a masterfully executed celebration of the bit of humanity in all of us (Although some would "find this rather insulting, Captain.")

And also because Kirk holds the following dialogue with his (evil) double:
Kirk: "Can't believe I kissed you!" (note: Kirk n°2 used to be an attractive humanoid female in the relatively recent past.)
Kirk n°2: "Must've been your lifelong ambition."

And that, ladies and gents, is James T. Kirk in a nutshell. The galaxy's greatest philanderer, and with an ego to boot.

Kirk, you fancy bastard. I love you and your slightly misguided ways. And Spock, of course. Nothing but logic and, if you know where to look, all too human emotions. And McCoy, too. Everyone needs a grouchy but lovable Southern doctor.

The Glad Game, round 2

Life with a cast does tend to be harder than usual... I have to tie it up in a plastic bag to shower, I can't hold on to things, typing is rather difficult, driving is a pain, and my arm is starting to smell funny (there may or may not be a dead skunk in there.)

On the other hand, I made cream cheese pound cake, so tomorrow will be delicious. And the Medical Institute people who give us grant money will be visiting the lab, so there will be a lot of posing and wearing lab coats and looking knowledgeable. Also, Salamander Lady posted a job opening for her lab. Ecology and entomology. I want to give it a try, but 1) I've already been a more-active-than-necessary student in her class, so it might seem a bit stalkerish, and 2) the Doctor really wants me to stay as a mentor in the Fall/Spring (whooo, I might have a real job!)

We shall see.

In the meantime, I will attempt to clean up and rewrap my arm so it looks presentable.

Ballerina

A few says before my eighth birthday, I took the entrance exam for the Conservatoire de Paris.

I remember standing there, barefoot, in my green leotard, waiting for my turn. Then I was callled into the judging room. I bowed to the examiners and waited for orders. They asked for a few steps, to judge the quality of my previous training. Then, one of them stepped forward and began to stretch out and arrange my limbs in various positions, testing the extent of my flexibility and ease of movement.

Deuxième année? Première. Elle a du talent, mais pas assez souple.

I hear comments going back and forth above my head. From what I hear, I'm accepted, but it looks like I won't be skipping a year. It doesn't matter: I'm in.

That's one step towards my dream of someday being a danseuse étoile.

The first years all wear pastel pink uniforms. We stand at the bar, upright, with hair in a tight bun and no jewelry. The piano starts to play, and we move through the familiar motions.

Première, deuxième, troisième, quatrième, cinquième. Rond de jambe, rond de jambe, coupé, coupé... Plus droit! Your skull is attached to the ceiling with an invisible string, don't slouch! Port de main, curve your fingers!

At the end of the year, we gathered in a small classroom on the first floor and presented our routine to the thirty or so parents gathered there.

I moved on to the second year. Pastel blue uniforms, this time. This was the first serious year, at the end of which we would have to pass exams to move on to the next year. We were a roomful of serious ballerinas, working in a line, sometimes wavering on uncertain toes, with the odd crooked arm and out-sticking knee. I began to practice outside of class, stretching in my tiny room, repeating steps in the small living room of the apartment, asking the teacher for a tape recording of the music so I could practice to it.

When time came for the exams, we all huddled in the dressing room, all fifteen or so of us, with a twinge in our stomachs as one by one we walked out the door and into the classroom.

There, with only the familiar piano behind me, I faced the three judges, curtsied, and waited for the music to begin.

My heart pounding, I went through all of the familiar motions, my lips outstretched in a smile. When I was done, I curtsied again and walked back to the dressing room.

An hour later, when everyone was done, we all filed into the classroom, curtsied again to the judges, and waited for the announcement of the grades.

The first name came up. Dix-huit, mention très bien. The girl stepped forward, curtsied, and stepped back into line. Of course she would have performed the best. She was tall and graceful, lucky enough to begin her transformation early, unlike the rest of us who were still very much children.

The second name. Seize, mention bien. The girl stepped forward, curtsied, and stepped back in line. Another logical choice. A perfect pupil, who always listened intently and reproduced the professor's movements with precision.

The third name. Mine. Quatorze, mention assez bien. Dumbstruck, I stepped forward, curtsied, and stepped back in line. Everything after that point happened in a haze. I was the third best in the class. I could not believe it.

In the final gradesheet I received from my professor, a comment: A du talent. Peut aller loin, si elle travaille sur la souplesse.

I floated all the way home.

The next year, however, the plans for Moving To America went underway. My parents did not have enough money to keep sending me to the conservatoire.

I never really went back to ballet. There was a brief stint, in the summer after my junior year, when I signed up for classes in a (religious) studio close to my neighborhood. For a month, despite my obvious lack of technique, I fumbled along in the back of the class and twirled and jumped and arabesqued in the living room and went back to stretching every morning.

Summer ended, I became busy. But, really, I was too embarrassed to go back to the studio and start in a beginner class again. I clearly did not have the technique nor the years of training.

I do get the odd comment on my abilities to stretch further than most people, or my habit of going on tiptoe and doing dance steps at home when I am bored, or once (and most flattering) my (apparently) dancer's legs, but the truth is, I'll never be a danseuse étoile, star of the Mariinsky or Bolshoi or Ballet de Paris.

I don't mind. Not all childhood dreams come true and, the fact of the matter is, I love academia too much to consecrate my life to anything else.

I do wish I hadn't given up before going en pointe, though...

The end?

Girl From Nicaragua will be gone all of this coming week to housesit for one of her professors. That means I have the house to myself.

That also means that I might not see her again before I leave.

That brings to mind the thought that I am leaving soon.

Which means my days with The Boy are numbered.

And that Dad and Sis will also be coming back in a week.

If Sis comes back at all.

Which means that, in a week, I will know if Mom is coming back or if my family will be split up into a million tiny pieces on two separate continents, thousands of miles, and immeasurable amounts of water.

I wish, I wish that my last week of insouciance lasts forever. Even if I'm stalling for time that may already be up.

Athena, you who bade time to stop for Odysseus and his fair Penelope, please lend me time. Time to pretend, time to forget, time to hide my head under a blanket and make believe I am still safe.

Being a further account of my summer misadventures

I predicted, earlier this summer, that I might need medical assistance again at some later point. And guess what?

For the past two weeks, my wrist had been paining me somewhat--nothing serious, just a twinge when I moved it, like what you might feel for a few days after you hit it. Except I didn't hit it. And it didn't go away after a few days.

Wednesday, it started hurting to the point that I thought I might have sprained it. I applied ointment and wrapped it in bandages and hoped that would help.

Last night, the pain intensified. I emptied an entire ice tray and hoped it would do something.

This morning, it was so acute that I had trouble keeping composure on the bus and bypassed the lab to go straight to the SSB (fucking SSB, might I add). The info desk rushed me over to "Urgent" Care where a nurse took my temperature and blood pressure and I was told a doctor would be with me in a few minutes.

Five minutes passed.

Must be a busy day...

Ten minutes passed.

I gritted my teeth and tried to pretend I was sitting on a boat somewhere near the Great Barrier Reef, waiting for Minke Whales to appear.

Fifteen minutes passed.

The pain was barely bearable.

Thirty minutes passed.

Tears streamed down my face as I clutched my arm and wished for a horde of elephants to trample me to death.

Forty five minutes passed.

I got up, opened the door to the hallway, and screamed: "Somebody get in here and give me something to stop the pain before I gouge my eyes out with a tongue depressor!"

Five minutes later, a doctor walked in, looking slightly flustered.
"Sorry for the wait!"

I was unable to reply, focused entirely on the pinpoint of pain that had become the whole of my universe.

"Does this hurt if I press here?" Ouch. "What about here?" Ouch. "Here?" Ouch. "What if I move th..." Ouch. "Hm, that's not good. Let's get you some X-rays. And some pain medicine."

Twenty minutes later.

"From what I can tell, this is a severe tendonitis. Are you left-handed?" Nope. "Do you do any intensive sports?" Nope. "Was there any trauma to cause this?" Nope. "I am honestly puzzled as to what happened. Anyway, we're going to put a cast on it."

For some reason, I am slightly distrustful of a nurse who has to look at diagrams while wrapping up my arm.

Eventually, looking like a fraction of an Egyptian mummy, I checked myself out of the office and walked over to the pharmacy to buy the horse tranquilizers pain medicine prescribed to me.

I don't think the aim of such medications is to remove the sensation of pain, but rather to make you so loopy that you don't notice it. That's what happened for me, anyway.

Long story aside, I am now a one-armed cripple. But, to play the Glad Game (as one always should in cases such as this), I made lists of pros and cons.

Cons:
-Pain
-No swimming allowed
-Only one opposable thumb. (You never realize how useful those are until you have to manage without. Ironically, I spent ten minutes trying to open the [childproof] container of medication. And typing is really hard.)

Pros:
-Extra sympathy (The Doctor was so heartbroken at my pathetic attempts to pipet anything this afternoon that he offered me a whole box of dry ice from a chemical shipment. Girl From Nicaragua and I had lots of fun making spoons scream and water boil and fogged up half of the apartment at one point.)
-Non-heat sensitive surface with which to carry hot or cold things
-Portable hook (the thumb sticks out [like a sore thumb, haha.])
-Portable notice board (I will start tacking notes on it)
-Handy weapon to clobber potential assailants with
-Cast is perfect length for head rest

The pros outweigh the cons! I will attempt to make the most of those temporary superpowers and use them for good while I can.

And now, I must away to sleep off the loopyness.

Remembrance of things past

I started reading Proust's book for several reasons. (And given up on it for many more.)

Firstly, one should be properly educated in the literature of one's mother tongue. (Literature is wonderful, but I don't mind being slightly more cultured in English than in French.)

Secondly, one of my favorite books, Dinky Rouge Sang, is based on it. (Once I got past the good part in Proust, I lost interest because I was running the other book through my head and enjoyed it a hundred times more now that I know where it came from and how remarkably it played off it. Proust may be a dense read, but that passage will go down in my favorites.)



Thirdly, I will very soon be remembering things past.



Girl In The Snow is coming to visit.

I am excited, terrified, elated, apprehensive, reminiscing.

We haven't seen each other in years, but it seems like only yesterday we painted that silk scarf together. Only yesterday, we built blanket forts and spilled eucalyptus oil. Only yesterday we curled up to read comics. Only yesterday we built robots out of cereal boxes. Only yesterday we built out invisible castle in the courtyard. Only yesterday we wrote poems for our mothers and scouted the flea market for bargains. Only yesterday we smuggled fish under banana peels and bread in our pockets. Only yesterday we hid behind the green bench to sneak a bite of snack during recess. Only yesterday we met and fell in love.

She said she found an album of pictures of The Class Trip and will be bringing it for us to peruse and reminisce over.

I can't wait to see her. I can't wait to show her my world, how I've changed but stayed the same. I can't wait to see how she has grown and remained herself.

I'm terrified, just because, but I really know that it won't matter at all.

I'll mix the past with the present, and introduce her to my friends and drive her around and show her my Texas, but every time I'll look at her, I know I'll be seeing the little girl in the snow, holding her father's hand, and I'll fall in love all over again.

Dr. Deadrock, I presume?

Tiny Russian Friend is finally back from Big Huge City and will be spending the rest of the summer in the City. To celebrate her return, we embarked upon an escapade that took us from campus all the way to the Teñido River. We walked high and low, in the sun and in the shade, and braved the terrible, terrible Texas heat in our quest for things unknown.

We first found a block of old houses built in the 1800s (a plaque told us so)




Then, a secret garden guarded by a stone peacock and a pigeon.



After losing ourselves in a pleasant maze of back alleys, creeks, wooden bridges, bamboo installations, and glass high-rise buildings, we found ourselves in a little street.

With this.


The City being the artistic crossroads it is, it is fairly common to see whimsically improved cars. Nevertheless, I always like to stop and look at them and notice all the details.


The swirls are made of golden plastic bead Mardi Gras necklaces along with tiny plastic seahorses, stars and sequins (I can only imagine the time it took to glue and paint everything!)


On the roof, there are arrangements of trophies for at least a dozen different sports.


The inside is also decorated!


And, of course, one of the City's thousands of bicyclists rode by with a boombox in tow, treating us to a few bars of samba.

Hiatus

I wanted to thank everyone for their kind words and concerns.

I went through something of a brain overload last week and a half, first dealing with the five or so people staying at our house for a few days, then meeting up with Tiny Russian Friend, then being exhausted for several days and resting from the hubbub, and finally dealing with a minor nervous breakdown from all the work that had accumulated as well as some fairly complicated emotional issues arising in some of my very close friends' lives.

But while I was away, I thought a lot and now find myself with a rather sizeable hoard of blogging material.

And due to quite a bit of luck with the Bureaucracy Fairy, I find myself with time on my hand and a lighter conscience. Off to blogging, then!

Once again, thank you so much! I am sending lots of love your way!

xoxo,

The Archduchess

Today, I spent the entire day (ten hours!) working in the greenhouse with other officers from Geeky Science Organization. We completely reorganized the plants by sunlight and watering preferences, as well as relocated the work station, set up a shade cloth (I never did like all those tension problems in Physics... But now I wish I remembered how to do them!), cleaned up and arranged the close to eight thousand pots we found under a counter, and hauled fifteen buckets of gravel from one bed to another. We found a secret colony of Chandelier Kalanchoes in the three centimeters of space between a bed and the wall, and had some fun grouping plants by name (thus, Mother-in-Law's Tongue is next to Dragonfruit, Wandering Jews next to Moses-in-a-Boat, and Ghost Plant next to Resurrecting Fern!).

I arrived before everyone else and had some time to take pictures before work began, but have not yet taken pictures of the finished work, as we were all too exhausted to do much more than go home!

Welcome to the greenhouse! Please, allow me to take you on a tour... As you can see, it is a bit messy in here. But don't worry! We are going to clean it up today.

This is our beloved Pencil Plant. It is older than any of us who work here. Sadly, it has been feeling somewhat blue (or rather yellow) recently, and is dropping branches all over the place.

Our work station is rather congested--there is no room to move and too many pots to fill!

As you can see, we have a fine collection of Agave, grown from cuttings collected on the big Agave on Main Street.

In the back are our mothering plants, plants that take a long time to grow, or simply plants that no one can identify.

Our succulents! Our pride and joy. We have native plants as well as many Kalanchoes from Madagascar, Cacti, Sedums, Ghost Plants, and many more.

We have a bit of trouble keeping the more rambunctious of our tenants in check--this Climbing Aloe has a mind to exploring.

Under the A/C unit, we keep plants on a raised shelf to avoid flooding problems. After all, this is a very old greenhouse.

Back here, it could almost be a forest. The Ferns and Mother-in-Law's-Tongues are growing tall and thick.

We are very proud of our Jade plants, but are having quite a bit of trouble propagating them. They grow so slowly and are so picky!

Lately, we've been experimenting with ornamental compositions to see if they sell better. People really like the tiny Texas Sedum!

In fact, they are so successful that I have begun to grow them in tiny little glass jars.

A single cutting dropped in there will grow up in only a couple of weeks.

This being, after all, a scientific organization, we receive most of our glassware and plant donations from research labs around the University. We make the most of everything!

Cacti are one of the most frequent demands we receive, yet they are quite hard to grow and propagate. Fortunately, we found a nest of little offshoots hiding in the gravel behind a pot of Sotre-Sotry Plants.

Ghost Plants, also known as Mother-of-Pearl Plants, are very popular because of their pretty color and elegant structure.

College students love Mother-of-Thousands: they barely require any care, are almost impossible to kill, and constantly make more of themselves. We love them for the same reason, but regularly have to weed out the greenhouse because they will grow everywhere--even on concrete and metal!

We have only two Bear Paws, but wish we had more. They look adorable, but grow so slowly!

The same plant had two different-colored flowers. But why?

And finally, here is our rogue Malabar Spinach--six feet long and still growing. We collect its seed pods as soon as they ripen in the hope that there will be no spinach surprises next season!

Going to meet my (match)maker

Girl From Nicaragua is defending her dissertation on Monday.

Accordingly, various relatives (from Nicaragua, Chile, the Honduras, and Guatemala) have come to visit and are now staying at the apartment.

Apparently, her last roommate was named Claudia, but she neglected to tell her family that she had moved and was now living with someone not only whose name was not Claudia, but was also not a native Spanish speaker. I can mangle my way around a basic conversation, but I confused myself and I accidentally started talking German because I couldn't remember Spanish for "excuse me". Fortunately, they caught on and switched to English.

Then, later this evening, after my roommate took them on a tour of the City, I was enthusiastically greeted by her aunt as I came down the stairs for a drink of water.

"Claudia!" (Roommate: Wrong name, Auntie Rosa) "We found for you a boyfriend!" (She already has a boyfriend, Auntie Rosa.) "He's handsome!" (He's French, too.) "He said he was Frances, but I think he is from Ukrainia." (Uh, I do already have a boyfriend, Auntie Rosa...) "He very handsome. Next time, we take you, you see him! You can have two boyfriends!"

This is going to be a very interesting week.

Monkey off my back

You were right, Scriptor! It really wasn't that bad. They talked the whole time, and I didn't have to say much aside from answering the odd question, laughing at jokes, and gushing on about how cool sharks are.

They were so very different than what I imagined, though. The Sister especially acted much more like a college student, or indeed a real human being, than what I'd expected (from all that I'd heard, she was a cold, calculating, superhuman philosophizing English major. But, really, she likes sharks just as much as the next man and penguins rather more than the next man. I can live with that.) The Father is very kind and not intimidating at all, now that I get most of the Star Trek jokes, and The Mother tells as many jokes as the rest of them combined.

I was treated to a hundred family anecdotes, the menfolk telling tales of recklessness (driving twenty miles with three pieces of furniture tied to the roof of a car with rope?) and the womenfolk tales of logic ("I asked them to drop me off at the airport first.")

Overall, it went very well. I've been invited to another lunch or dinner at some point, and even "embarassing family BBQs".

I've never seen anyone so relieved as The Boy when it was all over, though. He literally skipped down the street and almost carried me up the stairs.

I'd say the anxiety was worth it just to see how happy he was.

Raptors, rabid bears, and other terrifying things

Just kidding. There aren't any raptors or rabid bears here.

There are, however, terrifying things looming on the horizon.

Such things as meeting The Boy's family tomorrow.

Not just a five minute conversation on the doorstep, but a real, honest-to-goodness sit-down dinner at a restaurant with The Mother and The Father and The Sister.

It was the Boy's idea, and I fully supported it, even pushed it. I wanted to meet his family.

Until it was for real, so very, very real. Until now.

Now, I am utterly terrified. What if I trip? What if I spill my glass? What if I say something stupid? What if I make a complete fool of myself?

I'm sure they are lovely people, and they won't mind.

But what if, what if they don't like me? What if they ask awkward questions? What if The Sister takes siblingly action and plots my untimely demise? What if they turn out to be velociraptors in disguise and eat me?

I know it will all be fine. We will have a wonderful time, pleasant conversation, and there will be good feeling all around.

But no matter how logically I think it through, I am utterly, completely, and absolutely terrified!

Time for the plants

Thursday is Plant Day.

From 11:30 to 14:00, I sit, stand, amble, climb, dodge, crawl, and otherwise contort myself to negotiate the precious small space available in the confines of the Greenhouse.

From 11:30 to 14:00, I greet the stray customer who wanders in, almost by accident, and explain the difference between mother-of-thousands and chandelier kalanchoe plants.

From 11:30 to 14:00, I re-pot, prune, water, organize, clean, and coo over an odd assortment of plants ranging from strawberries to bromeliads to jade plants and including the giant pencil plant that long ago decided to forsake such worldly things as boundaries and pots and took root in the gravel bed of a shelf and has since grown five feet tall, four inches thick, and six feet wide.

Today, I valiantly fought scraped off a bug invasion from the underside of mint leaves, determined that the Weed That Smells Like Basil isn't actually basil, discovered a forgotten but seemingly bottomless supply of clay pots behind a rusted and broken door under one of the shelves, and attempted to scrub off the antique white stains on the windowpanes, to no avail.

Thursday from 11:30 to 14:00 is my time for the plants. I can forget about the hustle and bustle of the world around me and admire the tiny, slowly growing bear paws and dragonfruit hidden in a miniature forest of greenery.

Karmically yours

The day started with the water being cut off while I was still in the shower.

After that, though, it was one of the most perfect days ever. Plenty of comments awaited me here, the Non-Albino Squirrel made an appearance, a single colony growing on a plate in lab turned out, on the very first try, to be exactly what I wanted, it purified without a glitch, Proust is turning out to be quite enjoyable, fifty new members (including two new Highly Selective Science Program students, there are so few that this orientation only had those two in attendance, and both recognized me from Friday Lunch) were recruited for Geeky Science Organization, I explained the finer points of PCR to The Boy, and Sis received my package and called me to say she loved her birthday present.

I had leftover risotto and gingersnaps for lunch, and cheesecake for dessert at dinner (I thought of you, GB!)


Days like this make me happy to be alive (not that most days don't, but this one made me extra-happy.) I hope your day was just as wonderful!

The Evolution Test™

I might have made some mistakes or not completed my arguments for some questions, and might end up regretting this, but it is nearly 2 am and I am annoyed at them.

"Courtesy" of the Missing Universe Museum

EVOLUTION TEST:

1.	Which evolved first, male or female? A: Neither. Many species reproduce asexually. Some animals only have male or female members (some types of lizards), some have hermaphrodites (earthworms, snails), some can transform to the other sex when no mates are available (some types of fish). Sex in humans is determined by the Y chromosome (XY is male, XX is female), while in birds it is determined by the W chromosome (ZW is female, ZZ is male.) In reptiles such as crocodiles or turtles, the temperature of the egg determines the sex of the embryo. The way sex is determined varies with species!
2.	How many millions of years elapsed between the first male and first female? A: Zero. There was no "first male" or "first female". There were asexual beings (like bacteria), some of whom developed the ability to transfer genetic material to other individuals by the transmission of a plasmid (small piece of circular DNA). The bacteria which received this plasmid ("females", if you are bent on using this system of description) subsequently acquired the ability to transfer their own material to other individuals (thereby becoming "male")
3.	List at least 9 of the false assumptions made with radioactive dating methods. A: I feel that this question is too open-ended for there to be a correct answer.
4.	Why hasn't any extinct creature re-evolved after millions of years? A: Evolution is due to random chance. The possiblities are endless. Would you be able to reorganize a sequence of trillions of letters if it got disturbed by accident? Mathematically, the possible arrangements are greater than the number of atoms in the entire universe.
5.	Which came first:
	...the eye,
	...the eyelid,
	...the eyebrow,
	...the eye sockets,
	...the eye muscles,
	...the eye lashes,
	...the tear ducts,
	...the brain's interpretation of light? A: The "brain's" interpretation of light. Plants detect light. Protists like Euglena have an "eyespot" but no brain. Planarians (flatworms) have eyespots and nerve ganglia (not big enough to be considered brains). Once the detection of light becomes a useful feature, organs to better sense light with conferred an advantage on their owner, who was lucky enough to pass on its genes to the next generation. As to the rest... Do fish have eyelashes? Do flies have eyelids?
6.	How many millions of years between each in question 5? A: The answer is inconsequential. It should rather be measured by the species which first present that trait and the species that came after it. I'll answer this question in numerical values if you can tell me exactly what interval of time elapsed between each species God created?
7.	If we all evolved from a common ancestor, why can't all the different species mate with one another and produce fertile offspring? A: The definition of a species is "a group of organisms capable of interbreeding and producing fertile offspring, and separated from other such groups with which interbreeding does not (normally) happen". "Cousin" species can mate but produce infertile offsprings (ex. donkey and horse). Related species can mate but not produce viable offsprings. Species which are too far apart taxonomically cannot even mate.
8.	List any of the millions of creatures in just five stages of its evolution showing the progression of a new organ of any kind. When you have done this, you can collect the millions of dollars in rewards offered for proof of evolution! A: 1. Lancelet - no eyes 2. Planarian - eyespots 3. Fish - eyes 4. Dog - better vision, but cannot see colors 5. Humans - one of the most highly developed sense of vision in the animal kingdom.
9.	Why is it that the very things that would prove Evolution (transitional forms) are still missing? A: They aren't. Look at your little toes. Are they useful to you? Is every being on this planet going to look the same in millions of years? No. We are transitional forms.
10.	Explain why something as complex as human life could happen by chance, but something as simple as a coin must have a creator. (Show your math solution.) A: A coin is made of one (or two) rather unreactive elements (in the case of pennies, copper and zinc) shaped into something. By itself, the element would just take on the shape allowed by the laws of physics--a crystalline structure between the atoms. A living being is made of hundreds of elements interacting together--carbon is very reactive, it bonds to other elements, which interact differently with other elements, which in turn interact with other elements--in essence, life is a big chemical reaction. I won't try to explain it to you, though. It tends to disprove the existence of God and/or free will.
11.	Why aren't any fossils or coal or oil being formed today? A: They would be, if we let dead matter lie without being disturbed. Humans have too great an impact on the physical Earth to let slow processes happen. The floor of the untouched rainforest, though, is slowly compacting itself into what could become fossils, coal, or oil if we let it rest long enough (and by long enough I mean millions more years). Similarly: Why aren't any diamonds or gold or opals being formed today? They are but it's too slow for us to notice.
12.	List 50 vestigial or useless organs or appendages in the human body. A: It depends what you consider vestigial organs. -all of the bones in your tail -pharyngeal slits in human embryos -webbing between fingers -the muscles used to move one's ears -little toes -toes in general -toenails -the pointed bump some people have on their ears -wisdom teeth -body hair -genital hair -clitoris (no function but sexual pleasure) -moles (technically they are mutations, and you believe all mutations are bad, so they fit here) -freckles -butt cheeks ...need I go on?
13.	Why hasn't anyone collected the millions of dollars in rewards for proof of evolution? A: Why haven't you collected the trillions of dollars all of Humankind would give you in reward for proving the existence of God?
14.	If life began hundreds of millions of years ago, why is the earth still under populated? A: Things keep dying. Funny, that... On a scientific note, populations follow a logarithmic growth pattern. I am assuming you are talking about humans here, because bacteria are all over the surface of the Earth, plants also, and ants too--but they have reached an equilibrium in their population. Humans have passed the slow stage of growth and are now in the population explosion phase. Eventually, we will reach carrying capacity.
15.	Why hasn't evolution duplicated all species on all continents? A: Actually, if you look closely at species on the Australian continent and all other continents, you'll notice that they are remarkably similar in shape and function--while being completely different (mammals in Australia tend to be marsupials, other continents have mostly eutherian mammals). The other continents haven't been separated long enough to diversify to that point.

Overdue ramblings

Today was an early day. I waltzed into lab at 10:00, transformed my diluted, cloned, recombineered, and miniprepped DNA into a batch of competent XL 10-Gold cells, caught up on a couple days of data to organize, planned out the rest of my summer in lab, and waltzed out of the lab at 14:00 (or thereabouts).

GB's post having reminded me that it had been much too long since my last culinary adventure (at least a week) that I decided to carpe the diem out of today and make cheesecake.


The recipes I combined together to reach ideal taste and texture being excessive in proportions despite having been cut in half,


I found myself with a plate of leftover fresh, warm gingersnaps (whose brethren were used for the crust).


Fortunately, they did not have to suffer long.

After that, I still had to make dinner. I'd been craving risotto for some time, so I embarked on the long and perilous journey that is a traditional family dish without a seasoned expert at hand to counsel me.

Thanks to the wonderful cookbook in our possession (they weren't kidding when they chose the title), I found an easy recipe and immediately proceeded to modify it to fit my current stock of ingredients (no white wine, no chicken stock, no saffron, but carrots, mushrooms, diced tomatoes, and what could have once been an instant-broth cube).

I started to take pictures to document the process (taking pictures of various stages of preparation is fun, I need to do this more often)


but the tantalizing smell was too much for my poor stomach, and I busied myself by drooling for the rest of the procedure.

The result looked (and smelled) so tasty that Girl From Nicaragua offered me fresh Parmesan to grate to complete the dish.

I ate dinner while she turned on the television and watched the "news" (Michael Jackson's funeral), flipped channels to the "entertainment" (Michael Jackson's funeral), wandered over to the "news analysts" (Michael Jackson's funeral) and finally landed on the only watchable program (NOVA, unsurprisingly) where the topic was redback spider males' funerals (inside their better half's stomach).

We talked about the sorry state of the Texas School Board (still idiots? Yep.), the sorry state of the plumbing (still no temperature control in the shower), and the sorry state of the male mind (one of her ex-boyfriends is writing a book about 'his lovers', and it is apparently very... descriptive.)

I looked over my class schedule (or module timetable, if you will) for next semester, noticed I'd noted the hour wrong for a class (which slightly threw off my plans for uninterrupted lab time on Tuesdays), lamented the schedule change for Geeky Science Organization meetings (I will be unable to attend unless I can reschedule an Ochem lab which I had a world of trouble getting into in the first place), cobbled together a plan to sit in to the seminar I can't officially attend as it is at the same time as scheduled research meetings (research meetings should only be once every two or three weeks), decided a class on Ethics in Science (the seminar I am currently registered for) wasn't that bad considering it accidentally was the the class advertised on the flyer next to the elevator in the lab which I'd been looking at interestedly for the past month, and finding time for violin lessons.

Beautiful Music Friend introduced me to Pharyngula last night. Biology, Terry Pratchett, Evolution, Calvin and Hobbes, and Cephalopods? I'm so in love.

(later)

Speaking of which, I popped over there for a second and have now spent an hour and a half composing a Letter of Science™ to the director of the Missing Universe Museum (linkworthy just because it's so terrible) and answering the "impossible" questions on the Evolution Test.

It's much too late, so I'm done ranting for now.

There's always next year

Can you believe that I've been living in the US for, what, seven years now and have never gone to a celebration for the Fourth of July?

Well, it wasn't this year either.

A close friend of mine, who shall remain unnamed, was in town for the day and planned to take me with her and some other friends to see the very popular open air concert and fireworks display hosted by the City.

She called me two and a half hours late, after I had left her ten messages, said she was at a restaurant and would I care to join them? I asked if she could come get me, as she was my ride for the evening, at which point she asked people around her who had room left in their car, which no one did.

I got a "Sorry... I guess I'll see you later, then." and then she hung up on me.

Never mind that I canceled plans with my roommate and her friends to go to the same show and then go party afterward or had offered her a place to stay for the weekend while she was in the City.

No such luck for me. Whoop-de-doo.

So I stayed home, had me some nice European Nutella and Haribo, and watched French movies while a hundred thousand people had a picnic lakeside and enjoyed the 1812 Overture with real cannons and a fireworks show.

There's nothing like a bit of anti-patriotism to make you feel better.

Dinner and a movie

Halfway through the week already, and what better way to celebrate than with friends, food, and films?

Cooking Buddy came over for dinner, as has become, I suppose, somewhat of a tradition.

Since the beginning of June, she has visited once every week or two to help me make a delicious dinner and watch a movie.

As per what is now tradition, we cooked our dish with plenty of garlic (which she loves and the taste of which I have discovered under her tutelage), our dessert with plenty of chocolate, and vast amounts of cheese in-between.

As a movie, she chose Chocolat, which I'd heard about but never actually seen.

As movies go, the plot was enjoyable. But as accuracy goes... Anachronisms aplenty and little attention to detail. However much I delighted in pointing out every fault I found, I cannot pretend to be immune to Johnny Depp's charm nor to Chocolate, that luscious ambrosia.

Cooking Buddy has said that next year, when she has an apartment and I have none, we shall continue these meetings, to tackle both the culinary and cinematographic worlds as well as for the sake of good food and good company.