Part I: On the road

The road goes straight as far as the eye can see. Here in the Texas plains, the eye can see very far.

The miles of asphalt pass by, unwavering, as the sun travels to the horizon. The land is flat, with the occasional hill the unfazed engineers cut right through, leaving walls of brown and grey strata that would delight any passing geologist.

It has been at least an hour since we last passed a town, or a hamlet, or even a single house. Other vehicles are few and far between. Brush, small trees, yuccas and Joshua trees follow each other in a patchwork over an endless sea of dry grass and cacti. Only the barbed wire delineating some ranch property and the occasional wooden poles relaying wires attest to the passage of humans.

We've been traveling for three hours, and we are not even halfway there.

Suddenly, Man In Charge points out a radio antenna a few miles in the distance. "Civilization!" someone yells. Not quite, but it is the first--and last--semblance of a town between here and the end of our drive.

An hour later, replete with somewhat questionable Mexican food, we board the bus again. Night has fallen. The perfect half moon hangs in the sky, the reddish black remnants of the sunset outlines the hills in the distance.

***

The hotel is a quaint little spot, founded in 1884 and seemingly untouched ever since. Comfortable armchairs, lampshades, drapes, and lace curtains: you could expect Humphrey Bogart to be standing there, a whiskey in one hand and a swooning woman in the other, a world of steamer trunks and telegrams, intrigue and beauty.

I can see why the Observatory was built here: I don't remember ever seeing so many stars in my life. Absolutely no light emanates from the town aside from a scant few streetlamps. We stand on the balcony, both elated and awed, breathing in the cold night air after nearly nine hours confined in a bus. This is what the sky looked like to those astronomers of long ago, before lights and cities ruined the sky. In the City, you are lucky if you can find a dozen stars on any given night.

We are lucky, the hotel offers wireless internet. But, slowly, as error windows appear on everyone's screens, various people, familiar and unfamiliar, congregate in our room. We are the room at the end of the hallway, right where the stairs end. Our door is open and the room is big. For nearly an hour, computer geeks, mathematicians, physicists, chemists, biologists tap away at their keyboards and spout series of letters and numbers, attempting to catch the elusive signal. Alas, to no avail. A church bell tolls across the street to mark two in the morning.

We go to bed.

To the stars and beyond

Highly Selective Science Program is off to Observatory In The Mountains for the weekend. The drive is eight hours, the town remote and sparsely populated, and the view stunning.

I once spent a week camping in those mountains with my seventh-grade Space Science class, observing Jupiter and Saturn, exploring caverns, and attending a very boring lecture about Sun spots.

I am quite excited about this trip. I will bring back pictures!

Bookkeeping

First of all, I stumbled upon this video earlier today. I do believe the young lady's views reflect my own quite accurately.



Secondly, I received an email one of the students from Highly Selective Science Program encouraging all of us to finance a micro-loan project. I have been interested in microfinancing for some time, but I don't really like the idea of donating to a large faceless organization. With this organization (Kiva), you lend a certain amount of money ($25 or more) to a specific project (such as buying extra chickens or machines for a shop or something the like) to a specific person. The person uses the money raised to finance his or her project and pays it back, bit by bit. You get your money back and can then use it to finance another project if you chose to, and so on and so forth.



To me, it seems like a very fair use of a little spare cash that you eventually get back, to help someone lift themselves out of poverty.

A night in the Old World

It started with a cold rainy day, a rare happening in September on this side of Texas.


A stunning sunset, which I attempt and fail to capture in all its glory while holding on to my umbrella with one shoulder.


A bus ride in the pitch-dark night, raindrops smearing the light of the sparse streetlights on the windows.

A young man gets on. He has long, wavy blond hair, sideburns, a mustache, and a goatee. His hands are white and very fine. With his red velvet jacket and philosophy book, his name could be Jean-Baptiste, he could be a university student in an 18th century Paris. Alas, my stop arrives and pulls me out of my reverie while I walk back into present day.

With three pounds of apples, a bottle of juice and a bottle of milk, I totter back to the stop. I set my bag down and waltz with an old childhood friend, Bach's Cello Suites. It is late at night for shopping, the buses are sparse. At 20:36, exactly on schedule as predicted by the City transportation authorities, an empty bus surges out of the gloom and picks me up.

Still trailing a faint aroma of spearmint, caraway, and naphthalene, the results of the evening's laboratory work, I choose a spot and look at the transformed world beyond the foggy window. Back on campus, there are many students waiting at the stop. A late class, or possibly a lab.

The walk back to my dorm is deserted, save for the bats, illuminated by the light from the belltower. A drum solo floats out of the round stone building that looks like an Italian casa, courtyard and all.

In my room, I make a perfect cup of hot chocolate: thick, creamy, slightly bitter but still sweet.

I have no lab to write up, no problem sets to work through, no test to study for.

I feel happy.

Right on schedule

September 22nd, first day of Autumn.

The rain is falling, the mud is sticking to my shoes, it's 21°C and everyone is wearing a sweater and rainboots.

At least we'll have had a proper enjoyable day of Autumn before it gets back up to summertime at the end of the week. I'd better hurry up and make some hot cocoa while I have the right weather to enjoy it.

How's your weather?

Reading

Today I read a non-school book uninterrupted for the first time in a very long while.

Unfortunately, I had to head back to doing homework before I could finish it.

I miss having the time to read.

Happy unbirthday

This evening, my friends took me to Unabridged Sustenance for a late birthday celebration.

We wandered awhile among the various food stalls. We looked in wonderment at the enormous cheese section (it being an international store, it was good cheese) while the shopkeeper, charmed by our obvious delight at so many different kinds of cheese, handed us morsel after morsel of delicious milk products. We rummaged through the cheese bargain bin, All Cheeses Under $3. We looked in yearning at the patisserie section, all sorts of pies and tarts, fondants and Unbirthday Cakes, mousses and éclairs, macaroons and candied apples. We looked in longing at the sushi, sandwiches, vegetable dishes, grilled meat, fresh fish, and so much more.

We each chose something different, and each tried each other's meal. For dessert, Bookish Friend bought me a chocolate mousse, and all of them including the diners at a nearby table (the man had a wonderful bass voice, might I add) sang Happy Birthday.

Crazy Redhead Mathematically-Inclined Friend gave me her old copy of Shadow Baby and a book about women and science.

I like days like this.

It never ends...

Last night, Internet-Savvy Friend took me to the student center Casino Night, where she proceeded to fight her way to the top of the poker tournament and I proceeded to win the scavenger hunt using largely the contents of my purse and the quick wits of my partner.

Then several of us moved downstairs to the theater where we saw "Up" and emptied an entire box of tissues.

After the movie, we walked all the way to the Secret Courtyard where we buried Michael Phelps last year and held a touching memorial service for Ernest.

This morning, I discovered that the Telegraph had picked The Boy's sister's advert as one of the twenty most bizarre Craigslist adverts of all time... She received at least two marriage proposals from complete strangers after posting it.

At lunch, Fairly Odd Acquaintance half-persuaded me to join the Highly Selective Science Program flag-football team, in desperate need of female players and, in fact, in desperate need of anyone able-bodied enough to not lose 29-0 like they did last week. Apparently, it doesn't matter that I don't know what flag football is, how it's played, or that I don't have any coordination whatsoever.

This afternoon, I went to lab and split chicken cells for two hours (my eyes are still slightly unfocused after screening 96x4, 384 wells with a microscope). They are growing! It's working! (Uh oh... I just jinxed it, didn't I?)

Tonight, as Bookish Friend, Friend With Many Pairs Of Sunglasses, and Childish Booksmart Friend are home for the weekend and Friend Who Likes Science Fiction and Crazy Redhead Mathematically-Inclined Friend are on a date, Internet-Savvy Friend and I went out to dinner and had a movie marathon, Sleeping Beauty followed by The Sword In The Stone followed by Anastasia. I hadn't seen Sleeping Beauty in several years, and it glaringly lacks both a plot and character development, but my friend really wanted to see it. Sword In The Stone is in my opinion one of the best Disney movies, what with the fact that it favors brains over brawn, there is no love interest whatsoever (aside from a squirrel), and the characters have personalities. Anastasia was just fantastic, as it always is, great animation, good music, interesting characters, and a non-shallow love story (possibly my favorite of all time, come on, they were meant for each other.)

While I was walking back to my room, I noticed flyers on the bathroom doors announcing that my T-Rex design was in the running to figure on the Quad's annual T-shirt.



Overall, busy day, busy week... But I wonder what I will do all weekend? My friends are gone or lovebirding or off to a doctor's appointment, my roommate is home for the weekend, and I have no homework.

What to do, what to do?

Counting

Things In My Room That Are Red:

-one very long red hair
-two radish earrings
-one Green Eggs And Ham sweater
-one Science hoodie
-five carnations
-four alstroemerias
-one striped teacup
-a picture of a Cephalopholis miniata
-the label on a bottle of Japanese cherry blossom eau de toilette
-the lid of a jar of peanut butter
-one bottle of grenadine syrup
-one keychain flashlight
-one wallet
-one pack of tarot playing cards
-the "vaporize" end of a toy phaser
-a printout of the Great A'tuin the World Turtle, the Elephants, and the Discworld
-a stamped "W" on a medication prescription

Late night

Having memorized all twenty common amino acids, their abbreviations and structures, having extensively studied and calculated microevolutionary mechanisms, having designed a picture of a T-Rex holding a pair of knitting needles, I will now go to bed.

Ernest

I remember the first time I met him: He was the most beautiful fish in the store.

Sparkling a dazzling array of blue and green, proudly flashing his fins to all who came near, his personality overflowed the bowl and permeated the few meters around. You could feel his disdain just by looking at him.

Ernest was a fish with character. He swam around while others napped, he lunged when others nibbled, he was furious when others were merely annoyed. Had he lived in his native Thai rice paddies, he would have been a king, a warrior, a splendid fighter.

Ernest was not a fish to be owned. He was a fish who owned, whose company he chose to share with y0u.

For an entire year, Ernest lived with me. His jewel tones danced back and forth behind the magnifying glass of the fishbowl, like a living, precious gem. Today, he decided to move on, to explore, blow bubbles, and nip at the rest of the Universe.

Ernest was more than just a fish. He was a friend, sometimes. He was an enemy, sometimes. He was a rival, sometimes. He was a confidant, sometimes. He was his own person.

Fare well, Ernest. May you find the juiciest and tastiest bloodworms in the Great Fishbowl In The Sky somewhere. I hope you find Michael Phelps and Galileo up there somewhere to keep you company.



Ernest the Ravenous Nymphomaniac Betta Fish
September 2008 - 15 September 2009

Worrying

I am worried about Ernest.

He didn't eat yesterday and has been laying at the bottom of his bowl gulping miserably since last night. The outlook is bleak.

Don't leave me, little guy! You've got enough fight in you to make it!

A slice of now

Someone is playing the flute in her room down the hallway.

The angles of protein folding seem a lot more complicated when Greek letters are involved.

Conversely, the more Greek letters are involved in the name of an organization, the sillier and shallower it seems.

I had to wear a mask when I went to the SSB today.

The nurse said my coughing, sneezing, stuffy nose and headache were caused by allergies, which I don't believe as I know enough biology by now to 1) recognize the symptoms, 2) know that I am not susceptible to allergies, 3) know that the anti-allergen she gave me didn't work, and 4) know I caught this from my friends. Hopefully the doctor tomorrow will be more reasonable.

I'd like to thank the Academy

It takes a village to raise a child...

I owe this last year in great part to all of my friends.

The friends I met and have come to care for at the University, who are so very different and come from so many places, some of whom like Science and some of whom not, who wave to me on the street, sit next to me in class, grow and sell plants with me, who drop by and say hi to my fish, who study with me and so much more besides. Thank you so much.

The friends I haven't met but admire from afar, who practice the piano in the common rooms, who sing opera in the kitchens of the dining hall, who whistle in the construction sites, who carry teetering buckets of ice in elevators, who have matching umbrellas in the rain, who put clothes on the statue of Lady Artemis in the courtyard, who sing Disney songs in the shower, and so much more besides. Thank you so much.

The friends I met and have come to care for through this blog and theirs, people around the world with fantastic lives and open hearts, people who make me travel and dream and think and laugh and cry and so much more besides. Thank you so much.

The friends I'm a bit intimidated to call friends, but who are always so open and giving and selfless and so much more besides that I can't help but feel proud and happy. Thank you so much.

The friends I've known for a long time and spend my days with, who let me try a bite of their food, who watch movies with me, who talk with me until long past midnight, who curl up in a pile and sleep with me, who selflessly share both their germs and their cold medicine, who dress up in Star Trek costumes and make me laugh and comfort me and so much more besides. Thank you so much.

The friends I've known for a long time and don't spend my days with, who send me flowers and call me on the phone and try to educate me in the ways of the world and also the Internet and know much much more than anyone else and one sends me long emails and the other chats with me on Skype, and so much more besides. Thank you so much.

The friends who are friends by default because they're family. Some leave, some stay, some are confused and all are sad sometimes, but mostly they love me and each other and they are wonderful, they cook food and give me hugs and watch movies and listen to music and so much more. Thank you so much.

It takes a village to raise a child, and my village is the world. Thank you, world.

Not Kansas Anymore

Tonight I helped Mother pack her suitcase.

She is leaving tomorrow morning.

Cookies, Milk, and more Bananas

Tonight:

First, I went to a study group for my Vertebrate Physiology Neurobiology class, where the professor explained to us how our brain turns off our butt neurons so that we don't constantly think about them when we are sitting (that is why your backside may be numb when you get up after a long sit), that most people are hypokaelimic (read: potassium deficiency) and thus less alert (a banana a day will make you more attentive and awake), that 40% of the food you eat goes to working your neurons, and that when you hit your funny bone, a hundred thousand neurons are temporarily turned off in your neck.

Then, I went to a showing of Milk in the dormitory common room, with a plate of fresh cookies provided by the student committee. I'd never seen the movie before, had heard good reviews, wanted to see it, missed the beginning due to the study group, loved the rest of the movie. Definitely one to see.

After that, I talked with Childish Booksmart Friend and Eccentric Legendary Guy for a good hour. It turns out that Eccentric Legendary Guy is interested in research but doesn't know how to get in, and of course I went into teacher mode and gave him a lecture then and there about labs and professors and undergraduate research.

I'd say it was a pretty good day.

Fire burn and cauldron bubble

Today was the first day of the dreaded Ochem lab.

Last night (and early this morning, might I add) were spent writing up the pre-lab, which includes amongst other things drawing a chart of all the chemicals we would be using, their physical properties, any hazards they may cause, and the treatments necessary. Needless to say, it took quite a while.

The lab itself was like something out of a Potions class in Harry Potter: A surly professor barking orders, miles of strangely contorted glass tubing, clinking bottles and vials, and three samples to be collected in bottles and turned in to the professor.

With my customary luck, I picked the bench with no clamps and a frayed water-hose, but eventually, with much toil and trouble (though I don't know what impression I made on the teaching assistant), I set up my apparatus and joyfully distilled away for the next three hours.

Some poor girl on the bench next to me didn't secure her water-hose tightly enough, and it sprayed all over for a few minutes while we scrambled to turn off the water. Ironically, she was wearing rain boots, so no harm was done (and now the floor is clean!)

The results didn't seem too bad, the data followed a nice curve (although of course by being over-cautious I under-heated my mixture and consequently had a huge dip in the middle of the graph), and the gas chromatography analysis yielded a pretty curve.

Maybe this is not so terrifying after all...

***

On the minus side, my friends have been playing hot potato with some virus or other for the past week, and now I think it's my turn. But I've got peppermint tea, so everything's all right.

Playing Frankenstein

Lab Partner and I spent two and a half hours in lab today, even though it is Labor Day.

After a series of complicated, difficult, and increasingly awesome manipulations (made all the more difficult by the use of the biosafety cabinet, which means that you have to watch your every move so as not to hold anything over anything else and douse everything with 70% ethanol before moving it into the cabinet), we managed to transform the finished DNA product (you know, the one I've been complaining about since January?) into chicken cells. Finally. Now all we have to do for the next two weeks is sit there and watch the cells die as the antibiotics take over and kill the non-transformed cells.

I may even have enough free time to do my homework. Now that sounds like a good prospect.

In charge

Friday, I presented the first meeting of my committee in Geeky Science Organization. Today, I received my first email as such.

It's a scary thought, being in charge. I have to organize things, talk to people, answer their questions, keep track of who did what, where and how.

It's not that I don't like what I am doing: if anything, I love the Research Committee and what it does. But somehow, I don't feel like I have the ability to handle it responsibly enough.

On the other hand, practice is the best teacher, and if there is no other way to survive than to do what I am supposed to do, then all is for the best.

Really.

I just wish they realized I mostly have no idea what I'm doing.

A Love Hate Mixed Feelings story

"18/20, Good work."

She hands the paper to the group of guys sitting in front of me. The class applauds, this was a difficult devoir.

"17.5, 17, 17, 16.5..." The grades go down steadily. Oh well, I wasn't expecting a stellar grade. I know I should have done the Algebra portion and she the Geometry, but we didn't think it through. Maybe we'd get a 13.

"12, 11.5..." I begin to sweat. As long as we made the moyenne...

"10, 9.5..." She still hasn't called our names. This is bad.

Finally, there is only one paper left. And she doesn't look happy.

"Mesdemoiselles X and Y, please come to the front of the class."

The walk to the blackboard seems endless. Eventually, we stand there, trembling and on the brink of tears, facing a now-silent classroom of knowing stares and an irate teacher.

A long silence. Then:

"Eight. Eight out of twenty. What in the world were you thinking, Miss Archduchess? I know that you are worth more than a 3/10 in Algebra. You should have looked over Miss X's work, if not done it yourself. Better yet, you should have worked it out together. Miss X, your Algebra is truly terrible. Miss Archduchess, your Geometry is not much better. I am appalled. Both of you. I want this paper signed by both of your parents, and I want a reworked copy on my desk next week. Class dismissed."



I should have known better. Really, I should have.

I'm terrible at math. And it took me until my senior year of high school to realize that.

I thought it was my best subject, but I should have noticed the pattern: when certain kinds of thinking were involved, it became obvious that I did not understand Math. Not in the least.

The first sign was a 6.5/20 on a Geometry test in 5th grade. The teacher put it down to my recent illness, and aside from some snickering, no one thought the worse of me. In eighth grade, there was The Paper. When I handed it to Father to sign, I received a resounding slap. In tenth grade, there was the 73 on the Matrices test.

And, finally, Calculus. An entire year of terrible grades, homework that made sense and exams that didn't, late night lessons with Father, and his constant disapproval and disappointment.

I'm terrible at Math, and I know it.

But I also figured out in seventh grade that an object fitting the requirements of Poincaré's Conjecture would be a hollow sphere in which the inside and outside surfaces were joined in the fourth dimension. I once received a 136/100 on an assignment because I found the problems so fascinating that I kept going and made my own. I received a perfect score on the national Calculus exam at the end of twelfth grade.

I can't help but shudder whenever Calculus is mentioned, but I would gladly take a Topology class if I had the opportunity, intend to take an entire semester's worth of Discrete Mathematics, and find myself looking at data of biological functions in terms of their derivatives and sometimes integrals.

Mathematics and I, we have a complicated relationship. I fear them, dread them, despair in the knowledge that in ignoring them I may be digging my scientific grave. On the other hand, the titles of Math books and classes appeal to me like a choir of sirens, delectable in their familiar yet strangely exotic names.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, and the median of a non-isosceles triangle was staring me in the face, taunting me.

Why do I do this to myself?

I could have been asleep hours ago, but instead I went to the free showings of Star Trek at the Student Building Theater. Yes, showings. Two in a row. Bringing the total number of times I have seen this movie to six.

Ay, me. What will I do with myself? And what's more, why is this movie so good?

***

On the way back to our rooms (the usual gang and I), we ran into the weird guys who live in the first room in the hallway after the entrance. They like to come out and greet passers-by, especially late at night. And, uh, this may be the hormones speaking, but I really don't mind that they go around shirtless and both happen to be very good-looking.

***

This Monday is Labor Day, which means no class and extra sleep. I could use both.

***

GB and Bill, tomorrow's post will be for you. (Hah, now I have to write it!)

Kickoff

I live again: today was the first meeting of Geeky Science Organization, to which I wore my special flower hat.

We kicked off to a full auditorium, with a rather thought-provoking video and speech by the head of the University's Undergraduate Research Program. The officers introduced themselves (my public speaking skills are still nonexistent), duties and committees were explained, pizza was had.

As a farewell surprise, our beloved ex-fearless leader (who stepped down due to health reasons) wrote the committee descriptions on the agenda with his customary humor. However, none of the officers knew about this, and hilarity ensued when there were laughs in the audience as the committees were presented on the slideshow.

Hopefully we will retain a fair number of people and once again rule the College of Natural Sciences. I for one am fairly excited about the possibility of touring (once again) the particle accelerator in the Physics lab of University Back Home, or the lasers in the basement of Ridiculously Tall Building, or the leafcutter ant farm, or the lab growing algae from which to extract biofuels, or the telescope, or... or...

I will fall asleep with sweet dreams of Science tonight.

Science, as usual

I've begun to work with sterile cultures in a biosafety cabinet. That means that everything is washed with water and 70% ethanol before and after I work, that I must organize my work surface so that at no point my hands pass over an open container or its cap, and that my homework consists of picking up a plastic tube cap 3 cm wide and 1 cm deep with my index and middle fingers and manipulating it until it is screwed back on the tube.

Without, of course, having my hand over any inside part at any point.

Strangely enough, I picked up the skill on the first try, while my lab partner had to try several times and with her left hand before succeeding. After some experimentation, I have become increasingly certain of a hypothesis I formulated some time ago: I am extremely right-dominant.

My right hand is very dexterous, while my left is slightly clumsy. I can stir or whisk something in the kitchen much longer when using my right arm over my left. I can carry a bag longer if it is on my right shoulder than if it is on my left. I can make some faces with the right side of my face but not the left, raise my right eyebrow, and my right hand is always more mobile than the left when I type. The only exception I can find is that I balance or spin on my left foot and stumble and stagger when I attempt either on my right foot.

I don't know what that means, other than that the brain is fascinating. Hopefully I might know why by the end of this semester, once I have read all of my Neurobiology book.