UnComfortable.

Next Thursday, on university campuses across the nation (including The University), some idiot will be handing out free copies of a reprint of the first edition of Darwin's Origin of Species with a fifty page introduction attempting to prove it wrong.

A group of students and professors are organizing a protest.

We will be handing out bananas.

Passive-Agressive

Some time in September, I put up a note in the bathroom about people leaving their hair in the shower. For about a week, the showers stayed clean.

However, the general state of the bathroom has been declining over the past few weeks. This morning, not only did I find the customary giant gobs of hair in the shower but also that the trash can was overflowing and food had been spilled on the floor, leaving a disgusting mess and a nauseating smell.

Tonight, I left a note in each of the stalls. I really hope it does something. You'd think college students would have learned to live in common by now!

Next time, I'm setting up lasers and booby traps.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The patriotic duty will have to wait some time longer.

Nonsense!

The Texas Board of Education has just passed an amendment requiring the "weaknesses" of evolution to be taught in public school classrooms and science textbooks.

As a biologist, as a scientist, as a supporter of the separation of church and state, as a rational human being, I am appalled.

I have initiated a protest movement within the University. I do not know where it will lead, but already there is a semblance of a plan that potentially leads to action.

I don't know how it will turn out, I don't know whether it will come to anything, but I have hope.

I need hope.

Otherwise, it's a slippery slope back to the dark ages (Dinosaur bones as a test of faith? Oh come on!)

Television these days...

I remember that, long ago, when my parents and I still lived in a minuscule studio before either of my siblings were born, my parents owned a television. It was a pretty, rounded, white enamel box with rabbit ear antennas and three shiny metal buttons on the top. The images were in black and white. I remember my parents watching the news and political commentary, but all I cared about (in typical three-year-old fashion) was the Sunday night Looney Tunes. I remember sitting on the old couch between my parents, in front of the ancient trunk that served as our tea-table.

When we moved to a bigger (but still quite small apartment) when Sis was born, we left the television behind. A friend of my parents' loaned us his television for some time, as he was moving. This one had a color screen and sat in the corner of the living room, atop the cornerpiece that held the old newspapers. Every Sunday night, we would sit on the floor and watch Looney Tunes like we had for (it seemed like) years (several months at least). One day, before the year was out, the friend took his television back.

That was the last time we "owned" a television.

My grandparents on my father's side have always had an old set in the living room, on which Sis and I (and occasionally Bro, although he was too young at the time) would watch nature shows. The good kind of nature show. Not the kind with annoying "explorers" who constantly talk to the camera and come up with cutesy names for the animals and make stupid commentary like "Oh, look! It looks like Toto smelled something. He lifts up his head... He's walking. See his feet? Yeah, he's definitely walking. It's a baby antelope! He's going to hunt it! Oh no! He's running now! And... and... he catches it! Did you see that? (camera swivels to person) He killed the poor baby antelope!" No, not that kind of show. The ones where a disembodied voice speaks maybe ten percent of the time and the rest is beautiful filmwork that speaks for itself and captures Nature in action. The ones where, if some cute and fluffy animal dies, the voice proclaims "Such is the law of the jungle."

When we moved to the US, seven years later, we rented a house from a family that had gone on a sabbatical to Madison, Wisconsin. They had a TV. I was still too young to care much about the news and all that grown-up stuff, but I clearly remember when, on September 11th, 2001, I came home from school with a big smile on my face because I would celebrate my eleventh birthday the following day and found the usually blank and silent TV on. I didn't speak enough English then to understand what the news announcers were saying. I hadn't been able to read the letter handed to us at the end of that day by solemn teachers. But I very clearly remember a woman's voice from inside a shop, screaming "You saved my life!" to the shop owner, who had prevented her from running outside as the towers collapsed and dust and debris filled the streets and darkened the windows. For a month, the image of the planes crashing into the towers were the only thing in the news.

Then, as far as I could tell, it went back to normal. The problem is, "normal" means "Breaking News!" banners scrolling at the top of the screen, random newsbits scrolling at the bottom, images flashing on the sides, and reporters vapidly commenting on some celebrity scandal or other. Dad watched the news every once in a while, but we mostly used the TV to watch movies on the VCR.

The next year, we rented another house from people who had gone on sabbatical to Beijing, China. They, too (like 99.99% of American households) (I feel sort of proud to be in that 0.01%) had a television. My parents watched the news more regularly, we watched rental movies on Saturday nights, and late at night Dad watched this strange show called "Friends" (he denies it, but I can't tell him I saw him watching it when I was sneaking around in the hallway because I was supposed to be in bed at that time) (I have since been shanghaied by my friends into watching a couple of episodes with them, turns out it's actually not that bad).

Two years later, after a TV-less stint back in Paris, we somehow ended up in the US again, in yet another house, from people who had gone on a sabbatical to Germany. Dad watched the most TV, adding Antiques Roadshow and several BBC programs to his list. We continued our Saturday night movie nights, and sometimes Nature on Sundays, until all of the shows turned out to be of the "Oooooh look, a fuzzy bunny rabbit!" kind. Dad and I would sometimes watch British murder mysteries together.

And THEN we bought the house next door and have been living there ever since. We have no television. When we want to watch a movie, we pull the couch in front of the computer screen and watch that movie. When Dad wants to watch the news, he watches the France 2 news broadcast on the Internet (unfortunately, even it is becoming increasingly Americanized).

Now, I'm in college. With a roommate who has a television. It is constantly on, and I have the great displeasure of having countless idiotic shows pounded into my brain day in and day out. Talk shows are obnoxious, series moronic, reality TV cretinous, "news" revolting... Some montrosity called the "Tyra Banks show" in particular makes me fume. That woman is idiotic, vacuous, bigoted, shallow... I could go on and on. Even important events are corrupted by this TV culture of stupidity. When I watched the Inauguration on January 20th, MSNBC had the callousness of having "professional commentators" "comment" during Itzhak Perlman, Yo-Yo Ma, Gabriella Montero, and Anthony McGill's performance. During. An actual. Performance. We couldn't hear any of the music. (Eventually, I watched the clip with the music on the Internet that night, so at least I got to hear it.) What's more, broadcasters seem to have the need to supplant every three minutes of programming with five minutes of advertising.

I can't wait to get back home and spend my day outside, throwing bread at the ducks and mud at my brother to come back home, drink a cup of hot cocoa, and read a book. Yes, a book. You know, those things with sheets of paper that have words on them?

***

Sorry, that was a rather spiteful rant. I do mean all of it, though.

Paradise lost

On the way home, I ran across a rally on the Soapbox Plaza.

People were waving flags, shouting, chanting.

They were calling for an end to the conflict between Israel and Palestine. Palestinian flags waved, banners denounced the murder of innocent children.

I agree with them. There is no reason I can see, ever, to take life away from a sentient human being.

But they were also calling for the death of the Israelis.

And that I cannot agree with.

I want peace. I wish there were a way to, somehow, make all nations of the world agree with each other, interact peacefully with each other. Ideally, there should be no nations at all.

Unfortunately, I know that it can't be so. Humans are social creatures, but they are also tribal. Even if only a single, unified state existed, factions would eventually form. Race, language, culture, location, people would find ways to identify with others, become "in" groups, shutting out the "out" groups. Soon, the groups would begin disagreeing with each other, claiming territories, establishing separate governments. And all would begin again. Cultures across the human race are too diverse, too different to be governed as one. Attempting to standardize them all would be a disaster and make everyone angry.

I want peace. But, let's face it, peace is impossible.

There is no way to end this conflict with the satisfaction of both sides. Israel had no right to take land away from Palestine and displace its inhabitants, but its citizens have no other country.

I disagree with the idea of Israel. Yes, Israel is the promised land. Jerusalem is the holy city. But Jerusalem belongs to no one. Three religions claim it. It belongs to all, it belongs to none.

We must consider the founding principles of the three religions to which it is sacred: Judaism, Christianity, and Islam.

All three are based on the love and understanding for one's neighbor, the need to treat even the meanest of beggars as an equal. Why, then, do religions which claim the cardinal rule of Do Unto Your Neighbor As You Would Have Done Unto Yourself kill and fight and slaughter and argue? Do these rules only apply to co-religionaries, or worse yet, only inside the temple? In the books?

To me, a religion is an ideal. A deeply held belief, a guiding principle to one's life. Religions exist because Man needs guidance, and looks to an omniscient and loving entity for this guidance. These principles should then be used to better oneself. Judaism proclaims peace, Christianity love, and Islam wisdom and tolerance.

But what do we see in the world? Israel claims land by force, killing people who have lived on it for centuries. Christian bigots proclaim their hatred of all things new and different. Islam refuses to peacefully work with others and spread science, wisdom, and equality to all.

To me, religion is private. Religion is what you believe, what you think will make the world a better place. As soon as some guy climbs up on a barrel to tell the populace to do this or that, read this Holy Word of God or another, it is not a religion anymore. It's a cult. A religion is private and intangible.

I don't know if there is a God, and, frankly, I couldn't care less. The Earth, and the puny beings we humans are, are so insignificant compared to the whole of the Universe that it is very unlikely that A Divine Entity would care about us at all.

But I believe in peace. In love. In trust. Everything works better if someone is beside you and willing to help you. And who better to help you solve human problems than another human? We all must work together. This is my religion. No rituals, no texts, no idols, no sacrifices.

Israel had no right to claim Palestine as its Promised Land. Perhaps Israel existed in the past, in the Bible, but not anymore. Neither does Prussia. Mesopotamia. The Roman Empire. We should leave the past alone, and work instead toward the future.

That doesn't mean that every man, woman, and child in Israel should die. Nor does it mean that every man, woman, and child in Palestine should die. Nor does it mean that they should continue living together.

We must distinguish between the spiritual and the physical. Yes, the people of Israel were told that they would, one day, find the Promised Land. But the people of Palestine had been living there. Unless God himself intervenes, as he used to in the Bible (haven't heard from him in a while, maybe he is tired, poor man, what with those plagues of locusts and splitting open the sea), there is no reason to take away the belongings of a fellow man.

Then again, I don't believe that the Earth belongs to us anyway, what with our measly thousands of years of existence compared to four and a half billion, so ownership of land is irrelevant in my opinion.

Point is, I think everyone is a hypocrite. The Jews, for deciding that, since they were entitled to the Promised Land, they might as well take it before God forgot about it or something, and displacing the people who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time because the grass was greener on their side of the hill. The Muslims, for reacting so violently and intolerantly. And the Christians for not minding their own business.

Sometimes (if not all the time), I think the world would be much better off without humans. No wars, no pollution, no screwing around with living beings. Paradise.

This is for Amreen at Spin Me Around.

On being French

My roommate was watching "America's Next Top Model" on Sunday, and I could not help overhearing.

One of the contestants was French.

The judges kept on calling her "mademoiselle" and attempting (badly) to speak a few words of French.

When she appeared to have emotional issues brought on by stress, the other contestants talked about her in the asides typical of reality shows, saying "wake up, you're not in France anymore."

Well, guess what? She noticed. No, this isn't France.

What is it with the fascination for French people? Every time I mention I'm French, people start trying to speak to me (and invariably butcher both grammar, pronunciation, vocabulary, AND spelling), ask me to say something in French, mention that they spent a week in Paris during some Spring Break or other.

The thing is, I don't care. I don't care.

Once they've gotten to know me a bit better, they start making French jokes.

Do I go around making American jokes? I don't think so.

Once they know me even better, they start making fun of my pronunciation and limited knowledge of American culture. Instead of being known for my personality, I am just "the French girl."

Why?

America is not a culture, it is a mix of many cultures. Why make fun of them?

That contestant wasn't pretending to be in France. She was on an American show, speaking American, and interacting with Americans. There's no need to make her stand out by labeling her as French, speaking to her in French. It's not because she's French that she is having a nervous breakdown, it's because she is in a cutthroat environment where people are constantly judging and demeaning her and the others.

Why always the French?

When I was in seventh grade, a teacher kindly asked me if any of the other kids were being mean to me for being French. I was only twelve, I didn't know and neither did my friends. They were fascinated by the fact that I wasn't American, and I was just trying to keep up with an alien world.

Today, I see her point. I understand her concern. And I'm grateful for it.

But I am enraged and every day more irritated at the way everyone acts.

If you keep treating me like I'm different, some sort of freak, why should I try to fit in?


Being French is something I'm proud of.

America is also something I'm proud of.


But I'm not going to embrace a country which prides itself on being open and tolerant if it points me out.


Yes, it's late, and I'm tired and incoherent, but please. Stop it. Stop. It.

In Which I Discuss Lighbulbs, Globes, and Questionable Ornaments

I would like to salute the genius of those who decorate their houses, for Christmas and the enjoyment of passers-by. Some of it is real genius, much of it is sheer quantity, and the rest is overwhelming bad taste.

I've seen houses that are pretty because all of the lights make a pleasing combination. I've seen houses that are pretty because their owner managed to create a lovely scene with tasteful lighted elements, but those are quite rare. I've seen houses that are just a pile of decorations. And I have seen utter monstrosities.

I can't stand inflatable decorations. Snowmen, snowglobes, polar bears, helicopters, Santas, they are hideous. One of the houses I saw this evening sported a lawn peppered with decorations of the kind, each more disgusting than the last. A barrage of three snowmen barricaded the entrance, holding the inhabitants hostage and forbidding visitors from entering. Under a large lantern, a ghoulish bear adorned with a scarf rocked back and forth in the wind.

It was truly a vision of terror.

Fortunately, not all decorators are as inept. I had the immense pleasure and the intense delight of witnessing a marvel of engineering. One family had set up a light-and-sound show. A home-based radio station with a radius of no more than 50 feet broadcast Christmas music perfectly timed and synchronized with the lighting and fading of different sections of the house. The trees boomed with the bass, the driveway with the bells, and the wreath on the door with the chimes. Scales and arpeggios traveled from the bushes to the roof in a blinding symphony of color and sound. I can only think of the hours of programming, tinkering, timing, and adjusting it took to produce this wonder.

I'm walking in a winter wonderland.

The wonders of Bureaucracy: The Sequel.

(To read the first installment of the Story Of My Life, click here.)

The story of How My Passport Came To Be began this summer, in the préfecture of a quaint little town in France. It went something like this:

"Hi, we would like to renew my daughter's passport."
"Of course. May I see your ID card, please? Oh, this address is in Paris. You'll have to go there to renew your passport, as it is your city of residence."
"Actually, we live in the United States and we're in France for the summer."
"Then why don't you get an American passport?"
"Because we are not American."
"Well, I can't make you a passport here because you do not live in this town. You'll have to go to the préfecture of your city of residence."
"Our city of residence is American and does not deliver French passports because they have all of ten French people there, and five of them are us."
"Then you will have to go to the American Consulate in Paris."
"But we are not American!"
"But you live in the United States, yes?"
"Yes, but the Americans cannot give us a French passport!"
"Then you will have to go to the French Consulate in the United States."

[Exeunt us, Dad fumes and grumbles something not very polite]

Six months later, my passport has expired.

Dad drives me to [city] this morning. We arrive at the sixth floor of a rather nondescript building and passed two locked doors to finally find the French Consulate General.

The nice French lady asks for my ID papers, takes them, and asks for a photo. Which we immediately realize we forgot to bring along. She directs us to the nearest Walgreens, where a friendly employee takes my picture and then takes forever to print it.

We make it back to the Consulate, hand over the pictures and the papers, and ten minutes of utter absence later, the lady comes back with a paper version of my passport info to check for accuracy and sign at the bottom, if you please Mademoiselle, in black pen.

Everything seems in order, and I am about to sign, when I notice that the address does look weird...

[name]
[street][city]
[another city][zip code]

I know the whole college thing might confuse people, but one of these cities isn't even remotely related with me. Maybe it is the default city for people who don't have cities? It didn't even match my zip code...

I point it out to her, she goes to fix it, and comes back with the following:

[name]
[street][city]
[same city][zip code]

I guess they really wanted to make sure I lived in one place? Well, she fixed it again. Then she said it cost $75.95.

Then she came back with an envelope that I needed to write my address on so that she could send me a notification when my finished passport arrived from overseas (they have to make them in France. In France! What's with the convoluted shipping back and forth?). Father dear, being the type A personality he is, made a weird face when she said we would have to come back in person to pick it up, and told her to ship the passport directly to us (you could clearly see he really wanted to tell her she should ship it, um, where the sun don't shine, but he refrained himself, which is good, because the last thing we need is a diplomatic incident and Interpol on our trail for assaulting a government worker) so we didn't have to make the drive back in the seven weeks or so it would take, at which point she mentioned it would cost an additional $16.50 to ship, and they didn't take credit cards, and that there was an ATM downstairs. He ran out the door grumbling (as always), and the lady took the opportunity of his abscence to tell me that I really should have a driver's license, why, her daughter could drive when she was fifteen, my parents must be so terrible, to not let their daughter drive! At which I thought, lady, you have no idea. I have only been arguing the point for, what, three years now?

Dad came back with the money, got impatient some more, the envelope got addressed and stamped and for some reason stapled so it wouldn't be lost. Meanwhile, a young woman and her infant came in with a request for a passport for the baby, and were denied because his eyes were closed in the picture (Well, he's a baby and he sleeps. It's what babies do. A lot.) Also, French passport pictures are ridiculously complicated and guidelined.

And then office lady started talking to this elderly couple who apparently came here often, and in the fashion of French elderly couples, knew everyone's business and inquired after everyone's family's health and talked nonsensically for an hour about the papers they had to turn in and the lady they were legally responsible for, and how to look up someone's phone number on Yahoo! (at this point I wanted to tell them that White pages was a lot better, but, like most elderly French couples, technology is past them.) Eventually, they had a fifteen-minute discussion about how they wished 'Happy New Year' in their home region(s) (Good year, good health, and Heaven at the end of your life), and left, wishing us a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year as per their aforementioned regional affiliations, and inquiring in the process whether we were going to France for the holidays.

After finishing her conversation with them, the lady asked us why we weren't gone yet, so we had to tell her that she had my birth certificate and it was the only copy I had of it and could we have it back please? At which she grumbled but complied (after spending ten minutes at the copier).

I then asked to register to vote, because the deadline is December 31st. After fumbling on her computer for a bit, she said that I was registered and should be receiver my voter's card in the mail at some unspecified point in the future.

I very politely thanked her, grabbed Dad by the arm, and left. Steam was starting to come out of his ears.

(Fast-forward to this afternoon, DPS office at home [guess that little lecture had some effect on Dad. He wants me to have my license by the time I go back to school in January]. As with usual offices of any kind in the US, there are about a million people in line.)

"Hi, I want to get a driver's license."
"Do you know how to drive?"
"No."
"Here is a booklet. Come back when you know it and take the test, then you will get a learner's permit and a week later you can pass your driver's license. It will cost $5 for the permit and $24 for the license. Are you American?"
"No."
"Then you will need your Green Card and Social Security card."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. See you soon!"

Clearly, it takes about the same amount of time to get stuff done in the US and in France. The only difference is, you don't have to wait in France but it takes forever to get it done, and you wait hours in the US but it is over with in five minutes.

(Except doctors' offices. I don't understand doctors in the US. I'll have to say French ones are much more efficient. You don't have to wait, there are no nurses to deal with or papers to fill out, AND it is over very fast. You call the doctor to make an appointment, show up five minutes before, he takes you to his office, asks you how you are, my, how you've grown, pokes you with a stick, tells you what's wrong, gives you a prescription, swipes your health card for the records, asks how your family is doing, tells you to get well soon, and shows you out the door. Quick, fast, and painless. Usually. Plus, Sécurité Sociale pays for it, so it's pretty much free.)

Men In Black

I sat next to a mysterious gentleman dressed in a black suit and a confused-looking Indian guy. I thought they were professors discussing professorly things over a sandwich, as many professors (such as my father) (and THE professor who absolutely DOES NOT serve as my role model nor would I marry him AT ALL given the chance) (*eep!* fangirl obsession!) do. Then, because they were not talking of professorly things, I assumed they were professors who talked about, um, normal things over a sandwich. As many people do. And then I noticed one of them seemed to be talking more about his family and the other was guiding the conversation and taking notes. So maybe they were a psychologist and his client talking over a sandwich. As I suppose happens sometimes. And then I heard the guy in the suit say "Now, do you know the Scientology term for that?"

I was shocked.

I know that the Church of Scientology is very active in this city, but I never suspected they were that obvious about it. Every time I walk in front of their building with the large "Welcome students!" banners, I tell myself that next time, I will walk in and pretend to be a misguided student in need of spiritual guidance. But I am too afraid to do it, and that is probably a good thing.

Scientology is a cult. Like all cults, it uses the concept of the foot-in-the-door phenomenon to recruit people. They first have a small request, then gradually work their way up to taking your entire income.

The Scientology guy was trying to get the other one to sever ties with his family (that's one of the steps, too. If you believe your family is against you, then you become closer to the cult. Plus, as you severed the ties to your family, no one is going to try to rescue you).

I didn't know what to do. I don't know if I should have said anything. Truth is, I was scared to death. I was scared of that guy in the suit. I was scared that, if I spoke up and told the other guy that this wasn't good at all and he should run away from that man, fast, the guy in the suit would follow me home.

I saw a policeman outside and wanted to tell him to go and arrest that man for taking away another human being's freedom. But cults are legal, so there is nothing I could have done.

I don't know why people want to hurt others like that. I just don't understand.

Look, pal...

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

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

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

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

Hotel Rwanda

Paul Rusesabagina spoke at the university last night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why are we not doing anything?

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

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

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

But it will be one step forward.

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

We need to do something.

On Not Being Able To Vote

Today is a great day.

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

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

But what about those of us who cannot vote?

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

Except for one thing: I can't vote.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, the wonders of bureaucracy...

Here is my story for today:

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

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

Repeat the next day.

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

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

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

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

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

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