The nursery--tah dah!

We have ordered window shades and we will ultimately purchase a rainbow colored rug. It's not a huge room but it works.







And, for those sadistic out-of-town friends dying to know how huge I am, here's me:

Why sexism hurts men

Women students take lead roles at Ga. Tech That's a headline from the Atlanta Journal-Constitution from November 4.

I just "googled" my blog title to see if I could take the easy route and link some other blog. What I got is that: "men aren't allowed to cry" and "feminists rob men of their roles in the family" business which, while possibly well founded, is not what I'm talking about. What I mean might be described more clearly with the phrase, "Why discrimination against women hurts men" or "The importance of diversity for men."

I bring this up b/c of the quote in the ajc article regarding our illustrious president, Bud Peterson:

Peterson said it’s crucial for women to succeed. He recalled an activity a few years ago when the car company Saturn asked students to suggest improvements. Some women suggested a compartment on the back of the passenger seat with a hook to hang purses and other items. Handbags slide around and the contents empty out if the car suddenly stops, the women explained.

Sigh. This stupid little anecdote has been told by Bud before and it's offensive. You may have some other suggestions but I think the reason it's offensive is because women have been reduced to a ridiculous gender stereotype. We are valuable to industry because we install make-up mirrors on the insides of laptops...actually, I couldn't even come up with something more ridiculous that Bud's example. It's especially ridiculous because of this previous paragraph, written by the article's author, Laura Diamond:

National studies show the relatively new area of bioengineering has been popular with women. The field encompasses engineering applied to living things and has been used with ultrasounds and artificial knees and hips.

Ultrasounds, Bud, and artificial knees, you sexist jerk...[muttering]purse hooks, for crying out loud...

So, now I come to the subject of my post, an issue that my advisor and I discussed briefly this morning in the hallway:

Reasons that sexism (against women) hurts men:

1. Many of the world's smartest people (about half) are women. If we leave these particular smart people out of the workforce or force them into positions where they aren't allowed to think or contribute, the society as a whole (including the men) lose out on progress. The structure of DNA would not have been solved by men alone, for example.

2. Spending all of one's time thinking about one's own perspective, and having that perspective echoed back to you by the people around you, is not good for people. It makes them over-confident and boar-ish.

3. It must be exhausting to be constantly handing out favors to those beneath you. Wake up and realize that that's not what you're doing. By surrounding yourself with women in the workplace who could kick the crap out of you academically and in terms of hard work, you may start to feel less resentful of affirmative action...if you could ever actually admit to yourself that that woman just kicked the crap out of you...probably you think it's b/c of that extra year they gave her to get tenure...

Okay, so I've clearly dissolved into frustrated finger-pointing. If you, my friends, have any other suggestions for how (a) Bud Peterson could better describe the importance of diversity at GT or, (b) Men suffer from sexism (against women), let me know.

Milo = large jicama

This comparison between babies and produce makes me laugh. I like it, overall. Especially when he was just a tiny little blueberry-sized guy. I'm not sure I need as much help in imagining 3 3/4 lbs and, even if I did, I'm not super familiar with jicama. I do have 3 lb weights at my house, having participated as much as most people have in the at-home fitness video movement. At 36 weeks he will be the size of a Crenshaw melon, which does me no good b/c I've never even heard of that. Anyway, the thought of Milo as a jicama is a little bit cute.

He's very elbow-y and pokey but less turn over-y than he used to be, which is apparently b/c he's getting so big in comparison to his space. I like it when I can feel a little elbow or whatever on the outside of the belly. He used to sort of lean against one wall or the other and Kevin and I would spend time poking around until we found him (i.e., found a solid part of the belly), but now he's pretty much close to the surface all the time and all over. The only difference is when he pokes out a foot or whatever, which you can see/feel as a solid bump or asymmetry (for those of you who haven't actually had this experience before). The belly button is still hangin' in as an "inny" but it's really being pushed to its limit. Also, a lot of it is now on the outside, as it has become very shallow, and that skin is all soft and hairless, having been indoors for 32 years. Anyway, I have pretty much avoided baby talk up until now but it's pretty much the topic of conversation these days.

Better pictures of my cats

I think that these postures do a fairly good job of illustrating their natures, particularly if you consider how close I had to stand to take the pictures.



Here, Chloe is getting ready to bolt b/c I've been standing so close for so long (approx. 10-12 feet away for about a minute).



Wyatt, on the other hand, is only still curled by himself and not actually sitting on me b/c he's asleep and doesn't realize I've gotten up.

Check out my limnology pumpkin!

It's a Chaoborus about to eat a Daphnia. I'm so happy.

Near escape

I have two indoor cats who don't like car trips or schedule upsets or change of any kind. Their names are Wyatt and Chloe. This photo of me and Wyatt, the friendly cat, is the only cat photo I have on this computer so it will have to do even though you'll have to imagine the other cat, Chloe, who is smaller, shy, and calico. You would have to imagine her meow anyway, which is very tiny and high-pitched. She spends her days hiding under things and running away.

I came home from orchestra rehearsal yesterday at about 8:30pm. It was dark and I was on the phone with my dad. The front light was not on and I was carrying a lot of stuff. So, in I bustle, with a vague realization that the door was open and I couldn't see anything in the dark. I put down my things and proceeded into my bedroom, shutting the door, so that I could finish talking to my dad. Time passed... I finished my conversation about a half hour later and came out into the kitchen to fix myself some good old PB&J and to unload the dishwasher, etc.

As I'm eating, I notice Chloe sitting in the doorway. She's very shy and doesn't usually like to visit so I'm a little surprised but I chat with her. She meows and sort of shuffles back and forth a little. She stays there staring at me so long that I decide she must need something so I go over to where she is and follow her into her room where she runs under the bed and I notice that she may sort of need water so I fill her bowl. While I'm filling, she follows me back into the kitchen. If she were a child, she would be doing a sort of impatient potty dance. If she were a grown-up, she would be clearing her throat. At this point, Chloe and I have spent more time together than in the typical week and I'm starting to worry. Suddenly, I realize the missing piece. Wyatt, my usually very needy/whiny/vocal cat is uncharacteristically absent. So, I call him, which usually illicits an immediate response. No Wyatt. Now I think he might be sick so I start looking under beds. This is when it hits me that I came into the house in the dark, with lots of stuff, and left the door open for a while. Wyatt has been in escapee mode lately and I realize, "Disaster! I have lost my cat to the great outdoors!" So, I go rushing to the front door and open it, look around, and then call Wyatt, "Wyatt!" Immediately, the sad and distressed Wyatt comes rushing up the front stairs in crouchy, near-the-ground, panic posture. This is the posture he uses when children come into my house. He was released! He had been out there for maybe an hour at this point! He was traumatized. I have no idea where he was but his nose was dirty. Possibly under the front stairs? I can only imagine that he'd decided that he'd been abandoned and was going to have to learn to fend for himself in the wilds. This was particularly accentuated by the fact that, when he finally gained re-admittance, he ran immediately to his food bowl and started snarfing food. He'd decided that he'd been left for dead! He didn't talk to me at all for the rest of the night. He didn't even yell at me. He just sulked. It was very sad. This morning we had a chat and he explained to me that I'd hurt his feelings...but only after Kevin forced him to get up and talk to me (he was not boycotting Kevin). Anyway, I'm glad he's back and I'm glad he's not the sort of cat to run away. I suspect that he's now regaling Chloe with tales of the outside. She won't be impressed. She lived outside for months before she came to live with us. I should have pointed that out to Wyatt...

The fun theory

Here's something to renew your faith in the human species.



What's charming about this movie to me is the way so many people are willing to enjoy themselves during the course of what's probably just an ordinary day. I mean, that's the obvious conclusion but I guess I imagine that the jerkholes around me in crowds are not the good-time fun sort of person that I am. So, I think the piano stairs would not only be good times for me but it would make me like people more, if this were happening on my commute. I like the man who takes his dogs up the stairs. They probably aren't allowed on the escalator but I would imagine that their reaction to the musical stairs would be funny. I also like the people who sort of go up and down. You can imagine trying to play a song and then realizing it would be too hard. Chopsticks would require multiple people for sure. And heart and soul--I don't think there are enough keys.

On the other hand, based on my experience at Ikea, things that are fun and cool for families in Sweden often get decimated and f-ed up by American families. We can't maybe be trusted in the same way. Or maybe the Swedish Ikea has a lot of broken stuff also but they have higher paid employees who care enough to clean up the mess. Either way, I've noticed that a lot of the perks and entertainment items from early in Ikea's time here are now gone...having spent several months sort of sad and broken. I sure wish I had some delicious meatballs right about now.

Okay, fine, maybe later.

Now that I've waited this long, I'm saving the nursery blog for after the curtains are up and the rug is purchased. Buys me time.

Instead, I would like to share with you one of the most hilarious things I've seen recently, which is timely for me. I currently pee 3-4 times per night and every time I remind myself that this is actually really great and peaceful compared to what's to come since peeing just takes a minute and feeding a baby takes 30 minutes. Alternatively, sometimes I can't get back to sleep after peeing. Still I think it's probably more restful to lie there trying to sleep than it is to be feeding a baby. But, who knows. The point is, this NYTimes piece is hilarious.

Soon, very soon, nursery photos...for now, sisters...

Having gotten the nursery painted (white), Kevin and I assembled the crib and started diverting all our baby stuff into the room. Next, my dear friend and I visited Ikea to get the decorating started. It's all very charming, but I don't have photos to post yet so you'll have to wait.

In the mean time, I'm trying to come up with something else to post so that my angry political post can move down the line. Based on npr this morning and the person who is maybe the person second most interested in my nursery (...maybe third), I will talk about sisterhood. Anyway, our nursery theme was her idea.



The author of the npr book asserts that, "In some ways, siblings and especially sisters are more influential in your childhood than your parents." This was certainly true for me. I don't have any photos from my childhood, but, trust me when I say that most of them were taken with my sister. That's true for most people with siblings, I suspect. I think my parents did an excellent job with parenting so I don't think there's any way around it but, when I think of the major familial influences on my personality, my sister does feature somewhat more prominently than my parents.

I think that having an older sister may make the effect more profound since she was there from the day I was born. In addition, her opinion was super important to me and my opinion didn't become important to her until somewhat later. She played a major role, consciously and unconsciously, in helping me to decide on things like what to wear and whether or not I was attractive (conclusion: not when compared to her). She was popular and pretty and always had a boyfriend, so, really, who better to ask. Anyway, as I get older, I still process what these things mean for me now. I point now toward an article in the new york times on birth order. Apparently it's not as important as we think but I fit so well into the laid-back, funny, and adaptable second child role. Plus, Time magazine points out how consistent birth order stereotypes have been historically. Man, it would have sucked to be the younger sibling of a president!

Healthcare schmealthcare

nataliedee.com

I couldn't find a comic or anything to express my opinions on the healthcare debate and then I realized that this is the closest one. I find that I can't have a civil conversation because it's another one of those situations where no one makes sense to me. It's like they're speaking another language, I disagree with them so profoundly. I'm paralyzed. The things I heard on npr this morning just made matters worse. Apparently 54% of Americans approve of Obama's energy policies and, they didn't give a percentage, but, far fewer are on board with healthcare. Do you want to know why I think that is? Because he's been asking them. I think the town hall meetings are a mistake. Pearls before swine. Not because the healthcare plan is pearls, per se, but because the American people don't have anything intelligent to contribute. They say things like, "I don't want government-run healthcare and don't you dare touch medicare." and "I was bankrupt and using foodstamps and living on welfare and no one helped ME out." We're a nation of idiots. I think that what we need to do is quickly improve the educational system before we re-introduce town hall meetings. I think that the reason so many people approve of the energy policy is because it's not been paraded around for bozos to criticize with their half-baked opinions and bullshit points of view. Take me for example, I'm not too crazy about nuclear power. It's dirty and nasty and needs to be a last resort. Lots of people feel that way. Ask us about Obama's energy policy, however, and we're like, "Sure, whatev [finger 'w']" So, as you can see, I'm not leaving liberals out of this, nor am I omitting myself. What I'm saying is that Obama has a nasty habit of worrying too much about consensus. Fuck consensus. You don't need it. Doesn't he have all the votes he needs? They're all out to get you. Just fucking pass a bill and forget about it. Here's where I love Barney Frank. It's a different issue but it makes me happy. Jon Stewart showed this clip recently (you can skip to 1:19):

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Barney Frank's Town Hall Snaps
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor Healthcare Protests

Teeheehee. Love him. Anyway, all this in the face of the death of the senate's best consensus builder...well...I do understand the importance of consensus, I guess. If only everyone were trying!

Vomit, a nice post about my husband.

I think that maybe people don't like to hear wonderful touching things that other people feel about their spouses because it sounds like bragging. Alternatively, it makes people feel like you've shared private information. Unfortunately, it is totally socially fine to complain about the poor souls and, because of that, I'm constantly concerned that people get the wrong idea at the small scale, about Kevin and, at the large scale, about marriage. I just watched Julie and Julia last week and my favorite thing about it was the relationship between Julia Child and her husband. I felt like it was a really good portrayal of married love and it made me happy. Because, it's different, right? So, you get a lot of "love stories" in the media/movies/etc. and there's all this drama and big feelings and dramatic crescendos and then there's the cultural idea that it ends after a little while and you just suck it up and get used to the absence of romance. And I perpetuate that notion a little bit because it is really different. You lose a lot of the feeling of putting on a fancy dress to see if you can impress someone or the feelings of surprise or nerves (these things vary, based on the couple). What I'm really excited about now is how much new and exciting stuff you get, which is hard to quantify or explain or put into a movie. I think I've done this before but I'm going to attempt to make a list of things that can be features in a happy marriage (that are features of mine):

(1) You have, for perhaps the first time for some people, someone who generally thinks that you're a good person who tries hard to do the right thing. You can be a big asshole or act badly and feel like everyone hates you, but, as long as the victim isn't the poor spouse, he/she will maybe give you an opinion about what you've done, but, ultimately know that you shouldn't be judged too harshly.

(2) He/she, for the most part, takes care of you when you're unpleasant. Take this from a pregnant person. I am stinky and cranky and hate-filled. Also, demanding and not much help (e.g., with yard-work and carrying furniture).

(3) It's not that there isn't a fluttery sense of how much I love him, there is, it's just that it feels different, maybe bigger and more profound, when it's not new and it's missing the sense that you could lose him at any moment. This feeling does get especially profound if I hear a story about someone losing his/her spouse. It makes a person want to rush home and engulf him/her to be sure he/she is safe. Sometimes it happens to Kevin and it's a nice feeling from either end.

Anyway, the moral of the story is that I firmly believe that marriage is worthwhile. I'm re-iterating that sentiment because I think it's important, if sappy. Now I'm going to go back to my previous post to see if I'm repeating myself...sort of...you can decide for yourself.

Is it my age or have I become dowdy?

I mentioned on facebook previously that I got yelled at for talking during movie previews recently. This hasn't happened to me all that frequently but one reason it didn't surprise me is that I have, overall, come to a place where strangers aren't all that nice to me. I have three theories:

1. It's because I appear old, due to my gray hair, un-hip clothing, or, possibly, my age.

2. It's started since I have been pregnant, in which case there are three sub-theories: (a) It's because I appear fat, (b) It's because I'm surly and grumpy, and (c) I am just more sensitive

3. I'm moving around with a different group of people as I get older and start working the 9-5 hours and going to early, uptight movies like the 7:30 Sunday showing of Julie and Julia.

Overall, the situation is distressing and disappointing. I thought that I didn't mind being female because people were, overall, somewhat nicer to me (externally). However, I am beginning to think that this is only true for young and sort of stylish-ly dressed and non-fat females. This morning, I decided, after I'd already opened my driver-side door, to file my nails before going to my office. The parking deck wasn't crowded and there was no one parked either in the space on my passenger side or in the space next to the space on my driver side. Still, a bmw screeched into the space next to the space on my driver side and gave me a surly look, presumably for taking up a space with my car door. It's a daily trend at this point. If it's not a surly parking deck patron, it's my fellow drivers, movie-goers, or the students on campus. I seem to have become invisible/annoying overnight. Maybe the city is just in a bad mood. Maybe it's because of the healthcare debate.

Okay, fine, I'll be positive.

Things I like about pregnancy:

(1) The aforementioned men with babies thing. They're super nice to me. It turns them all squishy and sweet and empathetic as soon as they realize I'm pregnant. They use sweet voices and cock their heads and ask me how I've been feeling. So far, these have all been hardened scientists who typically make people cry about how bad their research is.

(2) I don't have to go to the gym. I go for walks with my friends and people think I'm doing a bang-up job getting plenty of exercise. Thanks everyone, it's really been a challenge ;)

(3) Guilt-free new clothes. If I buy them from a consignment shop, I've actually behaved in a very conscientious way. Something I apparently should not do is purchase lawn care equipment for my husband. He says it's as if he bought me a vacuum cleaner. Fair enough.

(4) I have substituted booze for desert. It's a switch I'm thinking of sticking with, even after the baby comes and I'm allowed booze again. The calories are sort of comparable, depending on how much booze you were going to have. I had a delicious cookie with ice cream and raspberries last night and Kevin drank beers like a sucker.

There, see? Positive. I now get an award for not being a complainer. I'll put it next to the big red "C" I got for yesterday's tirade.

That's right, I said I'm pregnant, would you like to offer me your seat?

I tried to find an internet image to plug in here and it just made me even more annoyed. My annoyance is something I've just uncovered, having posted on my friend's blog. I'm annoyed about a list of social aspects of pregnancy I've just discovered. I'm going to use list form since I don't have an image and I need to hold your interest:

(1) People are more concerned about my safety than they used to be. I've decided that it's probably because small injuries can result in dramatic repercussions. This is my decision. What I'm having trouble resisting is the idea that this baby's life is more important than my life was, before he/she existed. Alternatively, that I've suddenly become the blameless Madonna, since becoming pregnant, and, hence, don't deserve accident or injury. I've got news for you people, almost all pregnant women got that way from sex. They are the same slutty potty-mouth jerk-faces they were before, although sometimes married and, hence, again, blameless, for some reason.

(2) Related to my search for an internet image: The juxtaposition of pregnancy and sexuality seems to endlessly titillate people, thus, the media is filled with these ridiculously sexual pregnant ladies. Let me tell you one more thing: She just farted. And it smelled terrible. Just so you know. Also, she feels a little like eating an entire pizza but also a little like throwing up. She's exhausted and cranky and probably doesn't have anything nice to say about you or your mother.

(3) I can not handle one more person's reaction to this news. Why is that? Why did I spend my entire childhood imagining what it would be like to be pregnant (that's right, I did) only to feel completely out-of-place, confused, and embarassed by the whole thing? I thought I would be someone glee-fully shouting things out to the world as soon as the stick turned pink and, instead, I want the various friends and loved ones in my life to just magically know, so that I don't have to have the appropriate response to their resounding joy. Do they realize how hard this is going to be? Why so un-abashedly happy? My life is about to change dramatically and, while I'm excited and happy, I'm also terrified...and I'm probably uncomfortably gassy.

Okay, that's done. Phew. I feel somewhat better. I'm happy about all of this, I really am. And I don't want to be labeled as a complainer (since another thing about pregnancy is that #4 people like to rank the women they know in terms of how well they handled the whole thing). I just sort of needed to say some things. Maybe that's why my blog has been so vacant for so long, since this is the only thing I think about...not really...that's item #5 that annoys me about the social understanding of pregnancy.

Disgusting, semi-painful, and totally effective

The only thing more fantastic than the neti pot itself is this awesome photo of it I found on wikipedia. Hillarious man using neti pot. I'd just like to say that I have had a sinus headache for approximately 3 weeks due to some nasty form of rhinitis (many possible causes). Last night, I poured saltwater into my nose, then blew it all over my kitchen, and then, magically [twinkling sound], the headache, she was finished. All hail king neti pot. I utilized it again this morning because I was told to use it daily and let me just say that this is a testimony to (1) how terrible a 3 week sinus headache is and (2) how completely healed I was, because pouring saltwater into my nose is up there in the top 10 things I dislike. It's very much like unexpectedly getting hit in the face with a giant wave at the beach.

While I'm blogging, I'd like to say one more thing: I absolutely, positively, hate HATE the 80 bajillion circumstances in the life of a PhD student/PostDoc in which one receives completely crappy instructions on an issue (e.g., "What do I do with my ethidium bromide waste?" Answer: "Email so-and-so to come pick it up.") followed by the select so-and-so bawling you out for doing it wrong (e.g., "Ethidium bromide is a chemical hazard, not a biohazard, you have placed it in the wrong bag! In addition, you must provide me with a contact number and, furthermore, you're an idiot!") This sort of scenario seems to happen over and over again. If it's not chemical waste, it's chemical inventory. If it's not chemical inventory, it's p-card statements. If it's not p-card statements, it's my stupid parking permit or some other ridiculous red tape bs item...argh! I guess this is the pay-back for being able to show up whenever I want and not having to wear pantyhose.

Patellar tracking disorder

Sigh, and alas. I have been doing physical therapy now for about two weeks, for my knees, which hurt every time I get going in an exercise program. Turns out I have patellar tracking disorder, which may or may not be reparable. There are several things that I really hate about this diagnosis (no particular order):

(1) They suggest that I lose weight. This is annoying on two different levels. There's the obvious, not liking to be told to lose weight, and the secondarily annoying, which is that you are supposed to simultaneously stop whatever exercise made the knee start hurting.

(2) They suggest that I build up my quads, which annoys me, because my quads are already stronger than most people's (I can backsquat more than a lot of the women at my gym who are otherwise much bigger bad-asses than I am).

(3) They explain to me that this is often a hereditary misalignment thing, particularly since there was no trauma, and the various solutions may or may not work.

Anyway, the physical therapist is an improvement for two reasons. First of all, my GP just told me to take 2 aleve 2x a day...for the rest of my life, presumably? And, secondly, my GP described patellar chondromalacia, which is more of a symptom than a diagnosis. Oh, one more reason, which is that my GP said that the only alternative to the massive intake of NSAIDs would be surgery...which turns out not to be true...per se...

So, it's good to have a diagnosis. Some of my prescriptions include specific stretches, ice, and the graston technique (pictured above), which hurts. What's fun is that, at each session, there is a lot of sort of rough massage-style leg manipulation to determine what sorts of stretches I need to do. I think that part is the classic "physical therapy." I also get chiropractic pelvic adjustments. My very favorite part of the leg manipulations is that, since my quads are involved, I have to wear shorts and shave. Also, since I've watched the various manipulations, I've become increasingly aware of both how jiggly my inner thighs are, and how carefully I need to shave them. I considered telling the physical therapist, last time, about Emily and the German gynecologist, and the taking off of the pants. I decided that he might find it creepy. What he'd likely find more creepy is doing his job in Germany.

Warning! Not for children

So, a couple of weeks ago, I went to a book signing of Street Gang: the Complete History of Sesame Street. One of the stories I find myself telling over and over again is this: Apparently, if you buy a DVD of the first two seasons of Sesame Street, it comes with a warning label. According to Michael Davis, author of the Street Gang book, the scene below is one of the reasons for the label:



Other offenses include (1) a little girl sliding down a slide such that you can see her underpants, (2) as the nytimes article indicates, the "monsterpiece theatre" parody in which Alistair Cookie holds a pipe, and (3) a series of political activists appearing on the show (like Buffy there). What really makes me feel sad about this situation is the reality that we have done so much social backsliding since the '70s. Progress was made and then immediately snatched from our hands. There was also a lot of kidnapping/child molestation fear in the 80s, which is what made Snuffleupagus become real. They didn't want kids to think about a situation where they were trying to get adults to believe them and the adults couldn't see what was happening, which makes sense.

Anyway, the booksigning wasn't all depressing (although Liliana and I both had to hold back tears as the author read the script from the episode where Mr. Hooper died). I stood in line with a guy who has the same uncanny memory that I have and I shocked and embarassed my friends by breaking out into the following song with this strange man:



Hehehe, I forgot about Andy. Man, I loved that show. The stranger and I sang this song in response to the (false) rumor that Cookie Monster is going to be changed into "Veggie" Monster. We were remembering that there is already a veggie character. Apparently now Cookie Monster states that cookies are a "sometimes food." Fair enough. But, as the wikipedia entry points out, anyone who has watched Cookie Monster knows that he doesn't eat just cookies.

Prairie dog vacuum

Apparently, a lot of people are familiar with this:



I was not familiar. I am in love with it.

http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_qn4182/is_19960912/ai_n10094665/?tag=content;col1

My officemate tells me that prairie dogs are really vocal and that they sort of scream as they're going into the truck. Also, apparently, they're really happy when they find one another inside the truck. Hillarious. I think that Wallace and Gromit did something similar in the Were-rabbit.

Trying to think of something interesting...

I find that, sometimes, if I just start typing, I come up with something good. We'll see how it goes. I'm learning about fungi and oomycetes (which are not fungi but used to be classified that way until people learned that their hyphae are coenocytic, their cytoplasm is granular (?), and "the apex is devoid of organelles other than numerous secretory vesicles." Geez, how could you overlook that obvious difference? Here's a picture of one that is very closely related to mine:

(http://www.uoguelph.ca/~gbarron/2008/pythiu1.jpg)

There are some good pictures of mine but they're not on this computer. Culturing fungus/oomycetes, it turns out, is only a little bit similar to culturing bacteria. This makes things fun. Culturing plankton is even less like culturing bacteria. Here's something else I've learned: If you want something to be infectious, you have to make it into a spore. If you want to make something into a spore, you need yet another protocol, meaning that, if your organism is new, you have to develop a new protocol. So, it's not just about culturing, kids. Oh, hey, Janet, maybe you know some good references about sporulation in eukaryotes. I'm a little bit unsure. P.S. To be considered a "spore" in a fungus or oomycete, you pretty much have to be nothing except sort of wandering around aimlessly, no requirement for a spore coat or heat resistence or whatever. Furthermore, people who are used to eukaryotes will constantly refer to "spores" in bacterial species. They do not like for you to stop them and point out that, if they're not heat resistant and don't have a spore coat, bacteriologists don't call them spores.

Married to a meat-a-holic

So, my husband loves to cook giant cuts of meat (see below). I enjoy cooking experiments and I enjoy being the test audience for cooking experiments. I myself made the lemon tart that Kevin mentions below, complete with homemade crust. In fact, this is my second time to make the lemon tart and the first time I stayed up later than I intended because I didn't realize that the dough has to rest for 30 minutes before you roll it out. All of that said, these giant cuts of meat are a problem. I met Kevin at the first annual "Pig Pickin'" so I can't say I didn't know, but being married to someone who enjoys staying up all night poking a thermometer into a hunk of meat can be trying. Take this Easter ham for instance. It's not a cured ham, mind you. As you can see below, it's a big raw hunk of pig. It brined for three days in a giant gatorade cooler in our shower (this was a request of mine...heaven forbid I hadn't asked him to put the cooler in the shower...I don't even want to think...). After that, the grilling and the constant temperature taking. He doesn't do the math for you in his entry so it might be hard for you to realize that this "finishing it up on the counter" occurred at about midnight the night before my big Easter church music thing, for which I had to be up at 6am. Aluminum tenting is loud, just, for future reference. Giant sheets of aluminum foil. Also, barbecued pork smells delicious at noon or 6pm. It does not smell delicious at midnight. Okay, I'm done. In the end, the pork really was delicious. I have some for lunch today, with some leftover squash casserole and broccoli (he forgot to mention the broccoli). The maple dijon glaze is also very good. I might say it was worth it...but I might not...

Kevin's Easter Ham

Kevin here. This Easter, we decided to do a smoked fresh ham. This particular ham weighed in right at 22lb - a big hunk of meat. The fun started on Thursday evening when I prepped the ham and set it in the brine. As you can see, I left the skin on, scoring a crosshatch pattern across the meat and then setting it in a brine solution in a water cooler with ice, where it would sit until Saturday morning.













Saturday morning, I set my Webber Kettle for an indirect heat and slapped the meat on. I didn't know how long this was going to take. I was shooting for a final temperature of around 160, so I was hoping to get there in 8 hours or so.








After 10 hours, we were still only up to around 135 degrees. So, I had to take matters into my own hands and move the ham inside to the oven - which I had set at 325 degrees.





After another 2.5 hours in the oven, the ham had finally reached 152 degrees. So I pulled it out and let it rest for another hour or so on the counter where it got above 160.




After a night in foil in the fridge, I put it back in the oven at 350 for 1.5 hours with a good bit of maple mustard glaze. Served with pea salad, squash casserole, and a lemon tart - it was perfect.

(Tomorrow, maybe I'll write about how he kept me up all night rattling aluminum foil and taking the ham's temperature. -Sara)

My first youtube movie

This is the sort of thing I spend my time looking at these days:



It's Asplanchna. They're rotifers. We try to infect them with oomycetes. Fascinating, right? I find them cute but it's hard to see in this movie. There's another one that someone else made...



They actually pretty much suck at catching food so I'm surprised (1) that they survive at all and (2) that this person was able to catch one eating. The food pretty much has to swim into their mouths, or whatever you call their corona hole thing. Here are some Asplanchna fun facts:

Female Asplanchna have no designated hole for receiving the sexual reproductive matter from male Asplanchna, which are small and triangular and don't do anything but fertilize the female Asplanchna. The male pretty much just picks a place on the soft body of the female.

If you try to open up an Asplanchna with a pair of dissecting pins, it's pretty much like trying to dissect a jell-o mold to access the fruit...

Asplanchna do not preserve as well as other zooplankton, probably because they don't have a carapace, so it's good to count them the same day you catch them.

When an Asplanchna runs into a Dapnia or Copepod, it pretty much just sits there and gets its ass kicked with the antennules, resembling a fat kid on a playground. I'm going to try to make a movie of this phenomenon because I find it hillarious.

The lovely side of spring

I can't tell if it's the rain or the semi-cold weather but my allergies have abated and I've had an opportunity to photograph my yard, as promised. This allowed me to practice my photography also.

I took these pictures of the vegetable garden so that I can make a big deal later about how much it's grown. I realized that "before" pictures were lacking last year.





Next, I'll show off my little window box. Again, I have some notion that it might improve later.







And, a few shots of the blooming stuff:

tulips


blueberry bushes


dogwood

Here's the song--Ned Nostril

Pollen count--High. Achoo!

http://www.pollen.com/forecast.asp?zip=30309&affiliateid=8248

So, oak, cedar, and juniper are in the running for the plants/trees I'm allergic to. There's a lot of oak around me so I'm thinking that it's a good bet. I guess that some people are just allergic to "tree pollen" as opposed to "grass pollen." Anyway, my throat is sore and I'm sort of honk-y/snort-y. It reminds me of a Ray Stephens song that was on the same album as the song about the Mississippi squirrel.

The good news is, it's beautiful. Everything is in bloom and looking nice. Slutty trees sluttin' it up. Maybe I'll take some pictures of my yard tonight.

Tough love

I'm starting my blog with a picture of a tuner because I'm buying one because my oboe teacher got giant scary eyes when I told her I don't have one. I'm not feeling bad about it because she has this same tuner so, you know, it's something people need. Now I'll discuss my weekend. I play oboe in a Baroque ensemble which generally just plays during church on Sundays. The music is generally over my head, which is why I am taking lessons. Several weeks ago, my conductor asked me if I would play 2nd oboe in an afternoon concert, which he conducts each year. I said I would. Then, I started hearing people talk about how they had chosen not to play in the afternoon concert because the music was too hard and there would be only one rehearsal. Shoot. I'd already said 'yes' and didn't feel like I could back out. So, I practiced. A lot. I purchased a recording on iTunes and practiced along to my iPod. I have never worked this hard at my oboe playing in my life. I felt very proud. That's the background.

So, I got in my car Saturday morning at 8:30am to find that it was gas-free, thanks to my loving husband. The rehearsal was at 9 but I didn't have any choice. I got to the church, couldn't find a place to park, parked far away, and then couldn't find an open door...long story short, I was late. Very late. No one else was late. The orchestra was halfway through the first (of ten) movement when I arrived and I COULD NOT get to my seat without disturbing people. So, I put my instrument together, soaked my reed, wandered around the perimeter of the orchestra, and waited for a pause in rehearsal. Awkward. I recognized very few people, this because almost everyone in the orchestra for this particular concert, was a professional. Great. I found a pause, a route, and some courage, and bustled to my seat next to, oh yeah, I forgot to mention, the 1st oboist was MY TEACHER! No pressure.

I actually did make it through rehearsal but it was very tense and I made a couple of mistakes, one which caused the 1st oboist (my teacher) to put out her hand and count out loud to me. Fantastic. So, at the end, everyone just dispersed. I felt like someone should have congratulated me but they didn't. So, I went around apologizing to various people for having been late (the conductor, my teacher, etc.) hoping that this would cause them to point out to me how brave and hard-working I'd been. Nothing. Just a lot of, "Well, you're here now." sort of comments. So, I had lunch with my friend, who is a generation older than I and always makes me feel a little bit like I've misbehaved. I explained to her about my hectic morning and she pointed out to me how I'm frequently late. I explained to her about how I just wanted someone to say, "You're doing fine." and she said, "You're too old to need that sort of affirmation." I mean, honestly, am I? Am I just too old for people to be nice to me and tell me I'm doing a good job? Should I consider this feeling and tell people who are older than I am when they're doing a good job? Because I generally only do this for younger people.

Anyway, concert day arrived and I felt sick all day. I put on my concert black and arrived very early. I was not first but I was something like 3rd to arrive. I got into my seat and did not throw up. My teacher came in and got arranged as well. I brought in two reeds. We tuned and my teacher said, "Flat, pull out." Now, this is tricky because, when you're flat, you push in, so now I'm just confused. The first movement was 15 minutes long with relentless playing and a long pause before the 2nd movement. I was frenzied and tense and so so anxious but I made it through with little incident. At the end, my teacher whispered, "Are you having a good time?" I said, "No, not really." I said, "I'm worried about my pitch." She said, "That's because you're sharp." Shit. Shit. Shit. Now I have to finish the piece but I'm even more nervous than before! I changed reeds and adjusted my instrument and I made it to the end. Not an awesome show but I generally knew where we were and I played most of my notes. I looked at my teacher and said, "I think I fixed the pitch." She confirmed, kindly, that I had fixed my pitch. As I was exhaling, my friend from lunch the day before came and said (as a somewhat sarcastic joke), "You did an excellent job," in reference to my comment the day before. I don't think it's too much to ask! So, then I turned to explain to my teacher what was happening. At this point, she was very nice, explaining how she was busy playing and didn't think about reassuring me but that I had done just fine. Phew. Then she made the face with the big eyes when she recommended that I spend some time with a tuner...and I said that I don't have one... Oh well... So, regarding the "flat, pull out" comment: Apparently, since we were tuning to the organ, what she meant was that the organ was flat and so I should pull out, since that would make me sharp. Crap.

Bottom line: I'm apparently too old for affirmation and reassurance. This depresses me.

Civil Rights and the tenacity of the human spirit.

Here's something I was thinking about today: It's funny to me how, on some days, I think that I hate everyone and that the creation cannot be redeemed because everyone is selfish and hate-filled. Then, on another day, maybe it's sunny or whatever, and all I can think about is how heart-breakingly wonderful people are. So, this morning, I listened to this story on NPR and started bawling in my car. It's about John Lewis leading a pilgrimage to commemorate the Civil Rights struggle.


Peggy Wallace Kennedy, daughter of George Wallace, said the following:

"'I knew in my heart that their cause was just, but unlike them I did not let my voice be heard. For many years I wandered in the world of indifference, until I heard the voice of Barack Obama. He inspired me to believe in myself and to join with millions of others who laid claim to faith and pride in America.'

And then George Wallace's daughter turned, and with tears in her eyes, embraced Holder. For several moments, the two just held each other."

The story goes on to describe the sermon delivered by Rev. Joseph Lowery, based on Revelations 21: "I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the old heaven and the old earth have passed away."

I mean, I bawled. I sat there in my car and bawled. But, here's the thing, right? The whole pilgrimage is based around how completely shitty people were being in the 1950s. So...what is it I want to say? That a wound needs to be opened before it can heal? Something about yin and yang? Revolution? Full-circle something something? I don't really think it's any of that. I guess what I want to say is that people are completely shitty sometimes but, then, you know? Sometimes they're not. So, maybe, when people seem like utter dickheads, the thing to do is to keep believing that things change. Everything changes. On the other hand, the same could be said about when people are being fantastic...

I always miss snow.

For some reason I go out of town every time it snows in Atlanta. Fortunately, this time, I got home in time to see the residual snow. My neighborhood has about 4 inches. I should make a photo diary of Southeastern snow-folk the next time it snows. I love their dirty, leafy selves. Actually, in my neighborhood, there was enough snow for some pretty clean snow-folk. There was even enough for some (pretty dirty) snow forts. Seriously, pictures would help a lot but, if you're from the south, you know what I mean. Georgian children really miss out on winter festivities. Thus, they take every opportunity, based on popular culture images, to do the various things children are supposed to do when it snows. The result is a pretty pitiful array of busted noses (from sledding into grass patches) and snow structures that really require more snow than we have.

While I'm discussing my affection for southern snow culture, let me just say that I don't mind that the city shuts down for a tiny bit of snow. "southern snow" is its own phenomenon. It's not the same as what northern people have experienced because of it's rarity. It's special, it makes people happy, it allows us to stay home from work, while still allowing us to go places if we really need to. I mean, have some sympathy. It's all we get. Your various northern towns probably shut down once a year for snow so why be-grudge us. Sure, fine, you would all tough it out if 4 inches of snow were to fall, but that's because it happens a lot. I think that people who are new to Georgia have a hard time realizing that no one wants their yankee rain on our snow parade. No one finds you tough or impressive for hating our snow. You're just a spoil-sport. We love our snow and we want you to enjoy it with us. Think how much nicer it is that the sun is out and it's not freezing cold so you can go out without long-johns and it's going to melt in two days. No time for it to get all slushy and nasty. Also, since we don't have snow plows or ice trucks or whatever, our snow doesn't get all abused and hideous and piled up in the gutters. Add to that the fact that we don't have snow tires and you start to realize that it's not our weakness, but your lack of vision, that makes these conversations what they are. We aren't such terrible drivers. No one drives on ice without special tires or chains or whatever (snow, sure, but when you have freeze/thaw, you have ice). Also, knowing how to drive on ice/snow really just results in knowing how to get your car out of a ditch and I don't want to do that, when there's just the one day out of the year that I have to opt out. So, really, this situation is like every other, more or less. It's all about attitude. Make yourself some hot chocolate and stop making fun of us. As my mother-in-law says to my nephew, "If you act like that, you won't have a good time."

I'm so so old.

I'm spending a lot of time with undergrads and it's making me feel old and used up. They're all chipper and fresh-faced. I have to work really hard not to point out to them how old they were when I was going to shows or to advise them harshly about their under-achieving boyfriends. I also try not to ask them if we're still wearing Sperry's or if it's still okay to wear boot-cut pants. I have the same student ID photo that I had when I started my PhD and, I swear to you, I don't even look like the same person. I looked like a freaking gelfling and if you know how that movie progresses, you can only imagine who I've cast in the role of the Skeksis. I guess it's really just time but I feel that the life has been sucked out of me. You know what other movie it reminds me of? The Princess Bride. The part where Westley is being tortured by Count Rugen on that machine that takes years away from his life. That or Rip van Winkel. Like I suddenly woke up as an old person. I guess that I'm only 31 and that's not really old but it's definitely adult status. And these other people are 10 years younger. I started my PhD seven years ago, people. The undergrad in my lab is on the Georgia Tech dance team. So, I say to her, "My freshman roommate was a Georgia Tech cheerleader." The undergrad says, "Really? What's her name?" I blink at her and say, "That was in 1995." She got a horrified expression and big eyes and said, "Oooooh....right..." The only things that can cheer me up are the following comics:


nataliedee.com


nataliedee.com

Have you missed me?...hello?...hello-o?

Okay, so, the chances that anyone is reading my blog or cares that I'm not keeping up with it...not good. I mean, I could just be emailing it straight to Emily (thanks, buddy). But, it's not really polite to send people emails where you just go on and on about some stupid life phenomenon, so, here's my next installment:

I'll start by putting up some comics that made me laugh all afternoon the day that I read them. It was actually sort of an embarassing situation, wherein I was washing dishes in the lab or walking down the hall or whatever, in front of people, when I would just burst out laughing in memory of these comics:


nataliedee.com


nataliedee.com


nataliedee.com

What's funny about these comics is that you scroll scroll scroll, just sort of mildly smiling, when suddenly you get to one that makes you fall out of your chair, it's so funny. And why? What makes it so funny? You show it to an officemate and they sort of smile, chuckle, can't figure out why you're having trouble breathing. What's worse, you burst out laughing while washing dishes so your lab mates want to see what's so funny. You waste everyone's time, logging into the lab computer, opening up Firefox, trying to find the right day ("Hold it, oh, yeah, that one's funny...it must have been in February...look at this one with the bear..."), and then, tah-dah, you find it, burst out laughing again, and the labmates are just standing there. The polite ones pretend to laugh. So, then you attempt to explain, "Look at it, it's squishing her eye...[interrupted by laughing/blowing snot]" Now, at this point, they're laughing, but it's not because of the comic.

I blame myself

Okay, so it turns out that my husband is not to blame. I had a very appealing New Years Eve invitation and I turned it down. I blame my thesis defense-related anxiety. My husband and I fell asleep on the couch watching football and drinking, what we like to call, "Cran-pagne." You can guess the ingredients. It was delicious.

The good news is we got plenty of rest so that we were all powered up for the day we had yesterday--sitting on the couch and watching home improvement/buying shows on HGTV. Also, I practiced my defense, Kevin went to the grocery store, and I went to Burlington Coat Factory and purchased two suits and some dress shirts for $150. Hooray!

The suits are fully lined and the price tag promises me that they should have retailed for 3x what I paid. PLUS, I got one of the $40 suits for and additional %30 off because the matching pants were missing and the pants associated with the suit were two sizes bigger than the jacket. The good news is, my ass is two sizes larger than my shoulders so, with a little tailoring of the waist, this may be the best possible fitting suit. OH! I also purchased accessories. A lovely "statement necklace" with giant plastic beads, matching bracelets, and a pair of earrings from a recognizable brand name. What was hillarious about the accessories section at Burlington Coat Factory is two-fold:

(1) There was a little girl there begging, and I mean BEGGING her mom for, approximately five separate consecutive items. The phrase, "Please, I'll do ANYTHING!" was actually uttered. Each item was discarded, and a new one chosen, as her mother said, "It doesn't fit on your head, Are you sure that's how you want to spend your money?, What about these headbands?, etc." until, finally, the mother said, "Do you want to go look at Macy's?" and the little girl said, "I want to go home."

(2) There was actually an entire jewelry line with a brand name written in very familiar script but designed by someone named, Christopher Klein.

Now, the final point I'd like to mention, before closing out my blog, is that I essentially watched someone's car get broken into in the parking lot and did, essentially, nothing. I didn't really know what to do. There was a super shifty-eyed man who was sort of sidling up to a car adjacent to mine. And, by sidling, I mean that he was sort of side stepping and looking around and pretending to check his cell phone. It was absurd, really. So, I'm giving him my best evil eye and he doesn't care. He just looks right back at me, clearly thinking the obvious truth, "What are you going to do about it?" I sort of stood there and watched him for a while but he didn't care. He again sort of sidled toward the door, looked all around while picking the lock, and sat down in the drivers seat and began pilfering. So, I drove around, looking for mall security, but I didn't find any, so I drove home. I feel terrible about this. I've had my car broken into several times and I sort of thought that "broad daylight" and "people all around" were inversely correlated to my problems. Clearly these things are irrelevant provided that the "people all around" are completely ineffective. I'm going to spend some time thinking about what I should have done. Maybe I'll put up a poll.