tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169921182024-03-07T00:29:06.646-05:00A [small] Pox [scar] on the Web[b]Lena went South to work with the CDC's Poxvirus Lab. Now she's going to graduate school with a vaccine scar.Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.comBlogger167125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-49645609298394187122008-12-31T18:57:00.001-05:002008-12-31T18:58:53.520-05:00New BlogOh yes, just in time for the new year:<br /><a href="http://notpot.wordpress.com/"><br />http://notpot.wordpress.com/</a>Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-11921342921941671702008-03-09T10:01:00.003-04:002008-03-09T10:31:02.429-04:00Put a fork in it...it's done. <br /><br />Most things, good or bad, typically come to some kind of end, and this blog is no exception. Like plastic bags, toothbrushes, DVD cases, and those six-pack rings, this blog will not really ever go away-- undergo silicodegradation, whatever-- but will instead settle into its place in the giant electronic midden of The Internet. <br /><br />As an upper-level graduate student, I feel like more should be expected of me (see the last image in the previous post). More logic, more cohesive thinking, more brow-furrowing. Like, I should really hate myself if I put some toast in the toaster without having thought to see if there is soft butter under the dish. Double the hatred if I find that there is none, and I have no alternative hypotheses as to what my snack might be. Thinking isn't just for fun anymore, it's my job.<br /><br />Thus, my next blog will include the following: a common theme (i.e., all posts will fall under the umbrella topic of, say, "Dogs of the World"), and scientific rigor (i.e., small animals and serious quantification will be involved). As soon as the groundwork has been laid, I will post the new link here.Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-45317711875410816332008-02-02T16:52:00.000-05:002008-02-02T18:44:22.900-05:00Lab mates<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn5-h6gIqZT-1aaFbD6TDlXednaycfQ-Viuk_A3vW3QYBAYVsE5sC4EXPRv3PLXaY8npJJXUShS4eP5ECHtfI2JP6Mu-gI-Khis3vE-Mk90wXWrQcbOFAKu3ZF3T7o477Q6Zlw/s1600-h/L+and+D.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn5-h6gIqZT-1aaFbD6TDlXednaycfQ-Viuk_A3vW3QYBAYVsE5sC4EXPRv3PLXaY8npJJXUShS4eP5ECHtfI2JP6Mu-gI-Khis3vE-Mk90wXWrQcbOFAKu3ZF3T7o477Q6Zlw/s400/L+and+D.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162531626297796402" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj-y4CunH1xLg88eH7cmY4mYp00DifwJFJd8rr-F7AQso8LFUvRhiPgQdkF3SbEMzGv9ESvPDc-rCujEUk73SqEXpO7C-alZQyQxy-CTMUy_ekGVjWv4kirlr3QQ68JAYyZA9V/s1600-h/M+and+S.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj-y4CunH1xLg88eH7cmY4mYp00DifwJFJd8rr-F7AQso8LFUvRhiPgQdkF3SbEMzGv9ESvPDc-rCujEUk73SqEXpO7C-alZQyQxy-CTMUy_ekGVjWv4kirlr3QQ68JAYyZA9V/s400/M+and+S.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162532145988839250" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/R6T_vG8zJ2I/AAAAAAAAAms/pcvmJe4myjU/s1600-h/W+and+C.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/R6T_vG8zJ2I/AAAAAAAAAms/pcvmJe4myjU/s400/W+and+C.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162532257657988962" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPey5uvkTA9tKSE58iBlg7cre4guvCEK_bwykx4i8C85h33CTSpLxdvlLTYL0-Zx7ZZE5M4CFMk6hv8PLN1Kl5AtA4GIKKcWSVAfh_3aOExvFqBa6cJfcLOd64ZE8bSwcTGYUU/s1600-h/M+and+F.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPey5uvkTA9tKSE58iBlg7cre4guvCEK_bwykx4i8C85h33CTSpLxdvlLTYL0-Zx7ZZE5M4CFMk6hv8PLN1Kl5AtA4GIKKcWSVAfh_3aOExvFqBa6cJfcLOd64ZE8bSwcTGYUU/s400/M+and+F.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162532425161713522" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwWtzLzbgm5lT5ubx4nrHeo3GszwR7ZuNiYyw2B4evmdiwRXSgj80E6-BaCqpUwMMX1IkdqirsW95kZ3b8y8zz2AXDb72hsmvt89FaYT9iJpAsrjZ5oSf6wll1N8vDqSnULns7/s1600-h/December+2007+059.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwWtzLzbgm5lT5ubx4nrHeo3GszwR7ZuNiYyw2B4evmdiwRXSgj80E6-BaCqpUwMMX1IkdqirsW95kZ3b8y8zz2AXDb72hsmvt89FaYT9iJpAsrjZ5oSf6wll1N8vDqSnULns7/s400/December+2007+059.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162532811708770178" /></a>Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-19491627150519554372007-12-31T00:04:00.001-05:002007-12-31T00:06:31.768-05:00Something I didn't get for PhartoonaNow that I'm back in filthy snow-encrusted Waltham I can truly begin to reflect on Phartoona in its entirety.<br /><br />...Or can I? Is it over? How am I supposed to know? What did I even do this week? Was it necessary to string all those cranberries? Did the girl at the craft store think awful things about me when I put that fake banana down on the counter, laughed, and said that I didn't know why I was buying it either? I'm not even close to being done asking these kinds of questions, let alone answering them. I need more time to reflect.<br /><br />There is, however, one thing I am sure of. I did not get a T-shirt that has "Mary Todd Lincoln" printed on the front in rhinestones.<br /><br />Uh-oh. You're thinking Lena's getting to be that kind of weird where it's just mostly annoying. Do you remember those people in elementary school who would say something random like "I want a T-shirt that has 'Mary Todd Lincoln' printed on the front in rhinestones" to no one in particular and everyone in earshot would cringe and ignore it because all the person wanted was a really sad form of attention? Well I wasn't one of those people-- I was homeschooled. And now I celebrate fake holidays and keep a blog. <br /><br />And I'm serious about the T-shirt. Mary Todd Lincoln happens to be a very popular first lady, and it looks like someone who probably attended elementary school and had big dreams is trying to beat me to the finish line on this one:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/R3hwRVjN8rI/AAAAAAAAAmA/W4KIJk_qI5Q/s1600-h/MTL.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/R3hwRVjN8rI/AAAAAAAAAmA/W4KIJk_qI5Q/s400/MTL.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149989617043108530" /></a> I'm a fan of the redundant use of both the word "love" and the big red heart, but I guarantee you if Mary Todd googled herself today and found this shirt she would be asking where the rhinestones were.<br /><br /><br />(There happens to be quite a few websites where one can order customized rhinestone t-shirts-- like this one, <a href="http://www.rhinestonetshirts.net/">for example</a>. I'm just saying.)Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-74989916084666777832007-12-27T17:09:00.000-05:002007-12-27T17:28:30.163-05:00Phartoona 2007 previewInstead of doing Christmas this year, my mom and I did something else and we called it Phartoona. Yeah, it involved drugs. In the coming days I'll figure out a way to explain it, but here's a simile for now:<br /><br />Phartoona is like this egg timer I bought my mom for Phartoona. The egg timer ticks and counts down the time normally enough, but it also does a lot of sporadic pre-emptive dinging. So it ticks and it dings every so often, and when it gets to "0 minutes" it stops doing both of those things. It's like the opposite of an egg timer-- it rouses your attention by going silent. <br /><br />Really, this has nothing to do with Phartoona, I just felt like complaining about having bought a broken egg timer...Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-9008281107402670782007-12-16T17:25:00.000-05:002007-12-16T18:26:16.206-05:00Wine ReviewName: Cono Sur<br />Date: 2006<br />Origin: Chile<br />Alcohol content: 14% <br /><br />About a year ago, Pearl and I had a bit of a falling out with our natural gas provider, Keyspan. They just stopped sending us bills. Was it something we'd said? They'd been sending us bills that we paid every month-- things were going well. We pretended Keyspan's frosty behavior didn't bother us, but it did. The last bill we'd gotten had been for $0.00, and there was $200 worth of credit noted on the bottom. Were they hinting that we should buy something nice for ourselves and stop calling? That's exactly what we did. We pretended that we'd never signed up with Keyspan. For some reason, we kept getting gas deliveries but not a single bill.<br /><br />As the months went by and spring approached, the pings of our baseboard heater stirred up pangs of anxiety and guilt regarding our failed relationship with Keyspan. Eventually, we would have to call and figure out what had happened. We needed closure. <br /><br />What we ended up with was a bill for $1200. We knew something like this was bound to happen as a result of our cowardice, but we still felt entitled to a certain bitterness. Keyspan had been a real d-bag to us.<br /><br />This year, in a lame kind of protest, Pearl and I decided to keep our heat off for as long as we could stand it. This meant getting into bed at around 8:45pm and falling asleep within 15 minutes as our metabolic activity ground to a near halt. If you didn't sleep perfectly still, you risked touching a part of your bed that hadn't been warmed by your precious body heat. Then you would wake up, slightly panicked, with all your limbs clenched up close to the tense core of your body. <br /><br />The first weekend of December had particularly cold temperatures in its forecast, but I ignored this fact and made plans to buy some heavy red wine and cook up some fresh pasta for dinner-- obviously making sure to be in bed with my socks on no later than 8-8:30pm. But when I walked into the apartment and realized that I basically shouldn't remove my coat for at least an hour, my will faltered a bit. Then I saw this note on the table:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/R2WvagIJn9I/AAAAAAAAAlg/D_QVboI0TUM/s1600-h/Cono+Sur.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/R2WvagIJn9I/AAAAAAAAAlg/D_QVboI0TUM/s400/Cono+Sur.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5144711019176239058" /></a> Turn on the heat? Admit defeat? Alone? Absolutely not. I cracked open the bottle of wine I'd chosen and took a whiff of its metallic vapors for strength.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5o2qJm3E_Aolxn_emm-09Cuwa6HnwAzVStmQlzhgS8r3LifBZ7-wB3pL10xoLhbTe05chxwXNUbDn1nJdGWtZOAndO0PKjnuBlHB0McwvRHtAO_ajwGs6Nz5iuCvyHiDrBfBL/s1600-h/Cono+Sur+001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5o2qJm3E_Aolxn_emm-09Cuwa6HnwAzVStmQlzhgS8r3LifBZ7-wB3pL10xoLhbTe05chxwXNUbDn1nJdGWtZOAndO0PKjnuBlHB0McwvRHtAO_ajwGs6Nz5iuCvyHiDrBfBL/s400/Cono+Sur+001.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5144712677033615330" /></a> Cono Sur translates to "The Southern Cone," which surely must refer to someplace warm, but me and my dripping nose didn't really think about it too much. Its deep red color made me think of something else that was warm and probably a lot closer than the Southern Cone of wherever-- my Carhart union suit. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj8swc98iwdBJRcfbeXoNSc5KZNMPjdAARas6ru6AIq46faT6osP_Kkw3we0zdrN_ECpzxfWvitL7w2mGiMt2GScNteeY6L-58TQoMciiidyLSMf2aWNAW7AEVwqhSfTN1MRux/s1600-h/Cono+Sur+008.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj8swc98iwdBJRcfbeXoNSc5KZNMPjdAARas6ru6AIq46faT6osP_Kkw3we0zdrN_ECpzxfWvitL7w2mGiMt2GScNteeY6L-58TQoMciiidyLSMf2aWNAW7AEVwqhSfTN1MRux/s400/Cono+Sur+008.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5144713471602565106" /></a> Yes, this wine is best enjoyed in a union suit. Also, it is highly recommended that instead of pairing Cono Sur with fresh pasta, one takes the time to boil dried pasta to a slightly beyond al dente state (10+ minutes). Fresh pasta only takes about 3-5 minutes to cook, which means you have less time to huddle pathetically near the stove burner.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq7JZB6t3u-fqs7FfVkoO99tuBbgkKEundDawbZhQkTrY1gnrWWTi0BF6XwHe5XCiIuQpTTFvi4aRU6fu152dj0rhqCCMilxqiVoO9kDmitNrcC7JN4MkhL4V29uOjyh_Fzuyl/s1600-h/Cono+Sur+005.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq7JZB6t3u-fqs7FfVkoO99tuBbgkKEundDawbZhQkTrY1gnrWWTi0BF6XwHe5XCiIuQpTTFvi4aRU6fu152dj0rhqCCMilxqiVoO9kDmitNrcC7JN4MkhL4V29uOjyh_Fzuyl/s400/Cono+Sur+005.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5144714390725566466" /></a> Ultimately, this was not a spectacular wine. Its high alcohol content helped me forget how cold it was for the night, but when I woke up at 7am on Saturday morning with a nosebleed and numb toes, I was mostly unimpressed. And also freezing. I turned on the heat for the first time that morning, and came to terms with the fact that our awkward relationship with Keyspan would be starting up again.Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-91588910923545401442007-11-17T09:11:00.000-05:002007-11-17T15:15:57.769-05:00Plain Yogurts of the WorldI have recently come to a wonderful yet horribly limiting conclusion about yogurt-- plain yogurt is the best yogurt. And not just plain yogurt, but plain yogurt from <span style="font-style:italic;">foreign places.</span><br /><br />Upon sampling several plain yogurts of the world, I have come to the conclusion that ubiquitous corporate "Big Yogurt" yogurts like Yoplait and Dannon are essentially unbearable. I can't believe there was a time when I both purchased and enjoyed them. Below is a list of demerits deserved by Big Yogurt: <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">1. The flavors they are offered in are absolutely ridiculous.</span> Key lime pie? Chocolate mousse? Mixed berry? Boysenberry? Banilla?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">2. The "fruit-at-the-bottom" concept is ill-conceived and poorly-executed.</span> Yogurt should never serve as a vehicle for the consumption of low-quality high-fructose corn syrup-laden fruit. Who knows what is happening to the bacteria at the cellular level in the presence of such a concentrated carbon source?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">3. The vivid colors are unnecessary.</span> I've never eaten a boysenberry, let alone spent any time thinking about what color they might be-- so I won't be disappointed if it's not really lavender. Also, again stop to consider the potential consequences of exposing the bacteria populating this "live and active culture" to the chemical compounds used for artificial coloring. I'm thinking lots of random genetic mutations that could eventually result in a strain of <span style="font-style:italic;">L. acidophilus</span> that secretes anthrax toxin.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">4. Yogurt should not exist in certain textures.</span> In my opinion, textures like "custard style" and "whipped" should be eyed with great suspicion. If you are uncomfortable eating mouthfuls of living cells, you should be eating custard anyway-- stop kidding yourself. <br /><br />I think that about covers it. Now I'd like to describe the plain yogurt of the world that I am currently enjoying.<br /><br />First of all, they spell it "yoghurt." The brand name is Fage [pronounced fah-yeh] and it's made in Greece. Unlike Big Yogurt, which tries to distract you from the fact that you are eating bacteria, the people at Fage offer a detailed description of how their yoghurt is cultured right on the container: <br /><br /><blockquote>Cows are milked at various farms across Greece and milk is delivered to FAGE controlled collecting stations<br /><br />Cows' milk is delivered to FAGE’s factory in Athens<br /><br />Milk and cream are pasteurized and then cooled prior to the addition of the live cultures lactobacillus bulgaricus and streptococcus thermophilitus.<br /><br />Yoghurt is then incubated at 40 °c for 5-6 hours.<br /><br />The whey is strained from the yoghurt using a separating process. This process makes the product a suitable cooking ingredient as it does not curdle at high temperatures.<br /><br />Yoghurt is then filled into pots, lidded and date coded. Pots are then stored in a computer controlled warehouse ready for shipment to the UK in temperature controlled lorries. </blockquote><br />That's right, in a computer controlled warehouse. I took some pictures of the yoghurt this morning while I was studying its unique material properties.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWV56aLttVSCYkGeOtUjDmd1yb_-0O_tA4iD787XGXuWx6jdPlHFtUaboJ2ehIqGgWrCkOqdqVDWNNMOSu0SmMNLid-YIKNVNegAIbLFzWSKeaqw0gQvU9w5S0PrZ-TLJJ1NdP/s1600-h/November+07+093.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWV56aLttVSCYkGeOtUjDmd1yb_-0O_tA4iD787XGXuWx6jdPlHFtUaboJ2ehIqGgWrCkOqdqVDWNNMOSu0SmMNLid-YIKNVNegAIbLFzWSKeaqw0gQvU9w5S0PrZ-TLJJ1NdP/s400/November+07+093.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5133839225579620290" /></a> Notice that the label indicates that it is "strained yoghurt." This gives the yoghurt a silky yet strangely dense consistency that adheres with great strength to both its container and foreign objects [in this case, granola].<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_0DWN4oo5IxLUs_K5HKxqp4_MU9wSg7W3hwLkpAG1WDc9Nfanvj-uo10ouuIHs5yte2Wy7EmTUfNrlnHzzrBqRiIPGAgzCld7txyHDO6zHktz2IoG9VMqjjKq1-66A6JLQo6_/s1600-h/November+07+092.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_0DWN4oo5IxLUs_K5HKxqp4_MU9wSg7W3hwLkpAG1WDc9Nfanvj-uo10ouuIHs5yte2Wy7EmTUfNrlnHzzrBqRiIPGAgzCld7txyHDO6zHktz2IoG9VMqjjKq1-66A6JLQo6_/s400/November+07+092.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5133840269256673234" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/Rz8QqU6jx-I/AAAAAAAAAlY/LLhO2zKLhO4/s1600-h/November+07+094.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/Rz8QqU6jx-I/AAAAAAAAAlY/LLhO2zKLhO4/s400/November+07+094.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5133840419580528610" /></a> It has a very mild taste for a plain yogurt-- not tart at all. It is a pleasure to eat, and I recommend that you give it a try. Just understand that going back to Big Yogurt might not be easy, and that it shouldn't be easy. Embrace your opportunity to eat millions and millions of living cells, and appreciate what they taste like.Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-22327616571606170792007-10-08T20:19:00.001-04:002007-11-19T10:46:18.677-05:00Old cartoon<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLZ2SyU081hG2c7QdOzuHO4AMHYCzBHbrZYpR_KFVwrUbc_x5b4QXBwjTWkKYOOM6EYh01VdyZKubx5-PEstg57OFzn9ahjg6JN6ye36ScJJd-Jzdu7eOVxrqO915zP1raDbBl/s1600-h/chimp.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLZ2SyU081hG2c7QdOzuHO4AMHYCzBHbrZYpR_KFVwrUbc_x5b4QXBwjTWkKYOOM6EYh01VdyZKubx5-PEstg57OFzn9ahjg6JN6ye36ScJJd-Jzdu7eOVxrqO915zP1raDbBl/s400/chimp.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119125056764911650" /></a>Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-19369141061654514952007-10-06T07:03:00.000-04:002007-10-08T20:24:06.737-04:00Adding certain numbersWhile grading with Kene, I admitted that "adding 8 and 7 has always been really hard for me."<br /><br />With a horrified look on his face, Kene proceeded to tutor me using sentences like "But 7 and 7 is 14, right??" and "So, what is 9 and 7 then?" and "I can't believe you." In the end, I was left with the impression that 8 and 7 is probably about 15. <br /><br />The whole interaction ultimately made me want to die, but it also reminded me of how I've been unsure of numbers my entire life. As a child, I was constantly asking questions like "is 9 plus 8 seventeen?" and my mom would reply "every time." I hated that answer, and it never really assured me that the next time 9 and 8 were together, seventeen would be the result of their union. <br /><br />Now that I'm older and even less confident about life and the world in which we live, I did what every quailing individual with an embarrassing problem does: I Googled "adding 8 and 7 difficult."<br /><br />As expected, I didn't get a lot of valuable information. However I did find an article in the American Psychology Association's Monitor, where the following paragraph was highlighted:<br /><br /><blockquote>Children in the United States eventually learn that the number system is base 10 and that teens are tens plus ones, but only the most mathematically adept children ever learn to add by adding up to 10 and then adding the remaining ones (as with adding 7+8 by breaking 7 into 5 and 2, adding 2 to 8 to get 10 and then adding 5 for 15), says Fuson.</blockquote><br />I took two things away from this. First, in the miasmal and amorphous realm of single-digit addition, 7 and 8 must be the most challenging pair to really wrap your mind around. Even mathematically adept children must deconstruct the numbers for it to make any sense at all.<br /><br />Second, I'm an idiot.Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-84706938505599028952007-09-30T10:12:00.000-04:002007-10-08T20:24:18.492-04:00Wine Review<span style="font-weight:bold;">Name:</span> Sauvignon Republic Cellars' Stellenbosch<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Date:</span> 2005<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Origin:</span> South Africa<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Alcohol content:</span> 14.0%<br /><br />NOTE: My Blood Alcohol Content remained between 0.01 and 0.03 while grading all lab reports (Webb et al., 2005). How this may have affected my heart rate is yet to be determined. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSldwMO_4-LvF33lnzDwsbGMwWfhGIvXICCzk9VfRZQVfGeZ1eDBS5CyV2vsZpCXM2W74ZhVo00S850ALKawlARQ5uyD0K8mf6HHJKHpQKDjTPh2d7hfSuSzqXRRvP57f9bO4f/s1600-h/September+108.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSldwMO_4-LvF33lnzDwsbGMwWfhGIvXICCzk9VfRZQVfGeZ1eDBS5CyV2vsZpCXM2W74ZhVo00S850ALKawlARQ5uyD0K8mf6HHJKHpQKDjTPh2d7hfSuSzqXRRvP57f9bO4f/s400/September+108.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116006489601220610" /></a><br />The Stellenbosch Sauvignon Blanc is the perfect way to say hello to Autumn. Its pale straw color is accompanied by a surprisingly forward leap of summer citrus, but nipping at its heels is a hint of fall spice. This wine would make a great hiking companion-- the smell of fall leaves crushed under your sturdiest shoes providing effortless enhancement. <br /><br />But that's only if you're not a Teaching Assistant. For TAs, this wine is best enjoyed with Cornflakes.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/Rv-2gulGIBI/AAAAAAAAAk4/qizLWH6vHWo/s1600-h/September+109.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/Rv-2gulGIBI/AAAAAAAAAk4/qizLWH6vHWo/s400/September+109.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116008375091863570" /></a> In terms of the contribution of the Cornflakes, the 45% and 25% contents of Iron and Niacin, respectively, made the Teaching Assistant feel both healthy and ill simultaneously. It is known that Teaching Assistants are relatively fragile, and that their diets require a delicate balance of alcohol and vitamins (Wikipedia, 2007). Cornflakes and a mimosa is the ideal administration method for the maintenance of this equilibrium, but in this case the TA substituted the mimosa's champagne with Sauvignon Blanc and did not add orange juice.<br /><br />The Vitamin C (2-oxo-L-threo-hexono-1,4- lactone-2,3-enediol) content of orange juice is ~150% (www.tropicana.com) and could potentially decrease the risk of Scurvy development in the Teaching Assistant, and a future experiment could be to monitor the Teaching Assistant in the continued depletion of Vitamin C (2-oxo-L-threo-hexono-1,4- lactone-2,3-enediol) as a function of modified mimosas. <br /><br />This work was supported by The Science Company and the Howard Cunningham Fundation.Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-59605168821553972452007-09-09T10:08:00.001-04:002007-10-08T20:23:49.010-04:00Terrible Disease of the Month ClubTo kick off year two of graduate school in style, I thought I would make you all members of the Terrible Disease of the Month Club. I'm enrolled in a Human Genetics course and while familiarizing myself with the Online Mendelian Inheritance in Man [OMIM] database, I stumbled across this little gemstone:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/entrez/dispomim.cgi?id=600072">Fatal Familial Insomnia</a> is September's Terrible Disease!<br /><br />That's the OMIM entry, which is neatly and less-accurately summarized by Wikipedia. Skip right to "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fatal_familial_insomnia#Presentation">Presentation</a>" if you want-- it's what I did.<br /><br />So if you find yourself at age 45 with a <span style="font-style:italic;">complete inability to sleep</span>, you probably did something so heinous in a past life that, at the moment your parents' gametes fused, the Mutation Fairy gave your genome the middle finger and waved her wand at aspartic acid 178 in your copy of the PRNP gene, changing it to an asparagine residue. Granted, this change would only result in a disease phenotype if the amino acid residue in position 129 happened to be a methionine-- but let's assume you did something extremely heinous in that past life.<br /><br />Actually, there is no correlation between how shitty you acted in a past life and your chances of harboring this rare mutation, but I'm sure sufferers of FFI do a lot of apologizing to no one in particular in those last six months. <br /><br />My favorite part of the Wikipedia entry is the "Treatment" section because it is absolutely 100% grim. Let's highlight all the words that contribute to the excruciatingly hopeless tone of this little paragraph:<br /><blockquote><br />There is <span style="font-weight:bold;">no cure or treatment</span> for FFI; hopes rest on the <span style="font-weight:bold;">so far unsuccessful</span> gene therapy. Sleeping pills have <span style="font-weight:bold;">no effect</span>. While it is <span style="font-weight:bold;">not currently possible</span> to reverse the underlying illness, there is <span style="font-weight:bold;">some</span> evidence that treatment modalities that focus upon the symptoms can improve quality of life.</blockquote><br />Big sigh. <br /><br />I'm curious about these "treatment modalities that focus upon the symptoms" and what kind of improvement they could actually make in the life of a deranged middle-aged person who hasn't been able to sleep for six months and is definitely going to die. Like, are we talking about upping their Netflix membership plan to the 8-at-a-time unlimited option? Getting rid of their bed to make space for one of those mats with dance steps printed on it? Sun lamps? Moon lamps? If it were me, I would ask to be locked in a room far from my friends and loved ones and get into some heavy duty drug experimentation. I would make the best Christmas cards.<br /><br />I would also make a really terrible Genetic Counselor.Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-4225448189151771102007-08-04T16:56:00.000-04:002007-08-04T17:44:10.950-04:00Cranky reflections on "Sunshine"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RrToQ-PbRbI/AAAAAAAAAjw/CmMJ67F1xvI/s1600-h/sunshine.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RrToQ-PbRbI/AAAAAAAAAjw/CmMJ67F1xvI/s400/sunshine.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094952456746124722" /></a> Directors, producers, astronauts: that's the Sun. Don't try to go near it or land on it, or make another movie about either of those two things. <br /><br />But if you really have to, then you need to make sure everyone acts as though they are about to die at all times. A sheen of I-Can't-Believe-it's-not-Butter spray on their faces isn't going to cut it-- especially not after they dart out into Space for a mo, wrapped only in some Pink Panther insulation. I think someone in the movie even said "You can't go out there, it's -273 degrees Celsius!" However, it seems that what is physically unattainable can't hurt you any more than getting drunk and passing out ice-fishing in Canada can. The tinfoil-swathed crew member that made it back to the safety of the airlock sustained only a mildly frostbitten thumb. For having spent more than 10 seconds at the temperature at which atoms and their components purportedly cease to move, I'd say things went pretty well. To quote Lord Kelvin, "whatevs!" <br /><br />If you hadn't already guessed, today I saw the movie "Sunshine" as part of the Lena's Solitary Summer Saturdays Series. I thought it would be a fun thing to do on a 95 degree day, and <a href="http://www.beninbrooklyn.com">someone</a> had also recommended that I go see it. So I walked down the poorly-shaded street at 1:30 prepared to experience psychological cooling by way of cinematic astronaut charring. Two hours later I left feeling cranky and jaded-- and I continue to sweat. <br /><br />But it's as silly and unproductive as the movie itself to rant about the moments that not only required that I suspend my disbelief but that I also set its dangling body on fire, so I'll end with a list of pithy observations.<br /><br />1. The sleaziness of Cillian Murphy's hair is directly proportional to its distance from the Sun. Evidence: his weird little ponytail becomes increasingly obvious.<br /><br />2. The rapidity with with the Sun burns you is inversely proportional to your distance from it. Evidence: en route to the Sun, crew members are charred to ash within seconds of Sun exposure but when Cillian and Rose and the Insane Guy are plummeting through the Sun to its core, there is only some sweat. And when Cillian is confronted with the Actual Core of the Sun, he is able to stretch out his hand and watch it become slightly discolored/burnt before being consumed.<br /><br />3. The best sex you will never have is analogous to plummeting into the core of the Sun. Evidence: Rose Byrne stays alive until the end, which allows both her and Cillian to writhe separately on the floor of the spacecraft and moan.<br /><br />4. In the event of another Ice Age, children will still make snowmen.<br /><br />5. Going to the Sun is always a bad idea and everything will go wrong and you will die.Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-49780155700274750942007-07-28T20:40:00.000-04:002007-07-28T21:52:00.598-04:00A Faux PasThis morning at around 10:25am I headed to campus to run and do some lab work. I was in my athletic clothing with a strip of t-shirt acting as a headband, and I was blasting Petula Clark's "Downtown" with the window open. I stopped at the end of the street and proceeded to sing along while I waited for an opening in the traffic.<br /><br />After I had belted out that there are "movie shows, Downtown" I realized I had been stopped for longer than normal. I continued singing, but unfocusedly examined the traffic at the same time-- and eventually I noticed these on the cars:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ1qAFvwW6YbZlEk2RcMJhXRzaRyALx97_qc7hcnblFEGqxpJ3a4L6e_MNcPjBJJ6c7PwmJE-fwWa4FgoUaOh1W-F6SSRaU7jgFVNNghyphenhyphensi0-wjG1MN1RLJBHsXz_FDFUPSxE_/s1600-h/flx_flag.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ1qAFvwW6YbZlEk2RcMJhXRzaRyALx97_qc7hcnblFEGqxpJ3a4L6e_MNcPjBJJ6c7PwmJE-fwWa4FgoUaOh1W-F6SSRaU7jgFVNNghyphenhyphensi0-wjG1MN1RLJBHsXz_FDFUPSxE_/s400/flx_flag.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5092413980750333346" /></a> I had been singing the whole time and by the time I realized it was a slow-moving and well-attended funeral, the song was practically over. <br /><br />I don't know how many of them had their windows open, or how many of them noticed my passionate accompaniment to the horrifically upbeat song, but I do know that I had to wait 5 whole minutes to make a right-handed turn on to Moody St. While waiting and singing, I made a mental addendum to my own personal Funeral Specifications list: everybody goes their own separate ways afterwards-- none of this parade crap. Or at the very least I would encourage carpooling. I'm thinking 7 black Windstar minivans to carry guests to and from the event. I haven't decided what type of event it's going to be yet-- maybe just your standard funeral.<br /><br />In the end, I didn't really feel bad for having ignored their presence. They're asking for this kind of thing if they process down Moody St-- it's not a very classy street.Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-28366785887474029522007-07-22T14:57:00.000-04:002007-07-22T16:03:38.025-04:00Yes, I run. On Mars. It's awesome.Today I purchased my very first pair of purely athletic sneakers. It was such a difficult purchase for me to make, being a lover of shoes. All running shoes are hideous, and to spend more than $50 on footwear that looks like it was designed by MTV VJs masquerading as NASA engineers, well it's unpleasant. <br /><br />I tried on a pair of dusty blue and white Asics that felt like mini hotel mattresses, followed by a pair of neon orange and white New Balances that felt like Barbie Ferraris melted onto my feet. Looking up and down the aisle I realized that my only options were absolutely hideous-- so I decided to embrace the hideousness.<br /><br />I shut my eyes, grabbed a pair of size 8 Nike "Reax," and stuffed my socked feet inside. They were comfortable enough so I opened my eyes to study the exterior. White, grey mesh, metallic gold details, and a big toothpaste-y blue Nike logo. Perfect.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RqOtUePbRYI/AAAAAAAAAjY/dtkhjUhgg1E/s1600-h/july+087.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RqOtUePbRYI/AAAAAAAAAjY/dtkhjUhgg1E/s400/july+087.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090102571085546882" /></a> The metallic details really get me. Also, the intricate heel-- the VJs really must have put their heads together on that one.<br /><br />Hideous or not, I expect these shoes to protect me from fallen arches, shin splints-- and I expect them to hold up to Martian standards. I also want some Aliens to abduct me and eventually upgrade my shoes. <br /><br />Before paying for the hideous sneakers I was informed that it was "buy two pairs get one pair 1/2 price" day. Desperately needing to walk out of that store with something other than awful single-purpose footwear, I also bought these. At 1/2 price.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGsh3Jz-eYFau98My6j2Qjf9OxRyBbieenu8AYgTtStzAocIIEoHLM2T24K74k3jk5zKtuKuN08BHXd7hmTW8bJr0jqcmBJycjDURB4RL_SIHoxan6X7BW6JgpTE-YRQhP283A/s1600-h/july+092.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGsh3Jz-eYFau98My6j2Qjf9OxRyBbieenu8AYgTtStzAocIIEoHLM2T24K74k3jk5zKtuKuN08BHXd7hmTW8bJr0jqcmBJycjDURB4RL_SIHoxan6X7BW6JgpTE-YRQhP283A/s400/july+092.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090113682165941650" /></a> Now I own a pair of "cute" shoes. <br /><br />I also bought a new digital camera.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">This post is dedicated to <a href="http://marriage.about.com/od/presidentialmarriages/a/abelincoln_2.htm">Mary Todd Lincoln</a>.</span>Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-91572657337394063572007-07-19T20:44:00.001-04:002007-07-19T21:20:39.153-04:00Tropical Depression<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Awi1NLvKGNT48lNJHc0m-Q05FAnL_ChRNDm6lpLCJOcNXkdCGh9q9yr3dISo459G3ubokepELwyhYGTc-T9V2HRijNZb8xSB4aNKvJXCZQ0tu8-cupQMR4NZN9shM7p1Dwja/s1600-h/july.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Awi1NLvKGNT48lNJHc0m-Q05FAnL_ChRNDm6lpLCJOcNXkdCGh9q9yr3dISo459G3ubokepELwyhYGTc-T9V2HRijNZb8xSB4aNKvJXCZQ0tu8-cupQMR4NZN9shM7p1Dwja/s400/july.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089073875978870930" /></a> We've all heard about Seasonal Affective Disorder [SAD], characterized by a Winter depression that can be treated with sunlamps or trips to Florida. But what about those of us who become depressed in the Summer? It's seasonal, it's affective, but is it a real disorder? <br /><br />What does the literature <a href="http://ajp.psychiatryonline.org/cgi/content/abstract/144/12/1602">say?</a><br /><br />So they noticed it in 1987. In 2002, the New York Times ran an interesting article on "<a href="http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9c03e4da103af930a2575bc0a9649c8b63&sec=health&spon=&pagewanted=2">reverse seasonal affective disorder</a>." To me, it makes perfect sense. The Summer has always screwed me up a bit. The persistent but asynchopatic chants of the katydid, the hot and heavy air, the early bright sun, sunburns, sweat, dehydration, exhaustion, anxiety over its ultimate end and concomitant return to academia-- they all add their respective weights and contribute to my personal disdain for the season.<br /><br />Of course Summer is supposed to encourage a more carefree attitude but when you don't sleep well and you sweat more than your gin and tonic, the fun isn't sucked out but rather trickles out over the course of 3 months.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRVtcHtWKxoA8WpKOfiu5FLcmvRlj3DBNxR3C8_i5Oxy1_gltSaUG34bZqbH5JiyyLJxvTmi0q6mypetUWuB_cJxRAUmtL7I-tgCKKC2v-VUxP7ho1P0UO59HT1aT0SdJeb49g/s1600-h/july+035.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRVtcHtWKxoA8WpKOfiu5FLcmvRlj3DBNxR3C8_i5Oxy1_gltSaUG34bZqbH5JiyyLJxvTmi0q6mypetUWuB_cJxRAUmtL7I-tgCKKC2v-VUxP7ho1P0UO59HT1aT0SdJeb49g/s400/july+035.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089081108703797410" /></a> But I was raised without an air conditioner, so I guess none of this really bothers me. I'm used to it.Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-70688225773232003572007-07-08T15:45:00.000-04:002007-07-08T16:07:18.514-04:00Bonus Post: Find Figure Two Location Update!As the summer approaches its hottest, the Find Figure Two extravaganza also approaches its hottest. Here are the latest locations and their hiders:<br /><br />In the DVD player [Lena]<br /><br />In the fish food [Pearl]<br /><br />Under Pearl's musk body spray [Lena]<br /><br />In my birth control pill case [Pearl]<br /><br />In the vitamin jar [Lena]*<br /><br />Behind the first slice of bread in the loaf [Pearl]<br /><br />In the flap of the unopened butter carton [Lena]<br /><br />In my underwear drawer [Pearl] <br /><br /><br />* Figure Two spent a lot of time with the vitamins, which helped to point out an enhanced feature of the game-- the hider gains insight into the daily routine of the seeker. Clearly, Pearl had been neglecting to take her supplements. Should I have not found Figure Two on the top layer of underwear strata in my drawer this morning, Pearl would be free to modify her secret opinions of me. <br /><br />But where is it now????Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-3193368896806150322007-07-07T14:40:00.000-04:002007-07-09T22:17:06.452-04:00Lab DoorsBecause I am a very incipient second year <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/Ro_nqS6En_I/AAAAAAAAAhQ/4-8cO9djX9E/s1600-h/July+009.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/Ro_nqS6En_I/AAAAAAAAAhQ/4-8cO9djX9E/s400/July+009.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084537218140512242" /></a> it means that I've chosen a lab in which to do my PhD thesis, and that I've been working there for about a month. I am interested in better understanding how the position of the nucleus impacts cell polarity in <span style="font-style:italic;">Drosophila melanogaster's</span> developing photoreceptors. I will also be addressing the importance of <ahref="http://www.sciencedirect.com/science?_ob=ArticleURL&_udi=B6WSN-4K95D04-R&_user=10&_coverDate=06%2F30%2F2006&_rdoc=1&_fmt=&_orig=search&_sort=d&view=c&_acct=C000050221&_version=1&_urlVersion=0&_userid=10&md5=38800c9fbac3a50e7bb847d364b25155">centrioles</a> in nuclear positioning. And this is where I will sit while doing so<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQOBAwO0mhxxkQurEEDked_qrCuE1FYS3xYX4GdQbtBzNpMXmH9P6k_RGkuFU6hb3_mg9Z7CVtWI2msKGoT0KlbrNzGbMbsOk2u22IVPf-6sGQvH0iZg-D5cxchIcv-J8aSg8h/s1600-h/July+007.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQOBAwO0mhxxkQurEEDked_qrCuE1FYS3xYX4GdQbtBzNpMXmH9P6k_RGkuFU6hb3_mg9Z7CVtWI2msKGoT0KlbrNzGbMbsOk2u22IVPf-6sGQvH0iZg-D5cxchIcv-J8aSg8h/s400/July+007.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084539765056118786" /></a> I bring my laptop and sit at my window seat, and surround myself with flies<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpOCaH30xPalvZwAcngC5Mt1WqmTW8V0CioETJQQ51edlvGTd2zUEUwt4M7DD3Og1ABS0Q6aIV9pWz221zCUFWNvT2KQUONSPDw5DC-f9lpC-lV99EOe0hr8WgtsEyOIg4BAFc/s1600-h/July+012.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpOCaH30xPalvZwAcngC5Mt1WqmTW8V0CioETJQQ51edlvGTd2zUEUwt4M7DD3Og1ABS0Q6aIV9pWz221zCUFWNvT2KQUONSPDw5DC-f9lpC-lV99EOe0hr8WgtsEyOIg4BAFc/s400/July+012.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084540134423306258" /></a> I also <a href="http://poxlanta.blogspot.com/2007/01/i-am-working-with-drosophila.html">tear out the brains</a> out of fly larvae and spend some time with various microscopes, looking at the position of the nucleus. In this picture, I'm not looking at anything at all<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBVimY8T_JHOQm6-zjkJMs4NzH6YGXQ0eSZIx7ovWopJrDEmaFgXBfQPfxpB9XLUAIEgTsjxaBYVvW61N0apWDSg4TdrZ7y3pnswMWc3imlEy1IMjoZYU-mWOYMLXGc1Aaf11M/s1600-h/July+016.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBVimY8T_JHOQm6-zjkJMs4NzH6YGXQ0eSZIx7ovWopJrDEmaFgXBfQPfxpB9XLUAIEgTsjxaBYVvW61N0apWDSg4TdrZ7y3pnswMWc3imlEy1IMjoZYU-mWOYMLXGc1Aaf11M/s400/July+016.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084541324129247266" /></a> But there is much more important research being conducted in the Science Center. In fact, I have recently stumbled, inadvertently, across some highly sensitive experiments in the hallway near the elevator<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvruvreYZ0bbWPIXYTnIkFdTtkVFPKv2QQS2H4lC-dHTpgZaCs9b3tToqX7PRFFKdnViOsguZ8WnwaD6JJaIA1ALMnKpRezNVdPtcGMg5iQ45sexaQvxLlVzYU-JebAgA71f-K/s1600-h/July+017.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvruvreYZ0bbWPIXYTnIkFdTtkVFPKv2QQS2H4lC-dHTpgZaCs9b3tToqX7PRFFKdnViOsguZ8WnwaD6JJaIA1ALMnKpRezNVdPtcGMg5iQ45sexaQvxLlVzYU-JebAgA71f-K/s400/July+017.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084541873885061170" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCOivaSAbSij3ZYSZWCePq7Tmp63KejfA6ABL9KeUxDjHPwUhwAnel2rGLQCMRy-MxgT4DZLaM6j7ggx9LOznUKJSlj35whfDOtMfxGNylvctGgk46C6ZpnBEecceaNhAzUVFq/s1600-h/July+018.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCOivaSAbSij3ZYSZWCePq7Tmp63KejfA6ABL9KeUxDjHPwUhwAnel2rGLQCMRy-MxgT4DZLaM6j7ggx9LOznUKJSlj35whfDOtMfxGNylvctGgk46C6ZpnBEecceaNhAzUVFq/s400/July+018.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084542281906954306" /></a> The rusty rooster is critical to understanding magnets.<br /><br />Now we are going to get to the feature of this post: Lab Doors. <br /><br />I have only photographed three of them so far, but I'm awfully sure there are hidden treasures on almost all of them. Lab doors are decorated, plastered with regulations and restrictions, but mostly they want to remain shut. And locked.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlxJjqfbfpX71-lZQhaNM-QapATM7lgDVanRimh1HMEnNehG36jhkAm4D3i-XC6rTfxOGP3T4LPKzNNJXUQLgswGmWzwPXUoRwPtZ_7DVbsOsM3lnE7os68ofuj2B9Xvg7NK9q/s1600-h/July+021.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlxJjqfbfpX71-lZQhaNM-QapATM7lgDVanRimh1HMEnNehG36jhkAm4D3i-XC6rTfxOGP3T4LPKzNNJXUQLgswGmWzwPXUoRwPtZ_7DVbsOsM3lnE7os68ofuj2B9Xvg7NK9q/s400/July+021.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084543961239167058" /></a> I see that tape-strangled door every morning, and every morning I wish the window wasn't covered with butcher paper.<br /><br />These following notices are taped to the door I have to open and walk through every morning. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglENjiZIaFwUwv6sqIcZcgkyq1kHje5qHBpOlNrEiWVqTDySV1dIuAVDD9qyxwZhfjgX5LtmisAO8muzvwWjLK64PY6g7jgWTlTkV-ro74WR4bfCZ4WmLx4BppkExQ6hRVWG3C/s1600-h/July+024.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglENjiZIaFwUwv6sqIcZcgkyq1kHje5qHBpOlNrEiWVqTDySV1dIuAVDD9qyxwZhfjgX5LtmisAO8muzvwWjLK64PY6g7jgWTlTkV-ro74WR4bfCZ4WmLx4BppkExQ6hRVWG3C/s400/July+024.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084544274771779682" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdv4jWGaBujs490Z5TfHyUvfcE8Je1JaweckdoMStZtJiKcN9RIsvb8S9EOYSlDhs3yRh-4AR0fumtupbEjXt0U5xkV_KCLsWN0Q2qojI5itX8cC9t8fglmAY2e13gWs6gICOJ/s1600-h/July+023.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdv4jWGaBujs490Z5TfHyUvfcE8Je1JaweckdoMStZtJiKcN9RIsvb8S9EOYSlDhs3yRh-4AR0fumtupbEjXt0U5xkV_KCLsWN0Q2qojI5itX8cC9t8fglmAY2e13gWs6gICOJ/s400/July+023.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084544382145962098" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq40EKuCgdrzpiM4uUwzYD5aFItvTFi5LcDI5QiU9vMdtBneIkno15-b_P5vNBDfIeJurq7z5goX7EkWMGc3hopD8tmEAhhssDuOKdFXmtqkzvRI9_Hz5gII6nEd6_uxhAGGkc/s1600-h/July+026.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq40EKuCgdrzpiM4uUwzYD5aFItvTFi5LcDI5QiU9vMdtBneIkno15-b_P5vNBDfIeJurq7z5goX7EkWMGc3hopD8tmEAhhssDuOKdFXmtqkzvRI9_Hz5gII6nEd6_uxhAGGkc/s400/July+026.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084544485225177218" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgAGa4ECBSfiq2FJCszH0kQxzuAqECfLMOgmi7PkDxxdigrqUnrDp1TvHbRTpaV8VVViaNUjP_F4WlmUmp5YkCfqTComJqEM4baLTOWf6dvu37J-VyPHOmXVncaGTbfdM26lyE/s1600-h/July+027.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgAGa4ECBSfiq2FJCszH0kQxzuAqECfLMOgmi7PkDxxdigrqUnrDp1TvHbRTpaV8VVViaNUjP_F4WlmUmp5YkCfqTComJqEM4baLTOWf6dvu37J-VyPHOmXVncaGTbfdM26lyE/s400/July+027.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084544592599359634" /></a> This is by far the most demanding lab door. Because it is self-locking, I always carry my bunchy metal keys in my back pocket and end up sitting down on them, and that is painful. Often, I unlock the door for the day-- breaking all rules painstakingly taped to the Obnoxious Door. <br /><br />Here are some other random lab door signs:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/Ro_z2S6EoKI/AAAAAAAAAio/sQ-LH_kVuCQ/s1600-h/July+028.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/Ro_z2S6EoKI/AAAAAAAAAio/sQ-LH_kVuCQ/s400/July+028.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084550618438475938" /></a> I have a feeling I will be TA-ing in that room.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5qLPDiqqrbWYNt2BcuwfnfSp9j20karyfkWRf-zia27nmlJQZeHfOsXt2AluNPPnQH2jDcjJShfI3_BqDZ0apm9dgBM-vz4SEcHDky25rxOO5xgfjHziBWret2JBCntXfJJY5/s1600-h/July+029.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5qLPDiqqrbWYNt2BcuwfnfSp9j20karyfkWRf-zia27nmlJQZeHfOsXt2AluNPPnQH2jDcjJShfI3_BqDZ0apm9dgBM-vz4SEcHDky25rxOO5xgfjHziBWret2JBCntXfJJY5/s400/July+029.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084551026460369074" /></a> Whatever SNAC panels are, they are beyond this door. But what IS beyond? Can we find out if we walk through this door? <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/Ro_0gS6EoMI/AAAAAAAAAi4/diWOmS9q3P0/s1600-h/July+022.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/Ro_0gS6EoMI/AAAAAAAAAi4/diWOmS9q3P0/s400/July+022.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084551339992981698" /></a> <br />And, finally, the instructions for getting clean in the Emergency Shower <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/Ro_0yy6EoNI/AAAAAAAAAjA/DaSpLFFP0Xw/s1600-h/July+030.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/Ro_0yy6EoNI/AAAAAAAAAjA/DaSpLFFP0Xw/s400/July+030.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084551657820561618" /></a> Once you bathe yourself in the Emergency Water, the Emergency Eye will come and also be bathed prior to saving you from whatever horrible chemical burn you are suffering from. <br /><br />This is how we do.Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-87543198813762720872007-07-03T18:00:00.000-04:002007-07-08T15:38:39.150-04:00These guys!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3_KRYoLq9fidwjLx4HMkSPbp990qTFnkiLrRWOOX1zhJVz2xjjoSfWninTv58Bvi4i5Qn2sr-bQ0khj2R3SXam-Yg8LwEi5Zml8fxHjkphIbSfcie-4xemsNhSI44yuQrq9Sq/s1600-h/walth.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3_KRYoLq9fidwjLx4HMkSPbp990qTFnkiLrRWOOX1zhJVz2xjjoSfWninTv58Bvi4i5Qn2sr-bQ0khj2R3SXam-Yg8LwEi5Zml8fxHjkphIbSfcie-4xemsNhSI44yuQrq9Sq/s400/walth.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083095066906763186" /></a> These guys comprise some kind of Latin jazz band, and they are also my backyard neighbors-- and they sound pretty good! They were having an outdoor rehearsal. It's nice to have a live band around on your average Tuesday evening.<br /><br />Now that it's dinner time, they have courteously disbanded. The sounds of birds and playing children tell me that this is a time to reflect. I learned a few things this past weekend:<br /><br />1. Limoncello-Vodka martinis are superb<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RorURi6En8I/AAAAAAAAAg4/Zuayn9YgriE/s1600-h/DSCN2851.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RorURi6En8I/AAAAAAAAAg4/Zuayn9YgriE/s400/DSCN2851.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083108527334268866" /></a> 2. Heavy cream, sugar, a bowl, and a whisk make hard-earned and delicious whipped cream<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihjnZQ-mxL4kc7NUUT694Q5MiNgf0Pf6WpFb5SoxlPTlwobRyctlESA4IKFo9CLsu44Lrh6mKrb9lud0QUCGVpME3DwFFHWYIQFc-1bq4bntmZArUyOELYPHUXZEqxO8Ookeh6/s1600-h/laughs+019.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihjnZQ-mxL4kc7NUUT694Q5MiNgf0Pf6WpFb5SoxlPTlwobRyctlESA4IKFo9CLsu44Lrh6mKrb9lud0QUCGVpME3DwFFHWYIQFc-1bq4bntmZArUyOELYPHUXZEqxO8Ookeh6/s400/laughs+019.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083108900996423634" /></a> 3. YUM!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia6gx_cJH-CZ3m3xn5EkDpMUYdwxXDnbJ-333JmJ0okOfkgnFu_ubUt4Rlwx2LntV8d1raQ5OvK2W1uSMz_0K-GI_vpaQUGuiF4tECBO0GCvtkNLZq0x5CvBXOyFPHje-z4jkc/s1600-h/laughs+002.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia6gx_cJH-CZ3m3xn5EkDpMUYdwxXDnbJ-333JmJ0okOfkgnFu_ubUt4Rlwx2LntV8d1raQ5OvK2W1uSMz_0K-GI_vpaQUGuiF4tECBO0GCvtkNLZq0x5CvBXOyFPHje-z4jkc/s400/laughs+002.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083113943288029154" /></a> 4. A new <a href="http://www.jcb.org/cgi/content/abstract/172/6/803">RNA granule</a> has been named! Uridine-rich small nuclear ribonucleoprotein-containing RNAs have been shown to localize with snRNP assembly factors in discrete cytoplasmic foci!<br /><br />But wait, there's more.<br /><br />Just as the infamous Processing Body [PB] has been shown to interact with the equally infamous Stress Granule [SG], the <a href="http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/sites/entrez?Db=pubmed&Cmd=ShowDetailView&TermToSearch=17595295&ordinalpos=2&itool=EntrezSystem2.PEntrez.Pubmed.Pubmed_ResultsPanel.Pubmed_RVDocSum">U-rich snRNP Body</a> [UB] interacts with PBs! The dynamics of the observed interaction have not yet been studied, but I'm thinking we need to cut to the chase and assume that there is a HUGE RNA granule that encompasses most of the cytoplasm and consists of a mosaic of unique RNA clusters. It will be called the ribonucleoplasm. <br /><br />Count it!Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-57636492106739210252007-06-29T18:20:00.000-04:002007-07-10T22:37:26.793-04:00Brooklyn and backLast Thursday Mackenzie, Jamie, and I bravely boarded a New York City-bound Lucky Star bus. I was going to Brooklyn to visit Uberfriend Will Murray '03 and I had a flask of Wild Turkey whiskey. Also, I had made three unique peanut butter and jam sandwiches for us-- cherry, blueberry, and classic strawberry. Additionally, Mackenzie also had a flask of whiskey. Too.<br /><br />While we feared flaming gasoline leaks and exploding tires and overturnings, we were somewhat comforted by the silly dragon Lucky Star logo. This dragon is so very clearly drunk and also tripping on acid while smoking a blunt-- if the bus does explode, he's not going to care. We thought that was a pretty good attitude and proceeded to pay homage to the Dragon Spirit.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RoWS7y6EnzI/AAAAAAAAAfw/wVMOvtf6i_I/s1600-h/brooklyn+et+al+017.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RoWS7y6EnzI/AAAAAAAAAfw/wVMOvtf6i_I/s400/brooklyn+et+al+017.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081629310532755250" /></a><br /><br />We tried to play a drinking game that involved drinking whenever we saw a blue tarp or a Howard Johnson's. The blue tarp component comes from my youth when, on road trips, we would count blue tarps. As I was explaining this to Mackenzie, we actually passed a blue tarp and were able to drink immediately. Unfortunately, that was the last blue tarp we saw for the duration of the time we still had alcohol. We saw a Howard Johnson's on the way back, but we didn't have any whiskey then either. Discouraged by the lack of blue tarps, we switched to drinking while making eye contact with Truckers and drinking again if they honked at us for being awesome. That happened twice. We drastically underestimated the amount of alcohol we needed to sustain ourselves on the bus and as sobriety increased, awareness of intense urine odor increased in a directly proportional manner. We stayed awake just long enough to buy delicious ice cream sandwiches at a seedy pit stop-- chocolate ice cream with nuts! Then, I woke up at midnight in Chinatown.<br /><br />I took the subway to Will's street. This is Will when he lived in Flushing-- he did a lot of thinking then.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RoWSvi6EnyI/AAAAAAAAAfo/5nmTdwLjfQo/s1600-h/will.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RoWSvi6EnyI/AAAAAAAAAfo/5nmTdwLjfQo/s400/will.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081629100079357730" /></a> Now he lives in Brooklyn with the World's Largest Cat <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnSKWtaU7U2bi5QKpayWuJvMZVXSLYsLBzKuLjvGOFlgOsEG6PWsR-dDpWjb5rXeQpsHIeWcC3cmwgOpKRud_vKtd3rrknyngnJ9iEgHQbeyo0AMd9x7zpGLxYUpZyYm-lzVJ/s1600-h/brooklyn+et+al+007.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnSKWtaU7U2bi5QKpayWuJvMZVXSLYsLBzKuLjvGOFlgOsEG6PWsR-dDpWjb5rXeQpsHIeWcC3cmwgOpKRud_vKtd3rrknyngnJ9iEgHQbeyo0AMd9x7zpGLxYUpZyYm-lzVJ/s400/brooklyn+et+al+007.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081629615475433282" /></a><br />He also lives with the World's Luckiest Kitten, but he can tell you that story another time. In the morning we had a nice brunch, took a walk around Prospect Park, and discussed the Battle of Brooklyn. I said that it sounded fake and that there was no Battle of Brooklyn, and Will insisted that there was a monument and the war was a reality. We walked a little further and Will spotted a monument.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJASL7OuYQVzr54gEGpLwQFgBEZx3vC26RCwbwj3Q14WU750NHzg13l5RtRwt4-Mae3xNSOVzwjqTbKEBWRbe6kIKa1PUEr0ysEXrOWcIDoagnchiInWu4sFhETcV7NIO6La0U/s1600-h/brooklyn+et+al+005.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJASL7OuYQVzr54gEGpLwQFgBEZx3vC26RCwbwj3Q14WU750NHzg13l5RtRwt4-Mae3xNSOVzwjqTbKEBWRbe6kIKa1PUEr0ysEXrOWcIDoagnchiInWu4sFhETcV7NIO6La0U/s400/brooklyn+et+al+005.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081636221135134546" /></a> Anticipating an informative block of text on the other side, we walked around to the front.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RoWZoS6En2I/AAAAAAAAAgI/kweJNShA9gY/s1600-h/brooklyn+et+al+006.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RoWZoS6En2I/AAAAAAAAAgI/kweJNShA9gY/s400/brooklyn+et+al+006.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081636672106700642" /></a> Now there's no way I'm ever going to believe any Brooklyn war stories!<br /><br />Later, after an aborted game of Scrabble, Will told me that we were going to go "meet Richard at the Sleep Lab." Richard <span style="font-weight:bold;">[Image Unavailable]</span> is Will's Uberfriend and Classmate, and together they are steps away from guy duo-movie stardom. Richard works in a Sleep Lab on the 13th floor of a building in Manhattan and, more specifically, in a room filled with medical records. Will and Richard enjoy <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philosophy">Philosophy</a> and picking on Science. Or scientists, at least. You know, theoretical physicists and how they define <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Physical_information">information</a>. I pretty much have to wake up each morning feeling confident that electrons are the minuscule droplets of glue that hold everything together, so their philosophical harangues fell on already ruffled feathers. But this is exactly what I enjoy most about Will and his friends-- the heated debates. We also played Pétanque under the bridge and attended a rooftop barbecue, which are both classy things to do. <br /><br />I also managed to visit <a href="http://www.beninbrooklyn.com">Ben</a> where I gave him a bottle of <a href="http://poxlanta.blogspot.com/2007/06/wine-review.html">Groth</a> and he gave me this bird book and a jar of honey.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RoWkMy6En3I/AAAAAAAAAgQ/anwUyse5zVA/s1600-h/brooklyn+et+al+018.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RoWkMy6En3I/AAAAAAAAAgQ/anwUyse5zVA/s400/brooklyn+et+al+018.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081648294288203634" /></a> The bird book is great because it consists entirely of casual answers to casual questions. Example-- Q: How much do birds eat? A: It depends on the bird!; Q: Do birds have knees? A: Yes, and not where you'd expect! The honey is delicious stirred into plain yogurt. Also, I want an Xbox now thanks to Ben's demo. <br /><br />It was sad to leave on Sunday, but even sadder was the fact that I had to walk from the Riverside T-station to my street at 11pm. The minute Lexington turned into Moody a pick-up truck containing two Mexican men slowed down and I was addressed in their native language. They were subsequently addressed by my native language which consists of several variations on the Icy Scowl. <br /><br />Back in Waltham, the temperature was 95 degrees Fahrenheit and Pearl suggested we check out a public pool. After Pearl effortlessly lied about being residents of Newton, we scampered through the nightmare of a locker room, failed to take the mandatory pre-shower, and hopped into the People Stew. We made some observations:<br /><br />1. People around you hate it if you talk about peeing in the pool<br />2. There are no average-build kids anymore-- they are either sticks or butterballs<br />3. Public pools aren't as fun as they used to be [Pearl is faking mirth in the upcoming picture. I'm not.] <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8iUim521puWtPIwAysUZYzBfZH0h18CONhCtcG-Qx3rN6Ve2Rh63Zu9VeSPNJCWodcS9ALIkT_LnoDx2pWaoO4NDt77D5dm7qmALGfF5bfKHDQpAUSjEFR5cyEeTyaMDPnZgn/s1600-h/brooklyn+et+al+015.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8iUim521puWtPIwAysUZYzBfZH0h18CONhCtcG-Qx3rN6Ve2Rh63Zu9VeSPNJCWodcS9ALIkT_LnoDx2pWaoO4NDt77D5dm7qmALGfF5bfKHDQpAUSjEFR5cyEeTyaMDPnZgn/s400/brooklyn+et+al+015.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081651017297469314" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC9lC54PN7_s-veJrXM2Wp-V6ePzaApKmxpnU_0GS4S-iepvZw7Ex-OruHivNUTtWm9idhwiMn6plsZD15DbDdSkMb9I-pvtRm5bkfeIfplQcMSg5tc9q5A-fOLb8X1dOVGzfK/s1600-h/brooklyn+et+al+003.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC9lC54PN7_s-veJrXM2Wp-V6ePzaApKmxpnU_0GS4S-iepvZw7Ex-OruHivNUTtWm9idhwiMn6plsZD15DbDdSkMb9I-pvtRm5bkfeIfplQcMSg5tc9q5A-fOLb8X1dOVGzfK/s400/brooklyn+et+al+003.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081651442499231634" /></a> Also, I cut myself washing a cracked wine glass and wrapped dental floss around it to stop the profuse bleeding. I'm reasonably sure it might be a touch infected.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RoWnTy6En6I/AAAAAAAAAgo/1vjKDsOSa-c/s1600-h/ow+002.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RoWnTy6En6I/AAAAAAAAAgo/1vjKDsOSa-c/s400/ow+002.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081651713082171298" /></a> <br />And now I'm back to farming flies and tearing their developing brains out such that I can study neurons-- those ion-pumping conduits [and electrons have nothing to do with ions, I swear]-- in their proto-eyes. <br /><br />The summer is grand!Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-55523694028471691002007-06-17T16:12:00.000-04:002007-06-17T21:04:46.112-04:00Ugh.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RnWWtCZlR8I/AAAAAAAAAfg/cJ3_zbZKJ-8/s1600-h/hmm+011.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RnWWtCZlR8I/AAAAAAAAAfg/cJ3_zbZKJ-8/s400/hmm+011.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077129855412553666" /></a> This is where I should have stayed on Saturday-- pillow nest cradling my head and the NPR line-up keeping me immobilized until 4pm. <br /><br />But no. Instead, these things happened:<br /><br />1. I had to get out of my car and lead a blind man back to the sidewalk after he and his lousy seeing eye dog decided it was best to walk directly in front of my car.<br /><br />2. I blew a tire and had to endure an hour of courtship from a mechanic named Calvin who began to yell at me when I didn't commit to dinner and a movie that night. <br /><br />3. I spent the rest of the afternoon throwing up my special sandwich after it was prepared incorrectly via the addition of tainted prosciutto. <br /><br />And all of this had happened by 1:30pm-- If only I had stayed in!Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-46762382839246945892007-06-09T13:47:00.000-04:002007-06-09T17:44:19.244-04:00Find Figure Two!A recent grocery store trip brought back both edible sundries and tampons. The food was put away, but the tampons just kind of stayed on the dining room table for the rest of the evening. Pearl and I started reading the box during dinner as it sat next to the salt and pepper shakers, and after we were finished we took it to the living room for further study.<br /><br />Inside was the "instruction manual." It was written in three languages which all shared one common set of simple line drawings detailing the steps of product utilization. Figure one showed the correct way to hold the product, and then came Figure two. Pearl saw my expression change and asked if I was looking at "that one with the cross-section of the pelvis to show where the product sits once utilized" and I shook my head and just handed her the manual. <br /><br />Figure two: <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RmsZlCZlR7I/AAAAAAAAAfY/Qi6IfBbYLz8/s1600-h/game+002.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RmsZlCZlR7I/AAAAAAAAAfY/Qi6IfBbYLz8/s400/game+002.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074177529253021618" /></a> A simple yet surprisingly graphic image illustrating how best to utilize the product, shown above tactfully censored. After the initial "Oh my!" response we started laughing and soon after that, Find Figure Two was born. <br /><br />I cut out Figure two and mounted it on some cardboard, and laid down the rules: Hide Figure two for other house mate to find. When other house mate finds Figure two, she must re-hide it without announcing its discovery. The game is over when Figure two fails to be found, or when we get sick of it. So far Figure two has been hidden:<br /><br />- In the sugar bowl [Lena]<br /><br />- In a cosmetic container in the medicine cabinet [Pearl]<br /><br />- ????? WHERE IS IT NOW ????? <br /><br />That is for Pearl to find out.Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-69591050239055118532007-06-04T20:26:00.000-04:002007-06-07T09:53:45.002-04:00To everything (turn, turn, turn)When we could no longer ignore the fact that we were standing in ankle-deep water by the time the end of the shower rolled around, we realized it was time to maybe start considering calling our handyman. Soon.<br /><br />The little drain cover had always remained firmly screwed in place, and we were always mindful to remove the population of lost hairs that would invariably gather-- and, really, what else can one do? Our hair is going to fall out until we die, and then it will keep growing and falling out after we've died. It's Nature's Way. <br /><br />But goodness me our bathing experience was getting grim! So grim, in fact, that I was getting preemptive twinges of shame when I thought about Sweet Dennis the Semi-Responsive Handyman encountering what must be an almost certainly grotesque quantity of our... byproduct. I couldn't exactly picture myself sitting on the toilet seat, holding a gin martini, sighing, and telling Dennis that "it's Nature's Way" while he wrestles with our slimy hairball. It wasn't Dennis' hairball, now was it? His hairs probably just slide down the drain with ease, and lazily sink to the bottom of his septic tank-- for Dennis, <span style="font-style:italic;">that</span> is Nature's Way.<br /><br />And so, propelled by the need to accept responsibility for the things that fall off of my body and collect in places that usually only male strangers accept money to explore, I unscrewed the drain cover and probed away with a pair of needle-nose pliers. <br /><br />The amount of hair I first extracted made sense. I noted the resistance I encountered when pulling it out and took it in stride, figuring it had wrapped around some critical pipe component to cause the sluggish draining. I decided to try one more angle just to make sure I had gotten it all before reassembling the drain. What happened next was absolutely disgusting. <br /><br />The tip of a thick mass of hair, lubricated by old soap scum, <span style="font-style:italic;">pushed</span> its way out of the hole as if propelled by free will. My face contorted as I let go of the pliers and the mass managed to continue forward for almost a centimeter. The only reason I didn't allow myself to become completely hypnotized was because of my intense belief that it was going to try to reestablish its rightful place in my scalp and take over my brain. When Pearl came home, I would have no choice but to encourage her half of the scummy hair clod to do the same-- and this, Dennis, would NOT be Nature's Way!<br /><br />I grabbed the hideous nub and pulled. There was the quintessential sucking noise, and It Emerged.<br /><br />And now, just as I faced my responsibility, you [The Reader] must face yours. Look upon it.<br /> <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo2oeT8q1IvKp5woXrUf9FAOPCEHX61D5cPm5hyphenhyphenT6fO9JgiptSOjO-1JKPsi2sbq1j4IUACIXT13kj8JUVt8JNF6QZHgZlP6qTQBQrqtqO9S2ShakSe07tXIPrNRM13fnc2adY/s1600-h/haair+006.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo2oeT8q1IvKp5woXrUf9FAOPCEHX61D5cPm5hyphenhyphenT6fO9JgiptSOjO-1JKPsi2sbq1j4IUACIXT13kj8JUVt8JNF6QZHgZlP6qTQBQrqtqO9S2ShakSe07tXIPrNRM13fnc2adY/s400/haair+006.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5072379990950365090" /></a> Look upon it and face your responsibility.Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-23876356863323264272007-06-02T17:54:00.000-04:002007-06-02T23:35:41.134-04:00Wine Review<span style="font-weight:bold;">Name</span>: Groth<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Date</span>: 2006<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Origin</span>: Napa Valley, CA<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Alcohol content</span>: 14.5%<br /><br />This isn't so much a review of the Groth as it is a recap of my Epic Day. The wine is the period and my day was the sentence.<br /><br />I woke up at 9:51 am, which is supremely late for me. It was gray, humid, and I had been sleeping under an inappropriately heavy blanket. I woke up with the notion of having a Delightfully Mundane Day, and I peeled myself out of bed to do just that. First stop: the lab.<br /><br />Now that I am in the business of fly farming I have to factor <span style="font-style:italic;">Drosophila melanogaster</span>'s breeding cycle into my daily plans. Newly hatched female flies will remain virgins for 16 hours at 18 degrees Celsius, so I got to the lab post haste. I arrived and put the virgin females in vials with male flies from the Bloomington Deficiency Kits-- a collection of flies that have huge genomic mutations.<br /><br />Then I went to the mall and bought this ridiculous article of clothing.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RmIEKz_7t7I/AAAAAAAAAeY/Wu2-Y1IvsR0/s1600-h/business+018.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RmIEKz_7t7I/AAAAAAAAAeY/Wu2-Y1IvsR0/s400/business+018.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071620714176165810" /></a> It is a <span style="font-style:italic;">short-sleeved</span> hooded sweatshirt. And I paid for it. I can only hope that, someday, the perpetuation of my life will be dependent on the ownership of a short-sleeved hooded sweatshirt-- as in, somebody tells me that they won't shoot me if I make the biggest idiot out of myself that I possibly can. I wouldn't be shot because I would simply put on the short-sleeved hooded sweatshirt.<br /><br />After making my confusing-and-potentially-humiliating-but-ultimately-life-saving purchase, I headed to my local farm stand/grocer to buy a delicious sandwich and, if possible, mulch. It turns out that the place not only has several varieties of mulch to choose from, but it is also crawling with Future Husbands. While waiting at the deli, I noticed an incredibly attractive Italian man wheeling a cart filled with ingredients for what must have ended up to be the World's Most Amazing Meal. Fresh ricotta cheese, LOADS of basil, an amount of crimini mushrooms, and many other groceries I failed to gawk conclusively at. I gawked very conclusively at the man. I basically morphed, momentarily, into a 67 year old man with erectile dysfunction stopped at a red light in my silver convertible while a 23 year old restaurant hostess lopes across the pedestrian stripes. As the man navigated his cart towards the cashiers I noticed he was wearing TeVa sandals and black socks. Then I got my sandwich and paid for 8 items at the 6-item express lane. I ended up buying spruce mulch, and my car was rapidly saturated with the smell of Christmas as sweat beaded on my upper lip. As I drove, the wisps of air-conditioning delivered intense odors of pine forests and bearded men capable of building two-ton rafts. <br /><br />Last stop: wine store. During the course of the drive I decided that I was going to ask the purveyor to recommend a wine for me to drink. I didn't feel like being disappointed, and I didn't want to read any labels. I wanted someone to set a frosty bottle of white wine in my hand and shoo me towards my car-- or better yet, provide me with a frosty drive-thru window. <br /><br />Once inside Auburndale liquors, I quickly found an employee and told him exactly what I wanted him to do for me. I said "dry, white, fifteen dollars" and I was given a lesson on Sauvignon blancs, their dominant flavors, and regions. To summarize:<br /><br />France: apparent citrus <br /><br />California: "grass" and "lemon" and "cheaper"<br /><br />Australia: sweet, fruity<br /><br />So I rolled up to the cashier with the 2006 Groth from Napa Valley. He asked for my I.D. as I pulled it out of my wallet along with my debit card, and after inspecting it told me that "he wasn't sure if he was going to be able to accept this." This was the same pudgy red-headed guy that had allowed me to purchase several other bottles of wine in the past! What was the deal? I balked at his trepidation and reminded him of how many bottles of wine he had authorized my purchase of, and how I was an embarrassingly frequent customer, and etcetera. My lovely day was NOT going to come to a screeching halt with gasoline explosions and limbs flying through the air-- not here!<br /><br />Then I noticed a tall man in a suit standing near the cashier. The cashier was blushing as I protested, and I realized that the suited man was clearly some kind of supervisor. When my license had been approved after several tense moments, I whispered to the flustered cashier "did I just get you in trouble?" To which he sullenly replied, "I hope not..."<br /><br />I smiled apologetically and swished out to add my final purchase to the mound of acquisitions in the passenger's seat. **Of note: the two New Age Beverage containers in the cup holders**<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX9tJa65fUlqQteiww0_F74U_IL53xSu3OBUuDRKPKthOv2_BGfvgge6QB7Hg6AegYPjVqxw_x2rx54rVheselGJxj8lKBY-sB15Ag3Yvbnqv3uahd9ddoICBj66tl_hkapl_t/s1600-h/business+014.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX9tJa65fUlqQteiww0_F74U_IL53xSu3OBUuDRKPKthOv2_BGfvgge6QB7Hg6AegYPjVqxw_x2rx54rVheselGJxj8lKBY-sB15Ag3Yvbnqv3uahd9ddoICBj66tl_hkapl_t/s400/business+014.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071649494752016322" /></a> Upon arriving home, I hoisted the bags of spruce mulch into The Enclosure.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwRim8jfhWy_tScoNcpeMsb2RWhpERbMXh7Z6CDJIpkKvQF0ja0ca-Es3iJpWar4cBylSQfajneeoh3lcrls0zcusADdd1NGO-JJojlC2gq-eOQatWXOohhnsriPy5so3Z9fND/s1600-h/business+019.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwRim8jfhWy_tScoNcpeMsb2RWhpERbMXh7Z6CDJIpkKvQF0ja0ca-Es3iJpWar4cBylSQfajneeoh3lcrls0zcusADdd1NGO-JJojlC2gq-eOQatWXOohhnsriPy5so3Z9fND/s400/business+019.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071652544178796498" /></a> Here is a detail of the mulch bag, because this bulleted list very nicely outlines the perks of mulch.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RmIhpT_7t-I/AAAAAAAAAew/iV60iVoyuOY/s1600-h/business+020.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RmIhpT_7t-I/AAAAAAAAAew/iV60iVoyuOY/s400/business+020.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071653123999381474" /></a> What <span style="font-style:italic;">can't</span> mulch do? In addition to mulch, I purchased four small basil plants and one bronze fennel plant.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RmIt6D_7t_I/AAAAAAAAAe4/BMie1xZQc8E/s1600-h/business+021.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/RmIt6D_7t_I/AAAAAAAAAe4/BMie1xZQc8E/s400/business+021.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071666605901723634" /></a><br />So where is this wine review? Did I drink the wine? Does it compliment mulch? You bet! Here it is:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoBiQQx3gUCNjJQks_oEUybc2zzQzda-D2xTf5exNXpPhBiY4uCObaUEOHZ1nA_MtZYjJJIqh9pdevyBmWsCYabqjLwIbvPKGZ5-t5YuRB0kvv_JoVmbB4MqAq_LZOK82BbU2b/s1600-h/business+015.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoBiQQx3gUCNjJQks_oEUybc2zzQzda-D2xTf5exNXpPhBiY4uCObaUEOHZ1nA_MtZYjJJIqh9pdevyBmWsCYabqjLwIbvPKGZ5-t5YuRB0kvv_JoVmbB4MqAq_LZOK82BbU2b/s400/business+015.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071668268054067202" /></a> The first sip I took generated a volatile puff of tartness that rocketed through my nasal passages and brought tears to my eyes. After the first mouthful hit my stomach, shriveling it like a long bath, I almost <span style="font-style:italic;">savagely</span> began consuming my sandwich.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyXTGlctRJOcnGoQNRnqnE5xRJBFOXybH2D8bv410O9Onx0temdy0EeKkGyDbFNMzfdB5QoaxgQrN-YDE9dNJbAtpiymcgDclBbdzN38N2GF0-dllWbBeYD6rlwdfi5sQ3DvA3/s1600-h/business+017.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyXTGlctRJOcnGoQNRnqnE5xRJBFOXybH2D8bv410O9Onx0temdy0EeKkGyDbFNMzfdB5QoaxgQrN-YDE9dNJbAtpiymcgDclBbdzN38N2GF0-dllWbBeYD6rlwdfi5sQ3DvA3/s400/business+017.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071670162134644754" /></a> Soon I was actively sweating and wondering if this wine would be good to drink during a yard sale, and then I wondered if it is legal to be drunk at yard sales. I almost went and put together a yard sale. <br /><br />What I'm trying to say is that this is an inspirational wine-- a Big Ideas kind of wine. It's the kind of wine that you drink after you buy four cubic feet of mulch.Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-74259160825200171732007-05-31T20:08:00.000-04:002007-05-31T23:43:57.496-04:00A Question to Never AskTonight, Pearl brought home salmon and the battle for the title of Side Dish raged as follows:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">A Bundle of Super-thin Asparagus Spears</span> vs. <span style="font-weight:bold;">A bag of ~30 Brussels Sprouts </span><br /><br />I didn't know much about <a href="http://www.nutritiondata.com/facts-C00001-01c20c7.html">Brussels sprouts</a>, their preparation, or recommended portion size-- so I cut off the ugly parts, steamed them for 17 minutes, and steamed all 30 of them. It went pretty much exactly as one would expect.<br /><br />Soon, Pearl and I were tucking into our substantial piles of roughage. We marveled at how each one seemed to taste just a little bit different and how they were, essentially, very small cabbages. We noted the extreme temperature of the vegetable's dense center, and studied the way the dark green leaves packed together to create these veritable Vitamin C hand grenades. <br /><br />And then a question popped into my mind. A horrible question.<br /><br />Without thinking about what I was doing, I blurted it out:<br /><br />"So, why don't we hear about more people finding bugs inside these? If you look, these really are excellent places for bugs to hide... Right? I mean, I would..."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJqBrDerAnOmKu0NOkEE6LA9nJ6TK1gFvGPSkusQZHsPlB8ztBYuYcc5woyHLSLV6jEXzHgKcbQb5VITu3r_ejY8qrT92QFJpk_J7LLvodv_xOnRvohqE0shHbwhYj9RdAHvML/s1600-h/dinner+022.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJqBrDerAnOmKu0NOkEE6LA9nJ6TK1gFvGPSkusQZHsPlB8ztBYuYcc5woyHLSLV6jEXzHgKcbQb5VITu3r_ejY8qrT92QFJpk_J7LLvodv_xOnRvohqE0shHbwhYj9RdAHvML/s400/dinner+022.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070932419897177970" /></a>Pearl stopped in mid-chew and stared at the table, and I realized what a mistake I had made in asking my question-- a mistake that impacted us both.<br /><br />"Great" said Pearl. As she swallowed, I looked at the Brussels sprouts as we both entertained identical images in our minds.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSFFk9iZOQjY-huRXqxf_fkjExIzcQdiitRrfvu6o8OUf7lPhTFjzZS8xf_HWbo3WZHuoaQ8GZ10XWMON9pL4c6saD_KafnQjSuI_qmtOHtmbjRUcDF0xGNa7_BbkBTxkezc2V/s1600-h/blackbeetlelifcycle.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSFFk9iZOQjY-huRXqxf_fkjExIzcQdiitRrfvu6o8OUf7lPhTFjzZS8xf_HWbo3WZHuoaQ8GZ10XWMON9pL4c6saD_KafnQjSuI_qmtOHtmbjRUcDF0xGNa7_BbkBTxkezc2V/s400/blackbeetlelifcycle.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070933519408805762" /></a> The rest of our meal stunk of fear and sickness, and we left half of the edible cocoons on our plates.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/Rl-T-D_7t5I/AAAAAAAAAeI/NZYufn3MFAQ/s1600-h/dinner+024.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jrtEASbgP7A/Rl-T-D_7t5I/AAAAAAAAAeI/NZYufn3MFAQ/s400/dinner+024.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070934399877101458" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHpBC5xMtQ6Q-uJrCeEFcgZz4fLmer9U8JQjD9LzXFtosrekI-UVWqwiqoxXQVHQEmeTDeKyqJ0orDCrJSllrxfDXFlyd9Ui_enE-x1X0bk8V28iuuAtdN5itnuLVKd2-WKg6g/s1600-h/dinner+025.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHpBC5xMtQ6Q-uJrCeEFcgZz4fLmer9U8JQjD9LzXFtosrekI-UVWqwiqoxXQVHQEmeTDeKyqJ0orDCrJSllrxfDXFlyd9Ui_enE-x1X0bk8V28iuuAtdN5itnuLVKd2-WKg6g/s400/dinner+025.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070934515841218466" /></a> I suppose the moral here is most vegetables probably contain insects, or have contained them at some point. And that is just awful.Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16992118.post-39170238593324706212007-05-21T09:12:00.000-04:002007-07-09T22:18:16.321-04:00Goodnight, you granules of stress......you bodies of processing. <br /><br />And just as Michael Caine gently closed the door to that room filled with wheezing orphans, I closed the door on my Outside Defense topic. And then I got really drunk, made out with a cast-iron bust of Louis Rosenstiel, and ate my very first burger. Just as Michael Caine would have.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDhwUt_t-h2xt0BMq8SklioknMTLKh43fH46xkZVbljDXveFx9ipFnaD_uAhR2Ai8cmJsHsuBQlV0orI6b0T-qW2rzfrsf_hEkZ_Np-TqA8cgmHNuYfxh9aVDSjmjOuZToBsFy/s1600-h/caine.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDhwUt_t-h2xt0BMq8SklioknMTLKh43fH46xkZVbljDXveFx9ipFnaD_uAhR2Ai8cmJsHsuBQlV0orI6b0T-qW2rzfrsf_hEkZ_Np-TqA8cgmHNuYfxh9aVDSjmjOuZToBsFy/s400/caine.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067011153410635618" /></a>Lena Webbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05276381042750682010noreply@blogger.com4