New Favorite Book.

The term "favorite book" is a really hard one to define. It's like asking the crazy cat lady down the street who her favorite "child" is. There's too many to choose from! I think I just unwittingly implied that I'm a crazy shut-in. But hey friends, I get out. I get out and go to lab. See? That's totally normal. At any rate, over Thanksgiving (I always take every vacation as an opportunity to read something fun) I read "Villette" by Charlotte Brontë. It's about exactly what you'd expect from one of the Brontë trio. So in short, it was depressing, and then it got really sad. Actually that's not a fair assessment of it. Dr. Bretton's mom is just the sort of sassy gal most of us women aspire to be when we're in our olders, Graham Bretton is the just the nice sort of lad most of us women would like to meet, and the ending of the book is just the realistic sort of ending that happens a lot in life . . . but maybe sometimes wouldn't want to have happen. So, if you've got a vacation coming up and you'd like to read about how an uneducated gal from the sticks of England moves to the French countryside to teach a bunch of dumb girls how to speak the real lingua franca, i.e. English, then this is the book for you. And with a summary like that, how can you miss? No really, really. It's good.

Definitely a happy Thanksgiving.

I went home for Thanksgiving to bask in the shadow of the everlasting hills. Or rather, the sun sun sunny skies of the mountain tops. While my wonderful mother took care of the two little nephews (really Mom, we could have all come home to help!) my dad, sister, bro-in-law, and I all went skiing at Alta. I think that parts of heaven must look like Alta on a sunny winter day. Bright blue skies, snow-flocked trees, groomed slopes, spectacular. Later in the day, it got socked in fog and as I tried to weave through dozens of seven-year-olds that were out on the steeps for their first time, I decided to call it enough for the day. Thanks family for a wonderful morning! My mom had prepared an amazing and delish dinner for the tired gang but I worry that she didn't get to watch any football at all. It was just nice being home. The trip got extended an extra day because Delta overbooked my flight to Seattle by about 348 people. Well, it must have been that many because they gave me $1200 to fly back to Seattle Tuesday morning, which I did. My parents were so tickled. Probably equally so to have me home another day (they're so great) and that I got a great deal (thanks Delta!)

The bee hearts me.

So . . . that stupid bee that I inadvertently trampled on in the thick forests of Seward Park is having the last laugh, at my immune system. Here is the punctate, but heart-shaped wound on the back of my leg. It is crazy itchy. This picture is blurry but it is about four inches in diameter. Just when I thought it was safe to go back in the woods. Oh so wrong. Peruvian chiggers, Seward bees. Let's hope it just stays with these two. But never two without three? OH goodness. I don't even want to know what's coming.

Piles of thesis, thesis for me.

So today I dug out my inches of literature that I've collected over the years. Here's a picture of the pile. It has to do with enthapies, entropies, self-syngeneic complexes, conserved interactions, biophysical correlations to immunological outputs, and a whole bunch of other stuff that would make Winnie the Pooh say, 'oh bother'. Actually I don't know why I just thought of that but I just did. It must be the ten hours of typing talking. Anyway, here is an excerpt of what I wrote today: "By analyzing these structures as a whole, it was hoped that either buried surface area or number of receptor-ligand contacts would correlate with either biological output (antagonist v. agonist) or at least affinity (Kd). Unfortunately, this has turned out to not be the case." Here's another excerpt: "Within this context, the paradoxical nature of the TCR is becoming clear. Unfortunately this is totally untrue. We still have no idea how these things work. What a horribly crappy thesis project. Garbaggio!" I thought that I had come up with a new word for lame, but sadly no. Garbaggio is already in the urban dictionary. Does that mean I'm culturally hip and relevant instead? Probably not. Maybe if I multislack better. Look at those dark circles under my eyes! I'm wasting away! Or, I'm sleepy. Or, the lighting is no bueno in the library.

I'll get you Gadget! I mean, Seward!!

So this morning, we all went orienteering at Seward Park. Kathy and I decided to go for course five since we didn't want to add the extra kilometer of course seven. Also, Mark and Janet were racing course five and of course we have to go head-to-head. This is my third time racing at the park and for the most part, Kathy and I breezed through the controls . . . until we came to number six. Then, we couldn't get anywhere close to it. We came in from the east, bushwhacked through bushes and came back through from the west. Then we went south and came back in from the east again, and then exited on the west again. This took about thirty minutes of our time. Muddy and stung by something frightful (still is throbbing eight hours later), we crashed out of the ferns and thicket to admit defeat and just find number 7-10 and be done. Oh, but not to be outdone, I decided that going down a 50 degree mud ramp straight into blackberry bushes would be a great way to get from 9 to 10. Really? Really. Well, the worst part was that when we got back (after 1:30.57), we found out that Emily and Megan had accidentally trampled into a hornets nest and were attacked and stung several times. The plus side of the morning (besides the fact that we all love doing it no matter what happens) was that Leslie beat Jonny on course 7. And it's only her second time. I think I've only beaten him once and that has an asterisk on it since he missed a control and was DQ'd. So, all hats off to Leslie!!!

Jorge. Close the backstage door. The audience is freezing.

So last night I went to a show with two of my friends at the Tractor Tavern. Apparently, it is a room in Ballard with boots hanging from the ceiling and uh, a stage, and some chairs and square dancing on the 2nd and 4th Mondays (FHE in a bar anyone?). Last night a guy from Vancouver named Steve Reynolds that looked 25 and was maybe currently taking too many over-the-counters but was actually in his 40s and just sleep deprived (according to the monologue) played some nice music on his guitar. The best part was his percussionist from Guadalajara (Jorge) that didn't appear to have more than just a high hat and a snare but was doing a great job. Part two was what Esther wanted to see and that is Tom McRae. He's from the UK so that won Charity and I over to his witty banter but even though I had a good time, it was a way way way too late for me to be out on a school night. What kept me awake was that Jorge, who was at the top of the list, left the backstage door open to the elements and I was subsequently freeeeeeezing. When I got home, I tucked into bed but after about twenty minutes, still cold, I had to get up grab out my electric blanket, a comforter, and two more blankets to pile on my bed . . . and an extra pair of pajama pants . . . and a hoodie. Muchas gracias George. Good times all around. I should probably be reading for my thesis writing but the beer hour for the Hutch is going on just outside so it's really noisy. Maybe I'll just head home since the library at UW is also closed. Huh.

And so it begins.

But not very well since I'm obviously writing a blog post and not studying! Today was official day one of taking halfsies at work to write my thesis. I'd like the whole brilliant piece of profound (and original) academic exploration to be written by Dec. 17th. That means, six weeks of icky. So far, I've made it through one paper full of tedious (but by no means complicated) mathematics that I didn't care to follow . . . and by "made it through" I mean I technically looked at some of the words. I'm not sure why we have to write a thesis . . . wasn't the mere attendance of graduate school proof enough that we're willing to put up with bad salaries, poor job prospects, and being put down by our superiors? Hmmm . . . well, they can't keep me down so I'm gonna finish. The Dec. 17th deadline is critical since I have to have the paperweight/doorstop in my reading committees hands by six weeks prior to my graduation date, which is March 6th, 2009 . . . according to my mental calendar of how much more formal schooling I can stomach. Hurray for the last four months of these twenty-three years and six months of school!