The stall warning is sounding (recovery not anticipated)

Best I can tell, every non-productive Sunday begins much the way things are starting out now. I wake up around 8 (stupid sun and its rousing rays), see what the Pirates/Penguins did last night (win!), see who the Steelers play today (Falcons and Vick), and then play piano/video games or read a book (today it's Ender's Game) or lie in bed (and blog and watch The Office or Arrested Development (hooray today!)) until football games start. I take with myself my study materials, which sit with me and watch the day's football games (and then the World Series). They're not very great company. They just sit there, open and inattentive. And if I know anything about interpersonal relationships {he doesn't}, I know that you have to be both open and attentive. Because that's what respek is. In many ways, I wish the knowledge and I were one, you know, that we could understand each other, so that we could enjoy the game together. (That's pretty much code for "I wish I didn't have to study and that I already knew the information so I could watch the games without feeling guilty.")
(and while I'm wishing, I'd really like a pony) (not really) (I'd much rather have a monkey) (and a berry pie) (well, a few berry pies)

My mom just told me about an article in the newspaper that talked about some lady and her amazing collection of Black History stuff. (I too was wondering what such an article was doing in the paper..I mean, it's not February or anything..but it turns out the lady just died and it makes sense not to try to wait a few months to remember a dead person when you can just get it out of the way nice and early. Her collection was quite impressive. It's supposedly the second most important one (Smithsonian might be the first. Or maybe Muhammad Ali's trophy case), but I guess it's very disorganized. She was something of an eccentric, but I think collectors of anything usually are. Also, their homes usually stink.)

Well, football's about to start, and I need to start some laundry so I can wear clean under....socks. And shirts. This week. To wear. I don't wanna get stuck without white socks and have to wear my weird green church socks (that don't match any of my church shoes) with tennies. Girls pick up on that sort of thing. They also pick up on teasing you if you tell them that you blow dried your hair once last week. It was only once though. I only blue myself once. (I know, I should really buy myself a tape recorder and record myself for a whole day.)

And thus, another day with many potential study hours becomes part of a ritual, habitual lazyfest. And to think people go to church on this day.

...and the inevitable crash

In fact, I have accomplished nothing thus far today. But I did manage to finish the book. So I'll leave you all with what it left me. I can't say that this is the book's main point, but it was my main point.

"Nobody controls his own life, Ender. The best you can do is choose to fill the roles given you by good people, by people who love you."

Kawaii~desu~ne?! ^_^

i got a new phone. i don't particularly like phones, but this one is quite a lot of fun to play with. it's a wonderful in-class/in-chapel/in-between-innings/at-a-red-light/some-weird-person-is-talking-to-me-and-droning-on-forever/my-family-is-talking-to-me-and-droning-on-forever distraction.

it's all fun and games until someone gets feelings, because feelings are messy

I wish...

something. I think.

I don't really know. Danelle asked Sarah today what she'd be doing right now if it could be anything. She answered, and so far as I could tell she was telling the truth. But that's not the point, or not my point (at this point).

So being the alleged egomaniac that I am (OK, I actually am, and it's not even close), I directed this question selfwards. Here's what I discovered: I really don't see myself wanting to be anywhere else. Sure, I'm enjoying school, but it's not like I'm enjoying school that much. How is it possible that I can't think of another place, or another time, or another anything that I'd rather be in? Am I that unimaginative? Or maybe this is just the way I get when all is well. And all is well. My life is organized and balanced. I'm eating well, sleeping fine, exercising regularly, studying consistently (relatively speaking, of course), spending time with friends, and I've still had time to practice music and read books. And there's no drama. Or promiscuity. (Basically, my life in no way resembles any of NBC's shows I refuse to watch. Actually, it's not much like any TV I can think of).

So........

I'm a bit unsure as to what to do with a lull like this. I'm not used to having all the pieces fall into place for much longer than a day, say nothing of a couple weeks. And the horizon looks equally uneventful. What is one to do with such smooth waters? Push the sky, I guess. Some Squall is bound to arise eventually.

Goals for the near future:
Get our brass quintet going
Pass classes (well, that probably should have been first)
Read Atlas Shrugged
Find out about starting a school paper

This is what happens when I get frustrated

I hate CS&F (cell structure and function). And damn all you biologists for learning so much about it. Personally, I'd be happy in thinking that my body is made up of millions of little magical faeries who make me tired at night and hungry during class (they also make me tired during class. How do they know?). But no, I'm supposed to believe in fluid mosaic cell membranes and integrins and hyaluronic acids (which, D. and S., I still don't understand) and nerves bundles. Well biologists, stick it in your occluding junctions. Your science sucks.

OK, that wasn't very nice. Especially since I'll be saying pretty much the same thing about biochemists and their biochemistry tomorrow night, just as last night I was anti-anatomists and embryologists. But for me, strong feelings of dislike are generally transient, so this is all very much in character.

We know these things (amongst these, that I thieve phrases from people I hang out with)

I am a moron. A huge moron. Text-book moron. Poster-boy moron. But we know these things.

For those of you who have not spent the last few hours with me (which actually is everyone, because I've been alone, or alone enough that no one but myself would have been able to put together this progression), I have been wasting time, which is exactly what I told myself I wasn't going to do. Tonight I was going to study, because most of my nights studying are really not the most productive. If I had to estimate (which I hate to do, because there are those who might be reading this that would resent any statistics I am presently trying to invent), I'd say we go at about 25% capacity. Granted, the other two-thirds goes into having fun (ok, the math's a little off, but there has to be some room for error and/or being shushed), but still I feel a bit behind in my schoolwork, which is why I had so intended to get some quality work in this evening.

But no. Nope. Things (that is to say, time) just kinda got out of hand. 4 o'clock gave way to 5 at the piano bench, to 6 at the kitchen table, to 7 and 8 and 9 at the computer watching baseball (and perhaps Everwood, which was also a terrible idea because I don't need stupid TV trying to impress upon me feelings I don't, nor want, to have). And so here I am, trying to figure out why I'm not yet rationalizing all this.

I'd like to blame 9/11. I really would. I'm appalled at how desensitized I've become to the whole event. I read in a book once about a boy who, upon learning of the destructive force of the atomic bomb, walked to the nearest window and vomited (or at least that's how I remember the story). That's how I want to feel. I don't want 9/11 just to turn into the reason I can't take toothpaste in my carry-on. Or the reason to hunt out religious radicals. Fine, there might be some smaller lessons to take away, but I'm sick of people trying to find significance in meaningless things. There is nothing special about how many steps it takes from my car to the front door of my house, and there is nothing sacred about the central-most verse in the Bible (but sure, it makes for a decent Sabbath School lesson, because people like symmetry stuff like that, myself included). Ok, that's not exactly what I'm going for. What I'm trying to say is that........, well wait, no. Figure it out for yourself. Because chances are, you already know it. So think about it, and decide whether or not you agree with me.

I find myself (some 5 or 6 steps later, and likely in a totally different direction than anyone else is like to take) ending up back at the Salinger quote I once talked about Friday, March 31, 2006 (I tried linking this before but it didn't work, and so I don't promise that it does now either).

I wonder if insomnia is actually the technical name

As far as sleepless nights go, I've definitely had worse. In fact, I think I've rarely, if ever had better. The crickets and freeway are providing some nice background noise, the moon is full and bright and there are enough clouds in the sky to really keep the earth lit, and I have a full glass of ice water and a half full box of goldfish crackers (yes, that's right, the glass if completely full and the goldfish box is half full, though both could very well end up empty before I even begin considering putting them down. I wonder if there's ice cream. I'm gonna be so fat. I'll be the fattest skinny person ever. I bet one day some dimension traveler is gonna come pay me a visit and say, "you know, some tear in the time-space continuum has allowed all your fat to be transported into a different dimension, and it's all ended up in my linen closet, and so now I'm here to return it," and then he'll hand me a 200 pound plastic bag. Yeah, that makes sense. Well what can I say. Good nights are full of bad ideas.).

I haven't studied yet today. Maybe I should do some of that now. Life just got in the way of studies, and so I didn't study. There's no way I'm gonna study now. I'm too tired to learn anything. Unfortunately this level of fatigue somehow doesn't translate into golden slumbers, except that it just kinda did since now I'm searching my iTunes library for the Abbey Road album.

Sleep pretty darling do not cry...

I learned something fascinating about girl today. I don't actually know if it's true, but it sounds true. Apparently, girls don't have to be sad to cry. They can cry when they're angry or confused or happy, and not just sad or disappointed. I can't exactly explain this phenomenon. I suppose I should liken it to the way the body produces an inflammatory response to a general insult, only for girls it's the way they cry whenever... (and here's where I'm having difficulty still, but I believe it has something to do with emotions.)

I wish I had more to write about, but I just got tired, and I'm gonna try to go with this feeling.

Epic: a definition

For those of you unfamiliar with the affections these two individuals have for each other, my apologies. I do not know or remember all of the stories behind this relationship, nor will I even attempt to recreate any, memory being fallacious as it is. So this is for those who already know what there is to know.

Tomorrow morning, at about 5 a.m., I am taking Tyler to the airport (Ontario). Jonny has decided to come along for the ride.

I just have a feeling that this is going to be some sort of fun, and I'm hoping it's epic fun. If there's a story that comes out of this, I'll be sure to think about relating it here.

In which I study for a class (or at least put on such airs)

It's been a bit of a struggle to get back into school mode. Most of me wants to not study, and indeed I occupy myself with this very pursuit with a high degree of regularity. The last couple days, however, (and due, by and large, to my imposing manner and the grace and charity of certain members of my class) I have done some learning with others. I realize this is a bit out of character, but it seemed like the good thing to do. It's still a bit of a novelty, as previously my contact with anything that might be construed as "studying together" has been
a) me copying another's homework,
b) others copying my homework,
c) me teaching a kid 3 years younger than me (and often a few IQ points too (oh, that doesn't sound conceited (but seriously, how hard is it to figure out conversion factors?))) how to convert grams to moles, or
d) Matt Johns and I doing homework in the same room so that we only had to do half the problems.
In any case, all this collaboration has been in a "solving problems" situation, and never actually in a "memorize a good 3/4 of the entire Latin vocabulary and then associate it with structures, and then arteries, and then nerves, and then disorders" sense. It's like filling a shot glass with a fire hose.
Actually, I've been something of a parasite, because I haven't really had anything meaningful to contribute to any of these meetings. It feels something akin to being in a strange church when you're 12 years old and getting sent to the earlyteen Sabbath School that has only 7 kids and three of them are siblings and the whole class knows their Bible backwards and forwards so when they play their Sabbath School games they try to trick each other with their knowledges of Leviticus and III Micah, all in Arabic. And so I just sit there and think to myself, "Well, I'm going to hell." Only I feel worse about not knowing embryology than I do about not knowing the extra Bible stories, like the time Saul went to see the witch of Mordor (or maybe it was the Ewoks of Endor).
I feel like I should close with an AD quote. Wait, no, I made one of my own today. Well, maybe I can work the two together.

G.O.B.: I hear the jury's still out on science.
Me: It's not that I don't trust science. I just don't trust people who trust science.

Me again (in response, (a day late for the particular instance in which I'm thinking, which gave rise to the whole idea,) to people who like Grey's Anatomy and that McFlurry doctor): Charm itself is not a virtue, Mr. Wickham.
(Actually, I probably should have said Kitty instead of Wickham, but the allusion would have been lost, or more lost. For those of you who are lost, I promise I almost know what I'm talking about, and it really isn't so clever or funny that you should concern yourself with it. But I had to give something for the people who didn't catch my Matt Johns/AD/Star Wars/LOTR references. Though I would say that, by definition, these people probably have too little in common with me to care to be my friend)

Med School Day 10 Or: How I learned to stop worrying and almost ask a girl out

So, on my 8th day of wards I didn't really do much. Frequently I follow around a 3rd year resident to do consultations and see patients, and other times I watch Dr. Lee do endoscopies. But today I couldn't find my resident and I'd seen quite enough colons for a while, and so I sat and read. First I tried to look interested in gastroenterology stuff so the attendings and fellows would think well of me, but then I got bored so I read my book. Fortunately we had chapel (this is probably the first time I've ever thought so pleasantly of a chapel before it had occurred), so I got to leave early.

Everyone should know that it's Greg Nielsen's 21st birthday today. Please use this information appropriately. If you are not an appropriate-type person, it's probably best if you just disregard that information.

I bought books. If I had paid cash, my wallet would have been some ideal candidate for a weight loss ad.

My sister thinks it will be fun for her to invite her medical school friends over and me to invite my medical school friends over so that they can all become friends (and indeed, these are our Sabbath lunch plans). I want to, at this point, stress many a time that this is not my idea, nor would I ever be likely to have an idea such as this. In any case, this thing seems like it will actually go down, and so it is my responsibility to prove to my sister that I have more friends than her. Only the numbers are pretty even, and most of my friends are boys, and I'd rather not look completely homosocial. If Katrina was going to be here I wouldn't have had this problem.
It was at this point that it crossed my mind to invite some people I really don't know very well to lunch, in an effort to both be friendly and appear like I have more friends and even girl friends. (I know, I know, this isn't asking a girl out in the traditional sense, but sibling competition is no time for tradition. Actually, Danielle won't know it's a competition until she reads this post.) So I approached a couple of girls today with every intention of inviting them to Sabbath lunch. It would be a bit of a hyperbole to say that things went terribly wrong; I just never got around to inviting them. Still, they seem like they would be good company (I don't really know. I've only met them twice but they seem amiable enough) but the problem now is I don't believe I'll be seeing them before Friday, which seems like quite late notice for a Sabbath engagement (note to self: in the event that they might be marriage-crazy, refrain from use of that particular word).
Basically I see my options as such:
A. Friday invite. Sure it's late, but it's better than nothing. Plus cool people don't plan things until the last minute, so it might make me look cool.
B. No invite. This is far more in line with my reputation. Plus it would be very bothersome to have girls around here thinking that I might actually invite them somewhere. No use giving false hope, ya know?
C. Call them and invite them. A risky option because
a) I can't address them both at once, so whoever doesn't get the call might feel slighted. As a chronic people-pleaser, this does not sit well with me. Well, sitting in general does not sit well with me. I'm very fidgety.
b) I don't have their numbers, and so even if I was to obtain their numbers I'd have to find some way to explain this without saying something stupid like "I used to stalk people"
c) I really hate phones. I'm also quite bad on them. I usually end up saying something stupid on them

Decisions, decisions. I think I'll take a nap.

9 hours later...

So I did nap (kinda), and didn't call any girls (Dustin and Jarrod have both voted for the Friday invite, and much as I don't really trust any of Jarrod's advice about girls, I've never known Dustin to have an idea that was less than good.), and then went to a swim party with Greg. Brenden was there. It was so awesome. Nothing makes a day like giving Brenden a hug. And now I'm lying here in bed, IMing Jill (who's in my sister's room 20 feet away), and dreading how tired I'm going to be in less than 5 hours when I need to get up.

I swear I used to be good at this

So, it's after 11, and I should be asleep, because my nights have been inexplicably restless, but instead I'm starting a movie while I wait for Erik to arrive, an event that was supposed to happen over an hour ago.

But it's a movie I've already seen, so maybe I'll ramble here for a bit. Wait, no, I don't want to ramble any more. Everyone talks about rambling. And while rambling may in fact be correct terminology to describe the future of this work, I resist its application. Not too much. I have little desire to be noncompliant for the sake of noncompliance. Well, maybe sometimes. But it's very situational.

Where the hell is Erik?

Oh, this is bad. This is turning into one of those rambling (oh dammit) type blogs where the blogger has no regard for the audience and just writes because (s)he finds it ...... something. Cathartic? I think that's a word that's typically used. Though I wonder if the whole outpouring of emotions (which I think I've lost, incidentally. As in I consciously realize things are supposed to be happy or sad or awkward and then have to act as though I'm feeling like that. Well, no, I still get annoyed. Maybe that's somehow different.) actually makes people feel better or if they just think that they're supposed to feel better and so they do. Like what if blogging is kinda like a placebo? Placeboes don't have to be little white pills, right? I mean, the point of it is that your mind convinces you something or other and yeah.

I am going to be embarrassed to publish this. And I have no real excuse. I wish I was under some great mental strain to justify all this. (Oh, but Erik did show up and it was nice. We laughed at the Star Wars kid.) But no, all I have is no homework for medical school, which has been going for a week and a half but we still haven't had real classes yet.

I'm too lazy to bother titling this

So, I've been delinquent, in a way. A quote will do well to explain.

"There is, for better and worse, no typical day in my life as a writer. I seem to have two settings: off and on. When my switch is off, I can't seem to make myself do anything. I procrastinate horribly and stew for days or weeks in my own self-loathing. This would farily be called writer's block, I guess, although I always try to pretend it's extremely dire and original rather than an obvious and well-documented phenomenon.
When my switch magically turns on, I write and write. I stay up late into the night, night after night, and I feel very happy. I feel so happy I get smug; I wonder why it took me so long to get going.
Sometimes I wish I could work several hours a day, every day, like a normal professional person. Someday maybe I will. Who knows? ( I have always been an optimist.)"

And now, as you do as I have done before you, which is believe every one of Ann Brashares' wise words, I will explain myself as having my switch being still off. So really it's not my fault that I'm not writing. It's that I can't. I just can't. It's very dire. And original.

On the upside, there is nothing like school starting (Thursday) to give me things to talk about. 'Course, I could talk about how I read the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, but that's kinda girly and I'd rather brag about how I read For Whom the Bells Toll and how I liked it (wasn't that like a month and a half ago? Yes, but shhhhhh) or how I'm currently reading more Dostoevsky and aren't I just the biggest man of awesome ever for it. But really, the Dost is taking me forever, so today I read the Second Summer of the Sisterhood, and decided I was mostly Lena, with some Tibby. Plus a Y chromosome. Minus Greek heritage. Minus also a nosering. Well, minus and plus lots of things really. And why the hell am I writing all this?

So to all my friends, hello. I'm back. Back writing. At least I think I might be. Or maybe I should worry about having friends before I worry about being back in writing mode. Chances are I haven't talked to anyone reading this for months, save like 4 people. Or 5 maybe. Hi Doug. It feels like a long time since Kara's wedding, doesn't it? Hi Michael and Dustin and Lynsey. Thank you for all your blogs. Hi everyone else. Please forgive my inability to stay in touch. I love you all Marta.

These were my grandparents in Hong Kong

Two of the most awesome people I know. I really can't say that enough. Or well enough. But it's rather fun for me to see that someone else recognizes their awesomeness.

2 Proverbs (can be read as "two proverbs" or "Second Proverbs")

Two very random observations, just to get things going:

The word dizzyingly should be used to describe its own pronunciation.

Statistics are as useful and as dangerous as religion.

OK, one more, just becuase it just came to me, and it sounds almost good enough to be true. (It's amazing how carefully worded rubbish can be so convincing.)

The difference between simple and complex is quite often familiarity.

I'll have to think about that statement for a while before I can tell you if I agree with it or not. It's basically an adaptation from one of the things my trumpet teacher would tell me when I'd comment how it was harder to play passages in C.. than in F.

I just finished For Whom the Bell Tolls. It reminded me why I like Hemingway so very much. This is probably my favorite book of his that I've read, with A Farewell to Arms being a close second. Still, I haven't read The Old Man and the Sea. I need to. But I'm promised to another Dostoevsky first. Too bad I'm out of Salinger. I love books. I think I've said that once already today. I should make a list of all the things I love so I remember to love them every day. I wonder which would be a better use of my time. Remembering to love books or reading them. I wonder if it's the same with people.

Also, I'm trying to put together a summer reading list. Suggestions would be nice. Or else just tell me what you're planning on reading, or what you wish you could read if you have the time. I probably won't have the time, but that's not really the point.

What they call disorder I call defense mechanism

I feel like I should go on a rant or something. Like how much I hate this and that and whatever, or how the rules that most of society adheres to (with regards to life, love, family, friends, duty, driving, poverty, or politics) is dafter than Jack Sparrow (Captain, Captain Jack Sparrow) (but not the good kind of daft, the bullocks kind. Blimey, I believe my English is almost passable. Well no need to cock a snook about it).
But no, the ranting must wait, for a proper rant requires a condemning tone, insidious accusations, and an anti-establishment sentiment against high-handed dealings and abuses. I'm just not feeling it. Now I know I've been known to talk as though every news report, every government bill, every social grace, every materialistic message, every PC catchphrase is the plot of Satan, as carried out through his corporeal vassals. Not that conspiracies don't run deep, or that there isn't treachery about, but deviousness takes a considerable amount of work, and I have to believe that the media has better things to do than scheme for corruption and manipulation. It makes for a good hobby or summer internship, but as a full time job, it feels like it would be tedious to plot demises all day long. I'd get sick of it at least. But then, I've also gotten sick of video games. Well, not for any length of time. It was like 15, maybe 17 minutes.
Still, as is unwritten custom, I write these blogs either to moralize or (im)mortalize, and that often requires passing judgement of some sort. I know I usually do, and it's strange because I try to keep up some illusion of que sera sera (well, it's more than an illusion; I do utilize that theory quite often in fact). Now, I won't use the word pro@..î$@!active because it's one of my least favorite words ever and I think it should burn in the innermost circle of word hell, but I often like plans, even when they don't work out right. Now some look at me and mistake contentment for lack of assertiveness (which I also possess, situationally), but I think I've long advocated a "figure out what you want to do and do it" mentality. I mean this in the grand sense and in the daily sense. It's why I like lists. I make lists of all the things I want to accomplish in a day, and by the time I go to sleep I have, on good days, half of them checked off. Now is that any real indication that I'm getting done what I should be getting done? No. Sometimes my list has things like "Watch a movie" on it. Still, it is good for order and productivity. So I guess I'm a happy, plan-making guy who doesn't so much care how the plans turn out. And I think prolonged perfidy is more trouble than its worth. And I'm not ranting today. Or maybe I did. I can't tell sometimes.
Peter, I think you're right. I think next time I should just write a Wooch column. I'll have to think of a topic. If anyone has good ideas, I'm happy to hear them. And make fun of them.

Things that make me smile (this be no longer one, at least not in the first two senses)

A bit of a note here first: this started out as a good idea (meaning, one of those silly little few rhyming lines that mistakenly thought I could work with) but then went to hell in a handbasket long before i tried to give it regular rhythm, a rhyme scheme, or a theme. i post this now against all my better instinctsenough rubbish reading already exists. still, i haven't blogged in a while, and my brain's wrecked from being racked, and, well, who knows, maybe something is salvagable.

Things that make me smile
Let's just put in a nice big Author Unknown here, right from the start

I smile out of joy
When I see one playing coy
Girl or Boy,
But mostly lass who shyly laughs
Around an older boy.

I smile knowingly
When a boy finds apathy
"Look, that's me"
And finds it scholarly employ
In all his poetry

I smile, almost tear
The beggar nigh is drawing here
Oh how queer
In theory have I sympathy
Than Pitiful is near

I smile, still confused
A little laugh to try and lose
the foreign ruse
And all the lookers on who leer
Before I blow this fuse

I smile, all is lost
These last three verses should be tossed
'Stead of glossed
This garbage you should just refuse
For fear it leaves us cross

lemonade. because summer starts in a month

the one, and probably only, benefit to having an ant problem is that when i accidentally squish a small gecko in the door i dont have to clean up the gooey mess. rather, i wait a couple days, and then just have a few, tiny bones to sweep up.

Since when am I up before the sun on a Sabbath?

It's about 4:30 am, and I'm already awake. I guess my body doesn't know what to do if it's allowed more than 5 hours of sleep. But I guess this is what i get for going to bed before midnight.

So here I am, listening to NPR podcasts, wondering how Sunderland drew a tie with Man U (in Old Trafford!), being disgusted at how long my past few posts have been, and contemplating writing something a little more personalized in a vain (and probably vain) attempt to amass myspace comments or gmail inboxes.

Oh, right, so I lost my voice again last night teaching English classes. Also, those kids are far too keen to know stuff about me. I've managed to keep wildly evasive. They've managed to stay wildly intrusive. And intrusively wild. I am not a disciplinarian. Nor really a self restraint...arian. Well, that's less than true. I can be indefatigably abstemious. Maybe we'll just say I'm a bit like my writing--well composed when it doesn't matter, and unbridled when I should (Oh the moralizing "should") be of tempered spirit (and sometimes, too, vocabulary. But cmon, who really can resist that thesaurus widget?)

I promised myself this would be short. I suppose I can stifle volubility this once.

Light Urple

Today I learned that while it is unnerving to find, late at night, a spider whose legs can stretch farther than my fingers (if it was stronger it'd probably be a magnificent pianist, or Shelob) perched on the wall above the showerhead, it is equally worrisome for that arachnid to be missing the following morning, given that it had no escape save the door to my lair (aka, the rest of my apartment).

Oh, I guess I forgot to mention it earlier, but I've started teaching some (six in total) English classes at night to little 7-13 year-olds (a hundred some in total). They're loud. I end up screaming half the time, just to have them scream back. Not mad, angry screaming, but excited screaming. They're so excited to learn a new word that they just have to scream it. The other way to keep their attention is to sing. So I sometimes sing lessons. I think they prefer being able to shout. I'd prefer being shot. But no, it's just my voice that ends up so lucky.

It must be almost 40 outside. Not the good 40. The Celsius 40. A muggy, buggy Celsius 40. I cannot but think that it must have been the original inhabitants of this land who invented air conditioning. Their Prometheus must have stolen not fire, but ice. Or maybe that's what Uncle Ho Chi Minh did for this nation. God bless Uncle Ho. He stood years of torture, shackled by Papa Zeus to the Caucasus Mountains, to keep us cool during these stifling spring months. Or at least that's my best guess. I never saw Apocalypse Now, and our history classes never made it more than three sentences past Nagasaki. From what I can gather, post-World War II history goes something like this: J.D. Salinger writes stuff worth reading but then stops publishing even though I think he's still alive (what a selfish bastard), Watson (who also designed a beautiful water bottle for Hong Kong) and Crick (who named all streams in Pennsylvania) discovered DNA^2's structure, Kennedy went swimming in Castro's Pork Pond (Tobias: I thought it was a pool toy!) but then King David wanted his hot wife so he sent JFK to the front lines of the Alamo vs. the Philistines (MLS teams?), MLK gets shot too (James Bond never bothered to protect black men, which is why the world now loves Jack Bauer more. Coincidentally, my nickname is JB; Hollywood and hotties take note), some guys went to the moon so we could make an IMax movie about it later, some other guys tried to go to the moon but had space ship troubles so Tom Hanks could make a movie about it later, Henry Louis "Hank" Hadley Aaron hit a bunch of home runs (while not on anyone's fantasy team, or cow steroids), there were hippies (which Cartman killed, but some escaped to San Francisco and Oregon, where they then captured Harrison Ford, stuck an earring in him, and made him do the Super Bowl this year), Mr. Lucas had a brilliant idea (it involved Harrison Ford, but then someone had the bad idea to exclude him), Mr. Nintendo (or maybe it was Mr. Atari; either way, some Japanese dude) had a brilliant idea (it involved Mega Man, but then someone had the bad idea to exclude him), and then suddenly Reagan was President.

Game, set, match, oil.....errr, national security.....errrr, democracy.

I need a syrupy, frozen treat. Wonder if I can find Otter Pops anywhere.

Anecdotes, Thoughts, and Dinner Menu: 10 April, 2006

Today I was designated drinker.
On three occasions in my life, alcoholically speaking, have I come to a point where it's just easier to give in. Today marked the third such occasion. Under none of those circumstances have I done so under the influence (ha!) of that oft-warned-of scourge, peer pressure. No, on every occasion it has been supeerior pressure.

The first time was beer. This crazy Serbian scientist (who was teaching me how to use a scanning electron microscope) got it fixed in his mind that I should try his beverage of choice (he had two crates of this stuff in the laboratory stockroom, which looked more like a carport since it had a garage door and was messy, but he knew his way around it pretty well). He then got it in his mind that this libation should be further cooled (Belgrade is quite warm in the summer), and as he was a loss for liquid nitrogen (he regretted to me later), he used a fire extinguiser to take the liquid to a temperature at which gases are more soluble. Such an offering is not easily refused, and I found it worthy of a real sip, and a couple subsequent fake sips just to appease the guy. He really was nice. I'd have drunk the whole thing (it didn't taste good, but it didn't make me want to vomit either) if he woulda showed me how to use the transmission electron microscope.

The second time was at a party. It was again at the Vinca Institute of Nuclear Science (oh yeah, that's where the first one was). Anyway, the head of the whole lab asked me to sit at his table (how could I refuse?) and while I was there he poured me some sort of something (rather moderate, 120 proof i think, but it sure beat the alternative, red wine), and when we got to toasting, well, I had to be polite.

Today's revelation. You can't say "no" to the People's Committee. When the boss says drink, you toast, gulp, and grin back. Then you ask for your Fanta back, which was taken from you when the shot glass was thrust in your face in the first place. In my defense I was able to fend off the advances by the people from the Department of Agriculture and Rural Development, but when the real soldiers showed up, well I guess you have to pick your battles. (Well, there went all the vaunted bravado of my recently issued battle-indiscrimination policy. Instead of you teasing me about this, can I just give you points for being right in the first place?)
I guess it's something of an unwritten rule here (and also in Bangkok, so I hear, which means it undoubtedly extends even further): No drink, no work. If you don't drink, you don't get work. The other two ADRA employees I was with somehow managed to decline the officials, but I guess it was because I was so obviously young that they wanted to recruit me. I tried to tell them I was Buddhist, but I guess that only excuses me from meat (though I could have sworn it was supposed to give me R-OH exemption as well). On the plus side, the potent stuff I drank probably killed any of the germs that probably crawled over the rest of the meal.

My real feelings about alcohol: It's overrated. The people who think it's evil blow it way out of proportion. Yes, sure, fine, it can become an addiction and all that, and it does lead to rude, lewd, and reckless (wreck-full) behaviour, but it's not going to keep you out of heaven. It is not liquid sin. It is not inherently evil. Doug Bachelor, you do not have to pretend that Jesus turned the water into very tasty grape juice at that wedding. Besides, ethanol can be used to treat methanol poisoning.
BUT! It's way overrated the other way as well. The stuff tastes terrible. It smells bad. OK, it'll loosen you up, but I'm not really a fan of looseness. It causes much more trouble than it's worth as it hardly facilitates a) good conversation b) good manners c) good relationships d) good driving.

In conclusion, it is not an activity of mine (except under the most extenuating circumstances), in no way do I support consumption of alcohol, nor do I see a legitimate and rational appeal in it, but I refuse to be fanatical in my abstinence from it and I am tolerant of those who engage responsibly (does anyone actually know what "responsibly" means, besides having your pit crew take the tires off of your car when you arrive at a party or asking your drunk friend for his pants because they have the keys to his car) in such an activity. Actually, I just don't think it's as big a deal as everyone wants to make about it. Or at least I just wish the extremists on each end would stop all their foofaraw.

I'm a little irritable. I need to start getting at least 5 hours of sleep at night.

Dinner (my fourth meal in 3 days, but this is the simplest, so don't anyone go throwing a worry hissy. If anyone DOES mention how skinny I must be getting, I will take a picture of my awesome body, and post it, unless the comment was made only so that I would post a picture of my awesome body (Doug I mean you)):
3 Vege-Links
2 handfuls of almonds
1 small orange
A decent amount (by my sensible standards) of brown rice