My hand wavered over my cells. I held bleach bottle held poised--a single drop forming on its yellow squeeze tip. . .
Could I do it?
With a heavy heart, I decided I should give them one last look before destroying over a year of effort.
Lo and behold! The cells are at the perfect growth for another experiment.
Did I decide to allow my cells four more days of life while I stuck yet another viral element inside of them? I did indeed.
Live little cells. Live a little longer . . . I'm just not ready to say goodbye yet.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
A Great Loss
Today I am in deep mourning.
No, not because of the presidential election. That was amazing. Though I did find out the results at the Madonna concert, so I might be confusing my elation for the election outcomes with my utter ecstasy at seeing an utterly freaking awesome show (did I say "utter" twice? And am I now flashing back to my first job?).
I am mourning instead the loss of hundreds of millions of human cells . . . and a year and a half's worth of research.
Flashback to earlier last month: I am working frantically on infecting cells with Hepatitis C (Yes!!! I made a virus! I. Made. It. Don't piss me off. I have a lot of it now) and then tweaking around to see if any factors change. Nothing works.
Nothing works.
Nothing works.
Nothing works.
Wait! Something is hopeful (this is how science is, I'm learning: most of the time you either get a "you suck" result or a result that is inconclusive before going back to the default "you suck"). I need to repeat the experiement. . . . .
. . . three weeks go by . . . .
. . . something is hopeful again!
OHMYGOSH!
maybei'llhavesomethingtoproposeonDecemberfirstwhenmy graduatecommitteemeetstojudgemyprogress!
maybei'llhavesomethingtoproposeonDecemberfirstwhenmy graduatecommitteemeetstojudgemyprogress!
Then, three days ago, while out with some girlfriends--without a care in the world, I might add--I get a text from my eharmony.com match who coincidently works in my lab so I never had to sign up for eharmony to find him.
"I have just confirmed that we have a mycoplasma contamination in tissue culture."
What's a "mycoplasma"? you might very well ask. Or what the hell is tissue culture? These are fair questions. However, the answer to these questions really just aren't that interesting unless you absolutely love geeking out to science.
Let me translate that text into plain English:
"All of the cells we experiment on are contaminated with teeny, tiny bacteria. It will cost hundreds if not thousands of dollars to clean this mess up. We are only choosing to save the most important cells. Yours aren't those cells. This weekend, you will need to throw away all of your research including frozen virus that took nine months to make and start all over from scratch."
Hmmmm, that's a bit longer than the original text, but isn't that the way with translations (unless of course you are Bill Murray in Lost in Translation).
As I type this, I realize the full ramifications of this news has yet to sink in (thank you Madonna--I mean--Obama--for giving me hope). But in all honesty, I'm pretty much back to where I started a year ago.
Oh, except for experience. Like Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong say, "they can't take that away from me." However, experience isn't going to get me fresh data by December first. And if a gun were held to my head, I might forgo the experience in favor of kick-ass, uncontaminated results.
So today and tomorrow, I start the goodbye process to all of my tiny, contaminated cells. As I pour bleach on each plate, imagining the chorus of tiny screams erupting from the media, I may or may not shed a tear or two. Possibly.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
I Think Stephen King Wrote a Book About This . . .
So as of late, I haven't been sleeping. And not the kind of not sleeping a kid gets on Christmas Eve or the kind where you only have four hours of sleep yet somehow awaken rested, but the kind those in the know call Insomnia. I capitalized this word on purpose. Because this isn't the insomnia someone talks about casually in the coffee shop the next morning: "oh my god, I had the worse sleep last night." No this is the Insomnia that wracks your whole body, saps your spirit, and takes your mind. This is the Insomnia that leaves you unable to even lift a coffee cup let alone make it to a coffee shop to chat about it.
This is the kind of Insomnia that will make you murder for sleep or kill yourself for rest albeit however final or maybe just go crazy.
In the past three weeks of my Insomnia, I have spent many hours analyzing its forms. The following are the four manifestations of my own personal hell.
This is the kind of Insomnia that will make you murder for sleep or kill yourself for rest albeit however final or maybe just go crazy.
In the past three weeks of my Insomnia, I have spent many hours analyzing its forms. The following are the four manifestations of my own personal hell.
1. there's the regular oh-my-gosh-I've-just-woken-up-at-2am-and-am-totally-
awake-and-alert-and-my-day-won't-start-for-another-
freaking-four-hours. At first, this one isn't so bad because you are at least alert and your body and mind are on the same page. A night of this one is regular insomnia, and you can joke about it the next day to your friends while describing all of the productive things you did while you couldn't sleep like chopping vegetables or cleaning the house or balancing your checkbook.
A week of this is draining. After this time, your mind and body might start to suffer irreparable differences of opinion. Your mind might wake up while your body begs for sleep. Or you body might crave the physical challenge of a marathon while your mind weighs you down like a boulder.
Three weeks is crippling. Combine this form of sleeplessness with any of the below, and it is deathly.
2. there's the lack of sleep brought about from chronic pain. This form wakes you up and while your body and mind might be exhausted, the pain continues to grab at you and pull you back from sleep. No matter how hard you strive to go away from reality, you just can't escape.
awake-and-alert-and-my-day-won't-start-for-another-
freaking-four-hours. At first, this one isn't so bad because you are at least alert and your body and mind are on the same page. A night of this one is regular insomnia, and you can joke about it the next day to your friends while describing all of the productive things you did while you couldn't sleep like chopping vegetables or cleaning the house or balancing your checkbook.
A week of this is draining. After this time, your mind and body might start to suffer irreparable differences of opinion. Your mind might wake up while your body begs for sleep. Or you body might crave the physical challenge of a marathon while your mind weighs you down like a boulder.
Three weeks is crippling. Combine this form of sleeplessness with any of the below, and it is deathly.
2. there's the lack of sleep brought about from chronic pain. This form wakes you up and while your body and mind might be exhausted, the pain continues to grab at you and pull you back from sleep. No matter how hard you strive to go away from reality, you just can't escape.
3. there's the ambient noise keeps you awake. This really isn't insomnia unless there is an incremental addition of sleepless nights. In my case, the noise culprit is a train. Now I am no noise sissy. I have lived within 500 yards of a major airport and freeway and train tracks for four years. I don't shut my windows. Ever. And I usually sleep completely fine. Fantastically wonderfully fine, actually. I have slept through traffic accidents, early and late flights, and stopped trains.
However, they have apparently invented a super slow train that is able to crawl past my house at an imperceptible rate of ten feet every 45 minutes while constantly blowing its horn. How can it do this? Why does it do this? And why must it do this at 2:30 in the morning? Every morning?
However, they have apparently invented a super slow train that is able to crawl past my house at an imperceptible rate of ten feet every 45 minutes while constantly blowing its horn. How can it do this? Why does it do this? And why must it do this at 2:30 in the morning? Every morning?
4. there's the sick kid. Again, in and of itself, this is not necessarily insomnia. However, this is a cumulative or combinative form of sleeplessness that contributes to Insomnia. Somehow children know when you are at your weakest and most vulnerable (it's a gift really), and always choose that time to come down with a fever that leaves them screaming, whimpering, or crying every 20 minutes or so. This time interval is precisely calculated to let you fall just into sleep before jerking you back out, thus creating even more physical and psychological stress to the act of staying awake.
For the past three weeks, I've experienced these four forms singly or in concert. It has left me weepy, cranky, unable to formulate any rational thought, and unprepared to deal with any aspect of life.
Right now, I would kill for four solid hours of repose. Right now, I would contemplate killing myself if I could be sure of the possibility of an afterlife with sleep. Right now, I can feel my sanity, slowly eroding away.
As Sir Philip Sydney puts it:
For the past three weeks, I've experienced these four forms singly or in concert. It has left me weepy, cranky, unable to formulate any rational thought, and unprepared to deal with any aspect of life.
Right now, I would kill for four solid hours of repose. Right now, I would contemplate killing myself if I could be sure of the possibility of an afterlife with sleep. Right now, I can feel my sanity, slowly eroding away.
As Sir Philip Sydney puts it:
- Come sleep, oh sleep, the certain knot of peace,
- The baiting place of wit, the balm of woe,
- The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release,
- Th'indifferent judge between the high and low;
- With shield of proof shield me from out the prease
- Of those fierce darts, Despair at me doth throw:
- Oh make in me those civil wars to cease;
- I will good tribute pay if thou do so:
- Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed,
- A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light;
- A rosy garland, and a weary head;
- And if these things, as being thine by right,
- Move not thy heavy Grace, thou shalt in me
- Livelier than elsewhere Stella's image see.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Let the Drummer Kick That
This is officially the year of concerts for me. Usually, I average maybe two bigger shows a year with a smattering of smaller venues for good measure. However, this year, I have been burning the concert candle at both ends.
And while I love love love hearing live music, going to this many shows has also called my attention to the not so nice side of concert going.
So here is my list of nine things I hate about going to concerts. I thought of doing ten, but I couldn't come up with a tenth one without stretching. If you have one, feel free to submit it.
In no particular order:
1. Bad sound. I hate this. Come on, these guys are supposed to be professionals. They supposedly rehearse and get paid serious money to perform for us; shouldn't they have the sound thing down? Chris Cornell's show at San Diego's House of Blues was a perfect example of the sound guy (or girl) just not getting it right. Chris Cornell has a very distinctive voice. It is a crime to have it swallowed by the instruments.
2. Creepy uberfan. This is the guy with the Prince Valiant haircut and tee shirt from another show that he wore in a calculated move to appear concert savvy yet also appear as if he is not trying too hard ("What? Oh this shirt with the stage directions for a relatively unknown but cool band? I just grabbed the first thing in my closet. I go to so many shows, you know, it's hard to keep track."). This is the same fan who gives awkward thumbs up to the band at odd times during the show and who cannot forget for one second he is surrounded by other people who will never get this music like he does. This is the same fan who writes messages on paper that say "It's all for the true Music" and who later will go home and masturbate while listening to the illegal cd he just recorded from the show, clutching a photograph of the lead singer in his sweaty left paw.
3. Rubbing bare skin on a stranger's sweaty bare skin. I don't think I need to go into this further.
4. The guy sporting the man tank who hasn't showered in a few days and insists on raising his white-power tattooed arms, treating all who surround him to a wave of BO.
5. Band members who think that they are the reason the crowd payed $60 to stand crammed like sardines in a can for three hours. Now I'm not talking about members of an actual band (like the Red Hot Chili Peppers or something like that) but band members who were hired just for this tour: no one knows them, no one ever will. They will always play back up for another bigger name or substitute for a guitarist that has overdosed on heroin the night before. We don't care about them, and they are quickly forgotten. They need to get over themselves.
6. And speaking of band members, why do some of them feel the need to take off their shirts mid show? Yes, I know it's hot. I'm packed in a steamy meat locker listening to you; I don't take my shirt off. There are some things we need to protect others from encountering. In my case, it's my mom gut and saggy parts. In scrawny, scraggly guitarist's and drummer's cases, it's tiny puckered baby nipples and the five strands of chest hair trying to cover them.
7. Expensive food and beverages. I will die of dehydration before I will purchase a $5 12-ounce bottle of water. I will (gasp!!) drink tap water.
8. Throwing "souvenirs" into the crowd. Now I could hate this one because I have never ever in all of the shows I've been to in my life actually caught anything thrown into the crowd. So you can discount this peeve as sheer bitterness. I'm still going to rant. What is this? Mardi Gras? Do we really need more people taking off their shirts and scrabbling for picks or drumsticks or sweat-soaked towels? Do we really need to feed the egos of the back-up band member who thinks he's the shit because some woman is screaming for his pick? Trust me, it's not his pick she specifically wants. For women like that, any pick will do. Of course, this is coming from the woman who has never had a pick . . .
9. Okay, so this is my top hated thing: people who seem unable to make a real memory of the show, so they rely on their blackberry or phone to make a digital one for them. These are the people who never actually look at the musicians, preferring to gaze through the small digital screen of their chosen electronic recording device. I'd bet that if technology allowed, they'd listen to the show through headphones (though that might fix the sound). These are the people who don't go to shows for the music but to say that they've been. These are the show name droppers you hear in the bathroom: "Oh, I had VIP seats for the Radiohead show last night because I know the owner of the House of Blues" and "Today is my fourth concert in five days." AHHHH!
Now that I've gotten the peeves out of the way, you might be asking yourself why I even go to live shows if I am such a curmudgeon. Why don't I stay in my temperature controlled, sealed room where I can listened to cds that have perfectly monitored sound and not have to deal with a single member of the human race?
That is a good question.
And while finding the perfect song or mix on your stereo to compliment your day can be one of life's more exquisite pleasures, there is no substitute for live music.
Live music has an energy unmatched by any stereo system. Think about it, we pay serious money to go listen to someone sing to us. Sing. As in what some of us do regularly on a daily basis (like you don't sing in the shower). What is it about that? That singing, that composition of instruments? It's ecstasy: ex stasis. Through live music, we are transported out of ourselves into something, somewhere else. Not necessarily better, but different--and unmatched. That's why those nine peeves listed above are so jangling: they mar the movement to ecstasy.
Music fills us and moves us like nothing else. From the very physical movement of the bass line permeating our pulses to the intangible movement of lyrics and moment. A cd or record (or I guess, cassette tape) can do some of this, but it comes nowhere close to experiencing music live.
Live music can bring you to tears in the midst of a crowd of strangers. And, get this, no one will judge. They will understand the power that is present.
Live music can make you so full of joy that you actually glow.
Live music can transform the most scrawny, rodent-faced man or the most rotund, drugged out girl into the sexiest thing alive. Because they can offer something so few of us can: music that matters. Music that transports. Music that lives.
And while I love love love hearing live music, going to this many shows has also called my attention to the not so nice side of concert going.
So here is my list of nine things I hate about going to concerts. I thought of doing ten, but I couldn't come up with a tenth one without stretching. If you have one, feel free to submit it.
In no particular order:
1. Bad sound. I hate this. Come on, these guys are supposed to be professionals. They supposedly rehearse and get paid serious money to perform for us; shouldn't they have the sound thing down? Chris Cornell's show at San Diego's House of Blues was a perfect example of the sound guy (or girl) just not getting it right. Chris Cornell has a very distinctive voice. It is a crime to have it swallowed by the instruments.
2. Creepy uberfan. This is the guy with the Prince Valiant haircut and tee shirt from another show that he wore in a calculated move to appear concert savvy yet also appear as if he is not trying too hard ("What? Oh this shirt with the stage directions for a relatively unknown but cool band? I just grabbed the first thing in my closet. I go to so many shows, you know, it's hard to keep track."). This is the same fan who gives awkward thumbs up to the band at odd times during the show and who cannot forget for one second he is surrounded by other people who will never get this music like he does. This is the same fan who writes messages on paper that say "It's all for the true Music" and who later will go home and masturbate while listening to the illegal cd he just recorded from the show, clutching a photograph of the lead singer in his sweaty left paw.
3. Rubbing bare skin on a stranger's sweaty bare skin. I don't think I need to go into this further.
4. The guy sporting the man tank who hasn't showered in a few days and insists on raising his white-power tattooed arms, treating all who surround him to a wave of BO.
5. Band members who think that they are the reason the crowd payed $60 to stand crammed like sardines in a can for three hours. Now I'm not talking about members of an actual band (like the Red Hot Chili Peppers or something like that) but band members who were hired just for this tour: no one knows them, no one ever will. They will always play back up for another bigger name or substitute for a guitarist that has overdosed on heroin the night before. We don't care about them, and they are quickly forgotten. They need to get over themselves.
6. And speaking of band members, why do some of them feel the need to take off their shirts mid show? Yes, I know it's hot. I'm packed in a steamy meat locker listening to you; I don't take my shirt off. There are some things we need to protect others from encountering. In my case, it's my mom gut and saggy parts. In scrawny, scraggly guitarist's and drummer's cases, it's tiny puckered baby nipples and the five strands of chest hair trying to cover them.
7. Expensive food and beverages. I will die of dehydration before I will purchase a $5 12-ounce bottle of water. I will (gasp!!) drink tap water.
8. Throwing "souvenirs" into the crowd. Now I could hate this one because I have never ever in all of the shows I've been to in my life actually caught anything thrown into the crowd. So you can discount this peeve as sheer bitterness. I'm still going to rant. What is this? Mardi Gras? Do we really need more people taking off their shirts and scrabbling for picks or drumsticks or sweat-soaked towels? Do we really need to feed the egos of the back-up band member who thinks he's the shit because some woman is screaming for his pick? Trust me, it's not his pick she specifically wants. For women like that, any pick will do. Of course, this is coming from the woman who has never had a pick . . .
9. Okay, so this is my top hated thing: people who seem unable to make a real memory of the show, so they rely on their blackberry or phone to make a digital one for them. These are the people who never actually look at the musicians, preferring to gaze through the small digital screen of their chosen electronic recording device. I'd bet that if technology allowed, they'd listen to the show through headphones (though that might fix the sound). These are the people who don't go to shows for the music but to say that they've been. These are the show name droppers you hear in the bathroom: "Oh, I had VIP seats for the Radiohead show last night because I know the owner of the House of Blues" and "Today is my fourth concert in five days." AHHHH!
Now that I've gotten the peeves out of the way, you might be asking yourself why I even go to live shows if I am such a curmudgeon. Why don't I stay in my temperature controlled, sealed room where I can listened to cds that have perfectly monitored sound and not have to deal with a single member of the human race?
That is a good question.
And while finding the perfect song or mix on your stereo to compliment your day can be one of life's more exquisite pleasures, there is no substitute for live music.
Live music has an energy unmatched by any stereo system. Think about it, we pay serious money to go listen to someone sing to us. Sing. As in what some of us do regularly on a daily basis (like you don't sing in the shower). What is it about that? That singing, that composition of instruments? It's ecstasy: ex stasis. Through live music, we are transported out of ourselves into something, somewhere else. Not necessarily better, but different--and unmatched. That's why those nine peeves listed above are so jangling: they mar the movement to ecstasy.
Music fills us and moves us like nothing else. From the very physical movement of the bass line permeating our pulses to the intangible movement of lyrics and moment. A cd or record (or I guess, cassette tape) can do some of this, but it comes nowhere close to experiencing music live.
Live music can bring you to tears in the midst of a crowd of strangers. And, get this, no one will judge. They will understand the power that is present.
Live music can make you so full of joy that you actually glow.
Live music can transform the most scrawny, rodent-faced man or the most rotund, drugged out girl into the sexiest thing alive. Because they can offer something so few of us can: music that matters. Music that transports. Music that lives.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
In Search of Sunrise
Or more accurately, sunlight. I have a continual quest on sunny days to find a clean, well-sun-lighted place to enjoy the warmth and general sense of well-being that only the sun can provide--along with a tasty beverage and possibly a small bit to eat. In San Diego, we have a lot of sunny days. This seems like a very easy task.
However, it seems that the bar/coffee shops/restaurant owners of San Diego have concocted a conspiracy (I'll call it THE PLAN here for simplicity's sake) to situate their establishments in such a way that direct sunlight never actually reaches their outdoor patios. Whether it is a northeast facing deck or ridiculous awnings, these potentially pleasant places of respite are perpetually in the shade. In my extremely researched and objective estimation, at least 95% of places with outdoor seating in San Diego are participating in THE PLAN.
There are a few notable exceptions to THE PLAN (all of which I cannot list). Two of the consistently good sun spots are British pubs: Shakespeare's in Mission Hills and The Princess Pub in Little Italy (Two other notables: Red's coffee shop in Point Loma has a back patio that faces an unseemly parking lot yet gets beautiful sun. And for a more pleasant coffee shop view to accompany your sun, try Cafe Carpe Diem in Banker's Hill). Perhaps it is the fact that these are British establishments that explain why their owners do not conform to THE PLAN. Britain does seem to get significantly less sun than we do in Southern California, so maybe the owners of these pubs realize the vital aspect that direct sunlight fulfills in our lives. Like preventing rickets or suicide.
Seriously, in this day and age of either the extreme of leatherneck tanning or of vampire-fear-of-sun, the benefits and simple pleasures of that golden orb go largely unnoticed. Our good friend gets vilified as the accomplice of the shallow or source of cancer-causing mutations. But there is nothing like the wrapping of warmth and glowing sense of well-being one can attain while sipping an appropriate beverage, book in hand, basking in those golden rays. It's pure joy.
Feeling the sun after an eon of storm clouds and marine layer is like giving blood to an anemic. Suddenly, you have energy, zest for life. Things taste better, look better, feel better, sound better, smell better when swathed in sunlight.
Yet throughout San Diego are fine places of mastication, imbibition, and comraderie that deny us this simple pleasure. Are they hoping that their participation in THE PLAN will cause us to spend more money there because we have to drink more to feel happy? Are they in cahoots with clothing stores that are trying to clear their overstock of winter sweaters? Are they just sadists that get some sort of twisted pleasure from creating wild and delightful hopes at the sight of outdoor seating on a gorgeous day only to dash them when we are exposed to the extreme chill of a shaded dining area?
Whatever the cause, this tyranny of THE PLAN must. stop. now. We must fight for our right to sunlight. Just twenty years ago, 40% of San Diego had sun. Now we are down to a mere 5%. We must fight to preserve those places that serve as altars to the sun sprites. It is no coincidence that the vicious rumor is flying around that the Princess has been bought by a condo company and will be replaced by a tall building with plenty of shaded area; this bastion of the combination of chilled beer and glorious sun is bucking THE PLAN. Of course there are consequences.
People of San Diego--people around the world!--fight back. Seize the day. Seize the sun. Make a note of those places that allow sun to support the growth of your mind, body, and soul. Go to these places. Drink. Eat. Read. Talk. Bask.
Seize the warmth of pure unadulterated joy.
However, it seems that the bar/coffee shops/restaurant owners of San Diego have concocted a conspiracy (I'll call it THE PLAN here for simplicity's sake) to situate their establishments in such a way that direct sunlight never actually reaches their outdoor patios. Whether it is a northeast facing deck or ridiculous awnings, these potentially pleasant places of respite are perpetually in the shade. In my extremely researched and objective estimation, at least 95% of places with outdoor seating in San Diego are participating in THE PLAN.
There are a few notable exceptions to THE PLAN (all of which I cannot list). Two of the consistently good sun spots are British pubs: Shakespeare's in Mission Hills and The Princess Pub in Little Italy (Two other notables: Red's coffee shop in Point Loma has a back patio that faces an unseemly parking lot yet gets beautiful sun. And for a more pleasant coffee shop view to accompany your sun, try Cafe Carpe Diem in Banker's Hill). Perhaps it is the fact that these are British establishments that explain why their owners do not conform to THE PLAN. Britain does seem to get significantly less sun than we do in Southern California, so maybe the owners of these pubs realize the vital aspect that direct sunlight fulfills in our lives. Like preventing rickets or suicide.
Seriously, in this day and age of either the extreme of leatherneck tanning or of vampire-fear-of-sun, the benefits and simple pleasures of that golden orb go largely unnoticed. Our good friend gets vilified as the accomplice of the shallow or source of cancer-causing mutations. But there is nothing like the wrapping of warmth and glowing sense of well-being one can attain while sipping an appropriate beverage, book in hand, basking in those golden rays. It's pure joy.
Feeling the sun after an eon of storm clouds and marine layer is like giving blood to an anemic. Suddenly, you have energy, zest for life. Things taste better, look better, feel better, sound better, smell better when swathed in sunlight.
Yet throughout San Diego are fine places of mastication, imbibition, and comraderie that deny us this simple pleasure. Are they hoping that their participation in THE PLAN will cause us to spend more money there because we have to drink more to feel happy? Are they in cahoots with clothing stores that are trying to clear their overstock of winter sweaters? Are they just sadists that get some sort of twisted pleasure from creating wild and delightful hopes at the sight of outdoor seating on a gorgeous day only to dash them when we are exposed to the extreme chill of a shaded dining area?
Whatever the cause, this tyranny of THE PLAN must. stop. now. We must fight for our right to sunlight. Just twenty years ago, 40% of San Diego had sun. Now we are down to a mere 5%. We must fight to preserve those places that serve as altars to the sun sprites. It is no coincidence that the vicious rumor is flying around that the Princess has been bought by a condo company and will be replaced by a tall building with plenty of shaded area; this bastion of the combination of chilled beer and glorious sun is bucking THE PLAN. Of course there are consequences.
People of San Diego--people around the world!--fight back. Seize the day. Seize the sun. Make a note of those places that allow sun to support the growth of your mind, body, and soul. Go to these places. Drink. Eat. Read. Talk. Bask.
Seize the warmth of pure unadulterated joy.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Quote Archive
2010:
Lost really has two disparate meanings. Losing things is about the familiar falling away, getting lost is about the unfamiliar appearing. There are objects and people that disappear from your sight or knowledge or possession; you lose a bracelet, a friend, the key. You still know where you are. Everything is familiar except that there is one item less, one missing element. Or you get lost, in which case the world becomes larger than your knowledge of it. Either way there is a loss of control. Imagine yourself streaming through time shedding gloves, umbrellas, wrenches, books, friends, homes, names. This is what the view looks like if you take a rear-facing seat on the train. Looking forward you constantly acquire moments of arrival, moments of realization, moments of discovery. The wind blows your hair back and you are greeted by what you have never seen before. The material falls away in an onrushing experience. It peels off like skin from a molting snake. Of course to forget the past is to lose the sense of loss that is also memory of an absent richness and a set of clues to navigate the present by; the art is not one of forgetting but letting go. And when everything else is gone, you can be rich in loss. (Solnit A Field Guide to Getting Lost 22-23)
2007:
The real marriage of true minds is for any two people to possess a sense of humor or irony pitched in exactly the same key, so that their joint glances at any subject cross like interarching searchlights.----Edith Wharton
When love and duty are one, grace is with you.
2008:
In a world of disorder and disaster and fraud, sometimes only beauty can be trusted [...] To devote yourself to the creation and enjoyment of beauty, then, can be a serious business--not always necessarily a means of escaping reality, but sometimes a means of holding on to the real when everything else is flaking away into . . . rhetoric and plot.--Elizabeth Gilbert
Love loves the smell of wine, of cooking. --Turiddu, Cavalleria Rusticana by Pietro Mascagni
Lost really has two disparate meanings. Losing things is about the familiar falling away, getting lost is about the unfamiliar appearing. There are objects and people that disappear from your sight or knowledge or possession; you lose a bracelet, a friend, the key. You still know where you are. Everything is familiar except that there is one item less, one missing element. Or you get lost, in which case the world becomes larger than your knowledge of it. Either way there is a loss of control. Imagine yourself streaming through time shedding gloves, umbrellas, wrenches, books, friends, homes, names. This is what the view looks like if you take a rear-facing seat on the train. Looking forward you constantly acquire moments of arrival, moments of realization, moments of discovery. The wind blows your hair back and you are greeted by what you have never seen before. The material falls away in an onrushing experience. It peels off like skin from a molting snake. Of course to forget the past is to lose the sense of loss that is also memory of an absent richness and a set of clues to navigate the present by; the art is not one of forgetting but letting go. And when everything else is gone, you can be rich in loss. (Solnit A Field Guide to Getting Lost 22-23)
2007:
The real marriage of true minds is for any two people to possess a sense of humor or irony pitched in exactly the same key, so that their joint glances at any subject cross like interarching searchlights.----Edith Wharton
When love and duty are one, grace is with you.
2008:
In a world of disorder and disaster and fraud, sometimes only beauty can be trusted [...] To devote yourself to the creation and enjoyment of beauty, then, can be a serious business--not always necessarily a means of escaping reality, but sometimes a means of holding on to the real when everything else is flaking away into . . . rhetoric and plot.--Elizabeth Gilbert
Love loves the smell of wine, of cooking. --Turiddu, Cavalleria Rusticana by Pietro Mascagni
Only One More Year Left To Wear Those Glasses With the 00 as the Eyeholes
Another year has begun. And no matter how much I say that I won't do a resolution (or resolutions), I find that I always make an internal list of things I'd like to do, do differently, or do better in the coming year.
The biggest "do differently" came from an NPR article in November of last year. I learned about a group of people in San Francisco who decided to say no to consumerism, calling this decision The Compact. Essentially, they've decided to buy nothing new for a certain time period (for some it was six months, for others a year, for still others it is ongoing).
I didn't get to hear the entire article because (oddly enough) I was busy selling some books and clothes back to a second-hand store, but what I heard really got my attention. This partial article plus my son's response to a broken toy earlier that week ("It's okay, Mommy. We can just buy a new one") motivated me to do a mini-compact of my own for the year of '08.
As soon as I decided this (in November), I went on a major spending spree.
I panicked. A whole year without buying anything new?!! What about gifts for others? What about gift cards from people to me? What if I see those brown boots I want? What about all of those cute skirts that will come out in the spring? What about new music? What about new books? My mind was spinning because once I decided to cut out all of the mindless things I buy on a--if not day to day--weekly basis, I realized just how much I participate in this consumer culture.
Part of this participation comes from the fact that everyone is bombarded by ads for goods almost every second of the day. I don't even watch TV (honestly, I don't. I only watch movies), but I am well aware of the new iPod or new clothing line at that high end department store or new album released by that hot new band. We seem to soak up the need to buy stuff from the very air.
Part of this participation comes from the fact that gift-giving and -receiving is the primary way my family expresses love. We all love love love to get and give gifts. I am a kick-ass gift giver because that is how I tell people I care for them. I am a kick-ass stuff-buyer because that is how I tell myself I care for me. In fact, when my girlfriends all tried to stop giving each other gifts at birthdays, I refused to participate in their madness--oh I gave gifts. I gave great gifts. And when my birthday came around you can bet I received gifts too (thank you, my good friends, for loving me my way).
So giving up buying is not only about giving up shopping, it is also a bit like giving up my best way of saying "I love you." (I am not super proud of the previous statement, but it is the truth.) I would have to essentially learn a whole new way of showing that I care for others and myself.
But when I decided all of this, it was still November. . .
So I am not proud to admit I did a bit of stock-piling in my last month of consumerism. This Christmas, everyone in my family got a kick-ass gift. In the last few days after Christmas, I took every gift card I received and shopped my heart out. I bought cds, books, clothes, etc . . . to a ridiculous extent. I even pre-ordered a cd that won't be released until later this month and toyed with the idea of pre-ordering a book that is going to be released until this summer.
However, I don't really think my purchases are going to be "new" for much longer. I've already listened and pretty much memorized all of my new cds. I've read about half of the books I've bought. And I've worn all of my new clothes. It's only a week into my compact and my items that brought me such joy in their newness are no longer new. Already, seven days seems like a long time to not have made any purchases. The maw of the consumer beast is starting to gape.
I think this year might be hard. Not just because I won't be able to shop, but because I am going to have to seriously examine how I used to spend my money and time as well as what truly has priority in my life. Where is my treasure? Where is my heart? As one friend has half-jokingly claimed: I am a cavern of want. The question is: do I put worthwhile things into that cavern? Perhaps if I change my priorities, I could be sated.
We shall see.
So the following are my mini-compact rules (and a lot of this, I got off of the original Compact blog). The biggest thing will be to use common sense about any purchase:
1. Nothing new unless it is food, beverages, underwear, necessities (like soap, deodorant, medical supplies, etc . . .).
*A notable exception I am making to the above is original art.*
2. Experiences can be bought (e.g. plays, trips, dining out, museum tickets) but must not be too excessive. Also, subscriptions to magazines and museum/zoo passes can be renewed
3. I can buy things used, but I am going to try to avoid buying anything. Honestly, I don't need anything. This avoidance to buy anything will include downloaded music (gulp).
4. Some caveats: My son can have new clothes if he needs them. My husband can have new running shoes. I can have school supplies if I need them (like pens and texts) but I have to look for used first. Anything my lab buys for me for my research, I can have new (It would be really hard to do biology research with, say, used pipette tips).
People have asked what I'll do if my computer crashes or my car fails or my house burns down. Those things would indeed stink, but all of that stuff can be replaced without buying into the consumer trap. Besides, those things most likely won't happen (they didn't this year), so it is sort of pointless to worry about them until they come up. Again common sense.
A year is a long time, but as I sit on my couch, typing on my Vaio, listening to Trance Party Volume 1 on my iTunes, drinking Witch Creek Barbera out of my Crate and Barrel red wine glasses, facing my 19-inch TV and Kenwood stereo topped with piles of books, cds, and movies, in clothing that is sassy and has no holes, I think I can do this. I have been blessed with wonderful friends and family, a good career, and lots and lots of STUFF. A year with nothing new in the stuff department isn't surmountable.
Wow. This blog has come a long way from what I envisioned it to be when I started a year and a half ago. I am still doing the CSA but it isn't that hard anymore. The only thing I have moldering in my fridge is lettuce (still can't figure that one out but at least I compost), but I have learned to cook and handle a variety of produce. I even like chard now (to an extent).
I am still cooking vegetables every night (that never seems to change), but it doesn't seem to be the challenge it once was. Here's the fried rice I cribbed from Veg Times after coming home from a New Year's trip to Mammoth and finding "nothing" in my fridge:
1 c. dried rice, cooked
sesame oil
peanut oil
onion, diced
garlic, minced
ginger, minced
bok choy, stems chopped, leaves chopped, separated
carrots, chopped and blanched
dried shitake mushrooms, soak in hot water for 30 minutes, chop, save liquid for something else
beet greens, chopped
frozen and shelled edamame, rinsed in hot water
soy sauce
spicy chile and garlic sauce
Saute the onion, garlic, and ginger until soft. Add the bok choy stems and carrots. Saute a few minutes more. Add the mushrooms. When everything looks done, add the greens and the edamame. Saute for a minute. Add the rice, a splash of soy sauce, and a tiny bit of the garlic sauce. Saute until everything is uniform in color and a little brown from the pan. Top with sliced, roasted almonds.
Yummy New Year. . . .
The biggest "do differently" came from an NPR article in November of last year. I learned about a group of people in San Francisco who decided to say no to consumerism, calling this decision The Compact. Essentially, they've decided to buy nothing new for a certain time period (for some it was six months, for others a year, for still others it is ongoing).
I didn't get to hear the entire article because (oddly enough) I was busy selling some books and clothes back to a second-hand store, but what I heard really got my attention. This partial article plus my son's response to a broken toy earlier that week ("It's okay, Mommy. We can just buy a new one") motivated me to do a mini-compact of my own for the year of '08.
As soon as I decided this (in November), I went on a major spending spree.
I panicked. A whole year without buying anything new?!! What about gifts for others? What about gift cards from people to me? What if I see those brown boots I want? What about all of those cute skirts that will come out in the spring? What about new music? What about new books? My mind was spinning because once I decided to cut out all of the mindless things I buy on a--if not day to day--weekly basis, I realized just how much I participate in this consumer culture.
Part of this participation comes from the fact that everyone is bombarded by ads for goods almost every second of the day. I don't even watch TV (honestly, I don't. I only watch movies), but I am well aware of the new iPod or new clothing line at that high end department store or new album released by that hot new band. We seem to soak up the need to buy stuff from the very air.
Part of this participation comes from the fact that gift-giving and -receiving is the primary way my family expresses love. We all love love love to get and give gifts. I am a kick-ass gift giver because that is how I tell people I care for them. I am a kick-ass stuff-buyer because that is how I tell myself I care for me. In fact, when my girlfriends all tried to stop giving each other gifts at birthdays, I refused to participate in their madness--oh I gave gifts. I gave great gifts. And when my birthday came around you can bet I received gifts too (thank you, my good friends, for loving me my way).
So giving up buying is not only about giving up shopping, it is also a bit like giving up my best way of saying "I love you." (I am not super proud of the previous statement, but it is the truth.) I would have to essentially learn a whole new way of showing that I care for others and myself.
But when I decided all of this, it was still November. . .
So I am not proud to admit I did a bit of stock-piling in my last month of consumerism. This Christmas, everyone in my family got a kick-ass gift. In the last few days after Christmas, I took every gift card I received and shopped my heart out. I bought cds, books, clothes, etc . . . to a ridiculous extent. I even pre-ordered a cd that won't be released until later this month and toyed with the idea of pre-ordering a book that is going to be released until this summer.
However, I don't really think my purchases are going to be "new" for much longer. I've already listened and pretty much memorized all of my new cds. I've read about half of the books I've bought. And I've worn all of my new clothes. It's only a week into my compact and my items that brought me such joy in their newness are no longer new. Already, seven days seems like a long time to not have made any purchases. The maw of the consumer beast is starting to gape.
I think this year might be hard. Not just because I won't be able to shop, but because I am going to have to seriously examine how I used to spend my money and time as well as what truly has priority in my life. Where is my treasure? Where is my heart? As one friend has half-jokingly claimed: I am a cavern of want. The question is: do I put worthwhile things into that cavern? Perhaps if I change my priorities, I could be sated.
We shall see.
So the following are my mini-compact rules (and a lot of this, I got off of the original Compact blog). The biggest thing will be to use common sense about any purchase:
1. Nothing new unless it is food, beverages, underwear, necessities (like soap, deodorant, medical supplies, etc . . .).
*A notable exception I am making to the above is original art.*
2. Experiences can be bought (e.g. plays, trips, dining out, museum tickets) but must not be too excessive. Also, subscriptions to magazines and museum/zoo passes can be renewed
3. I can buy things used, but I am going to try to avoid buying anything. Honestly, I don't need anything. This avoidance to buy anything will include downloaded music (gulp).
4. Some caveats: My son can have new clothes if he needs them. My husband can have new running shoes. I can have school supplies if I need them (like pens and texts) but I have to look for used first. Anything my lab buys for me for my research, I can have new (It would be really hard to do biology research with, say, used pipette tips).
People have asked what I'll do if my computer crashes or my car fails or my house burns down. Those things would indeed stink, but all of that stuff can be replaced without buying into the consumer trap. Besides, those things most likely won't happen (they didn't this year), so it is sort of pointless to worry about them until they come up. Again common sense.
A year is a long time, but as I sit on my couch, typing on my Vaio, listening to Trance Party Volume 1 on my iTunes, drinking Witch Creek Barbera out of my Crate and Barrel red wine glasses, facing my 19-inch TV and Kenwood stereo topped with piles of books, cds, and movies, in clothing that is sassy and has no holes, I think I can do this. I have been blessed with wonderful friends and family, a good career, and lots and lots of STUFF. A year with nothing new in the stuff department isn't surmountable.
Wow. This blog has come a long way from what I envisioned it to be when I started a year and a half ago. I am still doing the CSA but it isn't that hard anymore. The only thing I have moldering in my fridge is lettuce (still can't figure that one out but at least I compost), but I have learned to cook and handle a variety of produce. I even like chard now (to an extent).
I am still cooking vegetables every night (that never seems to change), but it doesn't seem to be the challenge it once was. Here's the fried rice I cribbed from Veg Times after coming home from a New Year's trip to Mammoth and finding "nothing" in my fridge:
1 c. dried rice, cooked
sesame oil
peanut oil
onion, diced
garlic, minced
ginger, minced
bok choy, stems chopped, leaves chopped, separated
carrots, chopped and blanched
dried shitake mushrooms, soak in hot water for 30 minutes, chop, save liquid for something else
beet greens, chopped
frozen and shelled edamame, rinsed in hot water
soy sauce
spicy chile and garlic sauce
Saute the onion, garlic, and ginger until soft. Add the bok choy stems and carrots. Saute a few minutes more. Add the mushrooms. When everything looks done, add the greens and the edamame. Saute for a minute. Add the rice, a splash of soy sauce, and a tiny bit of the garlic sauce. Saute until everything is uniform in color and a little brown from the pan. Top with sliced, roasted almonds.
Yummy New Year. . . .
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