Google's latest doodle informs me that it is the eve of "MMXI". Per tradition, it is time for some reflection.
Last year, I wrote a satirical obituary to 2009, which I noted was a truly special year. In that entry, I failed to note why I considered it special.
2009 was a turning point for a number of reasons. It was the year I did my Honours, where I more or less stopped being a student in the traditional sense and started on the path to becoming a serious researcher. For the first time, I started associating, on a regular basis, with people who dabbled in science for a living. I made close friends. I found what it was like to be respected, important.
By 2010, I had realised that those new friendships were a lie, that I wasn't important at all, that the respect of others was not as important as the respect I gave myself, and that I barely respect myself at all. I realised that integrity is something which is as invaluable in science as it is hard to maintain. I realised that I had spent 2009 in some sort of naive stupor. 2010 saw me turn into a self-loathing cynic who, disgusted with her peers and her situation, tried to commit suicide by eating poorly and working late into the night, sometimes all night, often walking home at dangerous hours.
Then I realised what I was doing and applied the brakes, hard.
I've tried to be positive, I really have. This blog is sufficient evidence - how many entries reflect the true negativity of what I was feeling at the time? I tried to push - scream, shove, force - myself to be less lazy, to be less self-centered, to get up and get things done. It wasn't easy, especially when the experiments I put the most amount of effort into, fail in the most disheartening manner possible.
It wasn't easy, going to coffee with other people knowing that if I don't talk as much as I usually do, they'll know something is wrong and start asking invasive questions.
It wasn't easy, smiling at my supervisor whenever I was angry with him, speaking to him civilly even when he interrupted my work, forgiving him readily when he upset me, keeping up a cheerful facade so that he'd stop worrying only to realise that he saw right through me but didn't quite know what to do other than worry even more.
It wasn't easy, continuing to associate with people who hurt me badly and whom I still loathe and despise, simply because we collaborate in the same field.
It wasn't easy, realising how much people lie, even when they don't have to.
I said I would get to know 2010 soon enough. Except it's almost gone and I'm still not used to what this year was. I haven't fixed all the things I did wrong. I'm not ready for a new year, for a fresh start.
Well, here it will be, 2011 in six hours or so. There's never any time.
Friday, 31 December 2010
Thursday, 30 December 2010
Review: Magnum Temptation Chocolate
I had no photographs of this ice-cream, because I only thought of reviewing it after it was safety in my stomach. Unfortunately, prior to that, my mind was not in a state to think about the matter coherently. Simply put, this must be the ice-cream they serve in Paradise. Or possibly on first class flights aboard the A380.
(This post has now been updated with photographs. No confection can overcome my sentience.)
I came across this ice-cream by accident. I know of Magnum of course, ridiculously expensive in Singapore and significantly less expensive in Australia. I had vaguely heard that there was a new and very good chocolate flavour, so when I saw a box of it at the supermarket at a reduced price, I popped it in my shopping cart. And proceeded to forget all about it. It was only some hours after a satisfying lunch on a warm day (chicken porridge - I love porridge so much) that it occurred to me that I had something interesting in the freezer.
The first surprise was the packaging, which I admit I hadn't examined too closely before. Magnum ice-cream usually consists of three or four individual ice-cream bars on a stick, individually sealed in a plastic wrapper and packaged in a cardboard box. Instead I was confronted with a plastic-wrapped cuboid, which proved to be three separate rectangular boxes held together by the wrap. Each box was sealed with a strip of tape, with a little tab helpfully labelled with an arrow to indicate where the seal could be broken. And when you open it, you see this:
The ice-cream itself consists of high-quality Magnum chocolate ice-cream, mixed with chocolate brownie pieces and Belgian white chocolate bits, perched on a wooden stick and wrapped in dark Belgian chocolate. As if the edible part of the product was not decadent enough, it comes in a silver-lined box with a lid, atop a sheet of corrugated paper. The wooden stick holding up the ice-cream is etched with the Magnum logo and a decorative swirl. Even the shape of the ice-cream bar is not satisfied with a typical round-edged cuboid like the average Magnum - no, it flows about its support in a graceful S-shaped twist.
Magnum thought of everything. To paraphrase Sir Humphrey Appleby, this is the ice-cream Harrods would sell.
As for my recommendation, this is an ice-cream all chocolate-lovers should have once in their lifetime. There's also a caramel and almonds version, if that suits your preferences. Save up some spare cash, watch the supermarket carefully until a box of these goes on clearance, then grab it. Or, you know, just buy it. If you're one of those rich people who can afford Magnum ice-cream just like that.
(Of course I exaggerate - but consuming this ice-cream does make you feel like you ought to be incredibly wealthy. An advantage is that Magnum ice-cream is cheaper by weight than high tea at the Windsor.)
(This post has now been updated with photographs. No confection can overcome my sentience.)
I came across this ice-cream by accident. I know of Magnum of course, ridiculously expensive in Singapore and significantly less expensive in Australia. I had vaguely heard that there was a new and very good chocolate flavour, so when I saw a box of it at the supermarket at a reduced price, I popped it in my shopping cart. And proceeded to forget all about it. It was only some hours after a satisfying lunch on a warm day (chicken porridge - I love porridge so much) that it occurred to me that I had something interesting in the freezer.
The first surprise was the packaging, which I admit I hadn't examined too closely before. Magnum ice-cream usually consists of three or four individual ice-cream bars on a stick, individually sealed in a plastic wrapper and packaged in a cardboard box. Instead I was confronted with a plastic-wrapped cuboid, which proved to be three separate rectangular boxes held together by the wrap. Each box was sealed with a strip of tape, with a little tab helpfully labelled with an arrow to indicate where the seal could be broken. And when you open it, you see this:
The ice-cream itself consists of high-quality Magnum chocolate ice-cream, mixed with chocolate brownie pieces and Belgian white chocolate bits, perched on a wooden stick and wrapped in dark Belgian chocolate. As if the edible part of the product was not decadent enough, it comes in a silver-lined box with a lid, atop a sheet of corrugated paper. The wooden stick holding up the ice-cream is etched with the Magnum logo and a decorative swirl. Even the shape of the ice-cream bar is not satisfied with a typical round-edged cuboid like the average Magnum - no, it flows about its support in a graceful S-shaped twist.
Magnum thought of everything. To paraphrase Sir Humphrey Appleby, this is the ice-cream Harrods would sell.
As for my recommendation, this is an ice-cream all chocolate-lovers should have once in their lifetime. There's also a caramel and almonds version, if that suits your preferences. Save up some spare cash, watch the supermarket carefully until a box of these goes on clearance, then grab it. Or, you know, just buy it. If you're one of those rich people who can afford Magnum ice-cream just like that.
(Of course I exaggerate - but consuming this ice-cream does make you feel like you ought to be incredibly wealthy. An advantage is that Magnum ice-cream is cheaper by weight than high tea at the Windsor.)
Monday, 27 December 2010
Spambox
Checked my hotmail account to see what's happening in there. Lots of spam, it seems, including the tell-tale emails from contacts who never email me, and which are obviously sent by viruses.
Geez, guys, get an anti-virus or something.
Sometimes I feel like ditching my hotmail account. All the important people know my Gmail, Yahoo or university accounts anyway.
Geez, guys, get an anti-virus or something.
Sometimes I feel like ditching my hotmail account. All the important people know my Gmail, Yahoo or university accounts anyway.
Friday, 24 December 2010
spreadsheetJanitor
I give everything and receive nothing in return. The bane of my existence, and yet I cannot keep away. Sometimes I suspect that this relationship may be abusive.
I am speaking, of course, about databases. Specifically, the one which I have spent months updating. I didn't need to do it, but I volunteered and once I was in it, I was determined to do it right. I'm coming close to achieving my goal now, and there's the constant fear that at this last minute, something will destroy all the previous work.
There were three stages to the database update: cataloging all the items we needed datasheets for, obtaining the datasheets, and updating the old database to reflect the new information. For the first two stages, I had people helping me - and now, looking at how many mistakes they made which I now have to painstakingly correct, I wonder why I bothered getting help. I don't mean to sound snotty here, and I myself certainly do make mistakes myself. It's just that some of the mistakes they made are of a scale which makes me question if they were taking this seriously at all.
Well, this last part is solo, since I'm the only person who'll be working on this during the Christmas break. Hopefully I'll be able to fix everything and get it running by the new year.
So. Christmas. My first one alone.
Anyone who surmised that I'm burying myself in work to take my mind off it is absolutely correct. I don't want to think about how every other Christmas I've ever had was with my family. I don't want to think about the roast chicken and bean salad and baked potatoes and my mother's fruit salad which I'm missing on. I don't want to think about the plum pudding which, every year, my father would attempt to set fire to and fail. I don't want to think about home.
I'm not doing a very good job of it, am I?
Everything will be closed tomorrow, because Australians take Christmas Day very seriously. So it really will be me and my own company tomorrow.
No wishlist this year, but what I would like, if you are reading this, is to send me an email or add a comment below. A simple "Hi" would suffice. All I want for Christmas is to know I'm not alone.
Even if you don't say anything, I wish peace and goodwill to all of you.
I am speaking, of course, about databases. Specifically, the one which I have spent months updating. I didn't need to do it, but I volunteered and once I was in it, I was determined to do it right. I'm coming close to achieving my goal now, and there's the constant fear that at this last minute, something will destroy all the previous work.
There were three stages to the database update: cataloging all the items we needed datasheets for, obtaining the datasheets, and updating the old database to reflect the new information. For the first two stages, I had people helping me - and now, looking at how many mistakes they made which I now have to painstakingly correct, I wonder why I bothered getting help. I don't mean to sound snotty here, and I myself certainly do make mistakes myself. It's just that some of the mistakes they made are of a scale which makes me question if they were taking this seriously at all.
Well, this last part is solo, since I'm the only person who'll be working on this during the Christmas break. Hopefully I'll be able to fix everything and get it running by the new year.
So. Christmas. My first one alone.
Anyone who surmised that I'm burying myself in work to take my mind off it is absolutely correct. I don't want to think about how every other Christmas I've ever had was with my family. I don't want to think about the roast chicken and bean salad and baked potatoes and my mother's fruit salad which I'm missing on. I don't want to think about the plum pudding which, every year, my father would attempt to set fire to and fail. I don't want to think about home.
I'm not doing a very good job of it, am I?
Everything will be closed tomorrow, because Australians take Christmas Day very seriously. So it really will be me and my own company tomorrow.
No wishlist this year, but what I would like, if you are reading this, is to send me an email or add a comment below. A simple "Hi" would suffice. All I want for Christmas is to know I'm not alone.
Even if you don't say anything, I wish peace and goodwill to all of you.
Saturday, 18 December 2010
Recipe: Bittersweet Chocolate Snowball Cookies
Christmas is a wonderful time of the year.
But rather than bore you with my musings, allow me to present the recipe for some lovely cookies.
(P.S.: This recipe makes an awful lot of cookies, so you may want to halve it.)
Bittersweet Chocolate Snowball Cookies
Adapted from a recipe at One Perfect Bite, which was in turn adapted from a Martha Stewart recipe.
Ingredients
100g 70% cocoa dark chocolate
125g dark chocolate
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup unsweetened Dutch cocoa powder
2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
100g unsalted butter, softened
1 cup packed dark brown sugar
2 large eggs
1 tsp vanilla/hazelnut extract
1/3 cup milk
Granulated sugar (for rolling)
Icing sugar (for rolling)
Melt chocolate slowly in a double-boiler. Allow to cool.
In a medium bowl, whisk flour, cocoa, baking powder and salt together, until well-blended. Separately in a large bowl, beat butter and brown sugar until light and fluffy.
Add eggs and vanilla or hazelnut extract to the butter mixture; beat well until combined. Add melted chocolate and beat until blended.
Alternate adding the flour mixture and milk to the butter mixture, mixing with a spoon until just combined. Divide the dough into four portions, wrapping each in cling film, and refrigerate until firm, for at least 2 hours.
Preheat oven to 175 degrees C. Line a baking tray with ungreased baking paper or aluminum foil.
Place the granulated and icing sugars each into a separate shallow dish. Remove a dough portion from the refrigerator, unwrap, and roll into 2 cm balls. If the dough becomes sticky, rewrap and chill in the refrigerator for 15 minutes. Roll the dough balls in granulated sugar, then icing sugar, coating the balls completely. Lightly dust off the excess sugar with your fingers.
Place the cookies onto the baking tray, spaced about 3 cm apart. Bake, one tray at a time, for 12-15 minutes until the cookies flatten and cracks form in the sugar coating. Remove from oven and place baking sheets on wire racks to cool completely. The cookies can be stored in an airtight container, layered between waxed paper, for about a week. Makes about 60 cookies.
But rather than bore you with my musings, allow me to present the recipe for some lovely cookies.
(P.S.: This recipe makes an awful lot of cookies, so you may want to halve it.)
Bittersweet Chocolate Snowball Cookies
Adapted from a recipe at One Perfect Bite, which was in turn adapted from a Martha Stewart recipe.
Ingredients
100g 70% cocoa dark chocolate
125g dark chocolate
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup unsweetened Dutch cocoa powder
2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
100g unsalted butter, softened
1 cup packed dark brown sugar
2 large eggs
1 tsp vanilla/hazelnut extract
1/3 cup milk
Granulated sugar (for rolling)
Icing sugar (for rolling)
Melt chocolate slowly in a double-boiler. Allow to cool.
In a medium bowl, whisk flour, cocoa, baking powder and salt together, until well-blended. Separately in a large bowl, beat butter and brown sugar until light and fluffy.
Add eggs and vanilla or hazelnut extract to the butter mixture; beat well until combined. Add melted chocolate and beat until blended.
Alternate adding the flour mixture and milk to the butter mixture, mixing with a spoon until just combined. Divide the dough into four portions, wrapping each in cling film, and refrigerate until firm, for at least 2 hours.
Preheat oven to 175 degrees C. Line a baking tray with ungreased baking paper or aluminum foil.
Place the granulated and icing sugars each into a separate shallow dish. Remove a dough portion from the refrigerator, unwrap, and roll into 2 cm balls. If the dough becomes sticky, rewrap and chill in the refrigerator for 15 minutes. Roll the dough balls in granulated sugar, then icing sugar, coating the balls completely. Lightly dust off the excess sugar with your fingers.
Place the cookies onto the baking tray, spaced about 3 cm apart. Bake, one tray at a time, for 12-15 minutes until the cookies flatten and cracks form in the sugar coating. Remove from oven and place baking sheets on wire racks to cool completely. The cookies can be stored in an airtight container, layered between waxed paper, for about a week. Makes about 60 cookies.
Saturday, 11 December 2010
Wednesday, 8 December 2010
I < 3 GBR
The Great Barrier Reef's status as one of the seven natural wonders of the world is completely, completely deserved. That is really all there is to say on the matter.
Photos and coherency will arrive in a later update. Still needing sleep right now.
Photos and coherency will arrive in a later update. Still needing sleep right now.
Sunday, 28 November 2010
Another Milestone
I hit 200 blog posts a bit back, but that's not it.
In two days I fly off to my first international conference.
Wish me luck.
In two days I fly off to my first international conference.
Wish me luck.
Saturday, 27 November 2010
Friday, 19 November 2010
That Which Pride Precedes
Shortly after my meeting with my supervisors yesterday, I collapsed in a faint. This wouldn't have been a big deal, except:
One ambulance ride, a cannulation, an eye-examination which enabled me to see the blood vessels in my own eyeball, and some blood tests later, and it was determined that there was nothing more wrong with me than simple stress and exhaustion, combined with illness, poor diet and lack of regular sleep. Which I suppose isn't so simple after all.
I'm now at home, condemed to a day of boredom which I suppose I'll have to spend reading papers and looking at my sequencing. And laundry, probably. The everyday stuff which I normally shelve in favour of labwork.
I suppose I had this coming. Too much of anything, even something you enjoy, can lead to harsh consequences. In retrospect, it's just as well that I keeled over in the office, with my co-supervisor standing next to me, and not, say, while jaywalking.
I just wish I had been more conscious to enjoy the ambulance ride. What's the point of riding in an ambulance if you're going to be sick through it? Same thing with police cars - you have to be a criminal to be a passenger in one. How harsh.
The hospital food wasn't so bad though. Admittedly, I had gone for some nine hours without food by the time someone thought to send a tray in. Also, hungry or not, I didn't have more than a spoonful of the custard pudding. It was horrible.
I'm sure I'll consider this a grand adventure some day and laugh at it all. Kinda tired right now though. Hospitals are freaky places and I hate them.
Gonna get lunch now. I'm thinking hard-boiled eggs for some reason.
...
- I couldn't move my legs, or even my upper body immediately after it happened
- I work on a deadly pathogen with a varied and often unpredictable clinical presentation
One ambulance ride, a cannulation, an eye-examination which enabled me to see the blood vessels in my own eyeball, and some blood tests later, and it was determined that there was nothing more wrong with me than simple stress and exhaustion, combined with illness, poor diet and lack of regular sleep. Which I suppose isn't so simple after all.
I'm now at home, condemed to a day of boredom which I suppose I'll have to spend reading papers and looking at my sequencing. And laundry, probably. The everyday stuff which I normally shelve in favour of labwork.
I suppose I had this coming. Too much of anything, even something you enjoy, can lead to harsh consequences. In retrospect, it's just as well that I keeled over in the office, with my co-supervisor standing next to me, and not, say, while jaywalking.
I just wish I had been more conscious to enjoy the ambulance ride. What's the point of riding in an ambulance if you're going to be sick through it? Same thing with police cars - you have to be a criminal to be a passenger in one. How harsh.
The hospital food wasn't so bad though. Admittedly, I had gone for some nine hours without food by the time someone thought to send a tray in. Also, hungry or not, I didn't have more than a spoonful of the custard pudding. It was horrible.
I'm sure I'll consider this a grand adventure some day and laugh at it all. Kinda tired right now though. Hospitals are freaky places and I hate them.
Gonna get lunch now. I'm thinking hard-boiled eggs for some reason.
...
Wednesday, 10 November 2010
Recipe: Chocolate Cookie Mice
(Adapted from a recipe published in Cookies, Bars, Brownies by the Pillsbury Company)
Ingredients
Shape cookie dough into 3 cm balls. Pinch one end to form a pointed mouse nose. For the ears, make two tiny balls of dough, less than 1 cm across, and flatten slightly. Press carefully onto the upper-front portion of the mouse body. For the eyes, push two miniature chocolate chips into the pointed end of the dough ball.
Place cookies about 5 cm apart on ungreased cookie sheets. Bake for 10 minutes until the cookies just set. Remove from the oven and immediately push a piece of licorice into the rounded end of each cookie. Allow to cool completely. Remove from cookie sheets. Makes 36 cookies.
Variations
Stuff the mice with chocolate by pressing two chocolate chips into the dough while rolling it into a ball. Technically the cookies can also be stuffed with jam, but the cookies tend to lose their shape during baking.
Additional notes
...
Ingredients3/4 cup sugar
100g butter, softened
100g vegetable shortening, softened
1 tsp vanilla extract1 large egg
2 1/4 level cups plain flour
1/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 tsp baking powder
Miniature dark chocolate chips
Red or black string licorice, cut into 5 cm lengths
Preheat oven to 160 degrees C. In a large bowl, beat sugar, butter and shortening until light and fluffy. Add vanilla and egg; beat well. Stir in flour, cocoa and baking powder. Mix until well combined.
Shape cookie dough into 3 cm balls. Pinch one end to form a pointed mouse nose. For the ears, make two tiny balls of dough, less than 1 cm across, and flatten slightly. Press carefully onto the upper-front portion of the mouse body. For the eyes, push two miniature chocolate chips into the pointed end of the dough ball.
Place cookies about 5 cm apart on ungreased cookie sheets. Bake for 10 minutes until the cookies just set. Remove from the oven and immediately push a piece of licorice into the rounded end of each cookie. Allow to cool completely. Remove from cookie sheets. Makes 36 cookies.
Variations
Stuff the mice with chocolate by pressing two chocolate chips into the dough while rolling it into a ball. Technically the cookies can also be stuffed with jam, but the cookies tend to lose their shape during baking.
Additional notes
- Shortening is annoying to soften. You might have warm it over the stove or in the microwave oven.
- Press the ears onto the mice properly, or they may fall off during baking!
- I find it easier to insert the licorice tails if the rounded ends of the mice are facing the edges of the pan.
- Don't touch the chocolate chip eyes after taking the cookies out of the oven! They will be melted, hot and very painful!
...
Sunday, 24 October 2010
Witches and Wizards and Magical Beasts
A Very Potter Musical, where have you been my whole life?
Parody musicals are one thing. Highly-polished parody musicals with original music performed by actors who can actually sing? They're another thing. Which you should be watching.
AVPM is a musical based on the Harry Potter series. It's not based on any particular book, but rather takes elements from various books and ties them together with original touches and comedic elements, into a colourful, entertaining story with memorable characters - and memorable villains.
And the music. Did I mention the music?
Watch it. It's the missing piece in your life.
(There's also a sequel, which you should also watch. After finishing the first one. Lucius Malfoy is amazing. And Draco Malfoy. And Dolores Umbridge. And - just watch it.)
...
Parody musicals are one thing. Highly-polished parody musicals with original music performed by actors who can actually sing? They're another thing. Which you should be watching.
AVPM is a musical based on the Harry Potter series. It's not based on any particular book, but rather takes elements from various books and ties them together with original touches and comedic elements, into a colourful, entertaining story with memorable characters - and memorable villains.
And the music. Did I mention the music?
Watch it. It's the missing piece in your life.
(There's also a sequel, which you should also watch. After finishing the first one. Lucius Malfoy is amazing. And Draco Malfoy. And Dolores Umbridge. And - just watch it.)
...
Wednesday, 13 October 2010
Update XXVII: For Science
So. We haven't spoken in a while.
I've finally experienced a researcher's worst nightmare - finding out that someone else is doing the same thing you're doing, only better. Also, they are based in Hawaii. Hawaii.
It's not too bad. Science is ultimately an altruistic pastime, and if you go into it hoping for fame and wealth you are going to be severely disappointed. Your contribution as an individual means nothing compared to the contribution to the overall picture - and it doesn't particularly matter who makes that contribution.
It is a noble, harsh thing, to be a scientist.
But Hawaii, goshdarnit.
The "Dance Your PhD" competition has recently come to my attention. It has to be the single most bizarre method to be recognised by the Science magazine. (For those who have not been exposed to the cut-throat world of publications, getting published in Nature or Science is akin to an article about you being printed on the front page of your national newspaper, complete with full-colour photographs.) It probably would be quite challanging to express a PhD topic by dance.
...
...
I want to do it.
What does everyone think of Google Instant? While potentially annoying to slower typists looking up obscure topics, I can see how it would be intuitive to the impatient among us. I actually didn't notice anything different for the first thirty minutes or so, until - "Hey, why is the page loading before I can hit the Enter key?"
I like how they put up an actual graph to prove that Google Instant is faster. A graph with no axes.
Look! Jurassic Park the Musical!
...
...
I've finally experienced a researcher's worst nightmare - finding out that someone else is doing the same thing you're doing, only better. Also, they are based in Hawaii. Hawaii.
It's not too bad. Science is ultimately an altruistic pastime, and if you go into it hoping for fame and wealth you are going to be severely disappointed. Your contribution as an individual means nothing compared to the contribution to the overall picture - and it doesn't particularly matter who makes that contribution.
It is a noble, harsh thing, to be a scientist.
But Hawaii, goshdarnit.
The "Dance Your PhD" competition has recently come to my attention. It has to be the single most bizarre method to be recognised by the Science magazine. (For those who have not been exposed to the cut-throat world of publications, getting published in Nature or Science is akin to an article about you being printed on the front page of your national newspaper, complete with full-colour photographs.) It probably would be quite challanging to express a PhD topic by dance.
...
...
I want to do it.
What does everyone think of Google Instant? While potentially annoying to slower typists looking up obscure topics, I can see how it would be intuitive to the impatient among us. I actually didn't notice anything different for the first thirty minutes or so, until - "Hey, why is the page loading before I can hit the Enter key?"
I like how they put up an actual graph to prove that Google Instant is faster. A graph with no axes.
Look! Jurassic Park the Musical!
...
...
Friday, 27 August 2010
I Just Had a Friendship Aneurysm
[shudder]
No wait, I have more to say.
It's...it's just like those children's shows. Those shows for extremely yourng children. Those extremely saccharine cartoons dripping with sugar and treacle and sing-along-songs and pure undiluted sweetness.
[shudder]
No wait, I have more to say.
It's...it's just like those children's shows. Those shows for extremely yourng children. Those extremely saccharine cartoons dripping with sugar and treacle and sing-along-songs and pure undiluted sweetness.
[shudder]
Monday, 23 August 2010
Cake Mania!
I've been making cake. Lots and lots of cake. Expect a few more recipes up here soon.
This morning I even asked for a cake recipe from my supervisor. How nuts is that? (In my defence, it was a delicious sticky-treacle-coconut thing. Sticky-treacle-coconut! How could I possibly resist?)
Cake is yum. We need more cake. Yum.
This morning I even asked for a cake recipe from my supervisor. How nuts is that? (In my defence, it was a delicious sticky-treacle-coconut thing. Sticky-treacle-coconut! How could I possibly resist?)
Cake is yum. We need more cake. Yum.
Thursday, 12 August 2010
AYDS Will Change Your Life
Yes. Yes it will.
Suffice to say no diet pill will ever have that name today.
On the other hand, Unilever hasn't stopped assuring us that it's hard to have a Gaytime on your own, so I could be wrong.
Suffice to say no diet pill will ever have that name today.
On the other hand, Unilever hasn't stopped assuring us that it's hard to have a Gaytime on your own, so I could be wrong.
Monday, 9 August 2010
A Very Special 1-Up
I want you to imagine someone you know, someone who's about forty-five years old. Sorta past their prime, maybe with a few grey hairs, but perhaps still energetic?
Singapore turned 45 today. If it was a person, it would look something like the one you just imagined.
Sorta puts into perspective how new this country is, doesn't it? It's younger than my father, even.
The apartments where I live decided to put on a dine-in to celebrate "Singapore Day," which was pretty nice. I have to say though, my fellow Singaporeans are fairly jaded. I was the only one to stand up to recite the pledge, and then to sing the national anthem. Some of them have apparently even forgotten the words which they must have repeated hundreds of times in the school assembly ground, every morning.
Is it really so strange to have loyalty to one's own country? Is there something wrong with wanting to feel a single moment of unity, singing a single song with millions of others, all at once? Is it now the cool thing to make a running commentary of snide remarks on the parade which is arguably Singapore's single most important annual event, to belittle the efforts of all the people who plan and practice for months for this one day?
I would think not, judging from all the happy, cheering people gathered at the Padang and various other locations, both across the island and overseas.
Majulah, Singapura.
...
...
Singapore turned 45 today. If it was a person, it would look something like the one you just imagined.
Sorta puts into perspective how new this country is, doesn't it? It's younger than my father, even.
The apartments where I live decided to put on a dine-in to celebrate "Singapore Day," which was pretty nice. I have to say though, my fellow Singaporeans are fairly jaded. I was the only one to stand up to recite the pledge, and then to sing the national anthem. Some of them have apparently even forgotten the words which they must have repeated hundreds of times in the school assembly ground, every morning.
Is it really so strange to have loyalty to one's own country? Is there something wrong with wanting to feel a single moment of unity, singing a single song with millions of others, all at once? Is it now the cool thing to make a running commentary of snide remarks on the parade which is arguably Singapore's single most important annual event, to belittle the efforts of all the people who plan and practice for months for this one day?
I would think not, judging from all the happy, cheering people gathered at the Padang and various other locations, both across the island and overseas.
Majulah, Singapura.
...
...
Tuesday, 3 August 2010
Creepy Watson
In a subversion of the previous post, I about busted my guts laughing while watching this video.
Sunday, 25 July 2010
Horror
So I've received some new insight into horror stories, especially those which purport to be true. Perhaps part of the terror behind urban legends and ghost stories is that maybe, maybe, they're real, it's not just people making up things and double-exposing photographs.
But what if you know the story is entirely made up?
This page gives a nice introduction to the Slender Man, a mythical being invented entirely on the Something Awful forums in June 2009. We know he was entirely made up for a thread on fake paranormal images . All the stories about him are made up, all the photographic evidence edited in Photoshop with various degrees of skill. He does not exist at all.
And he terrifies the heck out of me.
Why, really? Like I said, this mythical creature does not exist. Everyone involved with making up the "evidence" freely admits it. We actually can pinpoint the exact person who created the myth. We can read the inaugural post ourselves. There is no ambiguity with respect to the source at all.
So why the fear? Why do I expect something to creep up upon me at any moment? Why do I keep glancing behind me?
The only explanation I have is that there is a part of the brain reacting to this sort of horror, while simultaneously ignoring the consciously-controlled, shall we say, logical portion of the mind. We do know, after all, that we aren't in full control of our bodies. We can't order white blood cells to move to a certain spot, or kill the nerve input from a particular location, or will our stomach to stop grumbling. While the brain (well, the central nervous system, more accurately) is the seat of thinking, most of it is not involved in conscious thought.
I would posit that there is a portion of the brain, developed for survival, which automatically gathers information and initiates the instinct to flee or become more alert, sometimes strongly enough to manifest as horror. I would also propose that this portion of the brain is incapable of descerning between actual images detected by the eye directly, and images on a television or in a picture. In other words, when you watch a horror movie, this portion of the brain thinks it is all true and happening in front of you, no matter how much your logical mind protests that you're sitting in a movie theater with popcorn in your lap, dammit.
This does a good job of explaining why my conscious mind is calmly analysing this while the rest of me wants me to run away, you're in danger!
Seriously, I'm hyperaware right now. I can feel the pressure when my blood passes through my veins through the part of my arm where my sleeve constricts it slightly. I can see everything in high detail, my typing, these words, sounds, everything. All for a fake, fake tentacled person who allegedly kidnaps children and kills people and stuff.
Read the thread. Read the posts if you dare. And permit your imagination to take over your mind. Prepare to be looking over shoulder for the rest of the week. Tell yourself he's fake. It won't help.
I think this Something Awful member put it best:
So many people struggle to understand the Slender Man. They wish to categorize it, compartmentalize it. If it exists, it can be understood. If it can be understood, it can be controlled. If it can be controlled, then it is not scary. You are but fools to do this. The Slender Man is not what you want him to be, not how you want him to be. Do you truly think that it is man? You think because you give it a name that all of a sudden you are somehow anywhere near what it really is?
This can not be named, can not be controlled. Just because you want it to be something does not mean it is. He is uncontrollable. He is unstoppable. He is what scares you. He is hate. He is pain beyond death. He is in your nightmares. He is in the corners of your vision.
He is right behind you.
But what if you know the story is entirely made up?
This page gives a nice introduction to the Slender Man, a mythical being invented entirely on the Something Awful forums in June 2009. We know he was entirely made up for a thread on fake paranormal images . All the stories about him are made up, all the photographic evidence edited in Photoshop with various degrees of skill. He does not exist at all.
And he terrifies the heck out of me.
Why, really? Like I said, this mythical creature does not exist. Everyone involved with making up the "evidence" freely admits it. We actually can pinpoint the exact person who created the myth. We can read the inaugural post ourselves. There is no ambiguity with respect to the source at all.
So why the fear? Why do I expect something to creep up upon me at any moment? Why do I keep glancing behind me?
The only explanation I have is that there is a part of the brain reacting to this sort of horror, while simultaneously ignoring the consciously-controlled, shall we say, logical portion of the mind. We do know, after all, that we aren't in full control of our bodies. We can't order white blood cells to move to a certain spot, or kill the nerve input from a particular location, or will our stomach to stop grumbling. While the brain (well, the central nervous system, more accurately) is the seat of thinking, most of it is not involved in conscious thought.
I would posit that there is a portion of the brain, developed for survival, which automatically gathers information and initiates the instinct to flee or become more alert, sometimes strongly enough to manifest as horror. I would also propose that this portion of the brain is incapable of descerning between actual images detected by the eye directly, and images on a television or in a picture. In other words, when you watch a horror movie, this portion of the brain thinks it is all true and happening in front of you, no matter how much your logical mind protests that you're sitting in a movie theater with popcorn in your lap, dammit.
This does a good job of explaining why my conscious mind is calmly analysing this while the rest of me wants me to run away, you're in danger!
Seriously, I'm hyperaware right now. I can feel the pressure when my blood passes through my veins through the part of my arm where my sleeve constricts it slightly. I can see everything in high detail, my typing, these words, sounds, everything. All for a fake, fake tentacled person who allegedly kidnaps children and kills people and stuff.
Read the thread. Read the posts if you dare. And permit your imagination to take over your mind. Prepare to be looking over shoulder for the rest of the week. Tell yourself he's fake. It won't help.
I think this Something Awful member put it best:
So many people struggle to understand the Slender Man. They wish to categorize it, compartmentalize it. If it exists, it can be understood. If it can be understood, it can be controlled. If it can be controlled, then it is not scary. You are but fools to do this. The Slender Man is not what you want him to be, not how you want him to be. Do you truly think that it is man? You think because you give it a name that all of a sudden you are somehow anywhere near what it really is?
This can not be named, can not be controlled. Just because you want it to be something does not mean it is. He is uncontrollable. He is unstoppable. He is what scares you. He is hate. He is pain beyond death. He is in your nightmares. He is in the corners of your vision.
He is right behind you.
Friday, 16 July 2010
Heartbreaking
Failure is pretty common in scientific research, I'd say. Considering how deeply we work with the unknown, it stands to reason that our initial assumptions, and therefore the expected outcomes, will run contrary to the actual reality. It's completely logical.
It doesn't stop the hurt when things go wrong. Certainly it mitigates nothing when you're working on four things at once and all of them fail simultaneously.
All this hard work for poor returns is taking its toll. The deadliest part is that I can feel myself spiralling into insanity and self-destruction. A large part of me doesn't particularly care.
The other part isn't going down without a fight.
Letting go is a coward's option, it says.
But it's hard when it's also the easy option.
It doesn't stop the hurt when things go wrong. Certainly it mitigates nothing when you're working on four things at once and all of them fail simultaneously.
All this hard work for poor returns is taking its toll. The deadliest part is that I can feel myself spiralling into insanity and self-destruction. A large part of me doesn't particularly care.
The other part isn't going down without a fight.
Letting go is a coward's option, it says.
But it's hard when it's also the easy option.
Tuesday, 6 July 2010
General Despair
I don't know, it's...
It's just one of those days.
I suppose I could elaborate, but...
Sometimes you just work so hard. And somewhere in your mind, you think that effort equates to results. More effort, more results. Of course, it works nothing like that. But you are always surprised, and hurt, when slapped in the face with the raw truth.
That no matter how hard you try, the inevitable is the inevitable.
Details don't matter. The story is the same always.
It's just one of those days.
I suppose I could elaborate, but...
Sometimes you just work so hard. And somewhere in your mind, you think that effort equates to results. More effort, more results. Of course, it works nothing like that. But you are always surprised, and hurt, when slapped in the face with the raw truth.
That no matter how hard you try, the inevitable is the inevitable.
Details don't matter. The story is the same always.
Friday, 2 July 2010
In Which I Invoke Godwin's Law
Being a successful researcher is about finding connections no one else spotted. It's not something you get by following the obvious path. Take the comparison made between the Escherichia coli genome and the Linux kernel, published in PNAS and highlighted in the July issue of Science. Perhaps a rather strange thing to look at, but the value of the work is clear. Evolution has shaped the bacterial genome to be able to withstand certain types of changes, and it is fascinating to see how that differs from the evolution of an open-source operating system. More importantly, mapping a biological system to a well-understood synthetic one means that we are closer to defining the confusing mess of gene interactions in terms we can readily understand.
We already have the first synthetic organism, demonstrating exactly how completely a cell's character is defined by its genome. This is not, of course, entirely new - scientists have been inserting DNA into cells to modify them for years. (I do this on a regular basis.) The difference is that previously, the introduction was partial - the host cell retains some of its original DNA, which helps to stabilise the organism in the face of the introduced genomic materia and the changes that it brings. This is the first time DNA has been introduced into an empty shell, restoring its function to be near-identical to the original.
Perhaps also, this is one of the rare times when such things come to the attention of the public. Scientists working in these fields know that such things are possible - it's simply a matter of expertise, of sitting down and working out the details. But we in science are well-insulated from the real world. There are a shocking number of people out there who do not understand things believed to be self-evident by the scientific community. For example, a lot of people don't realise that while the means by which life was first created, is perhaps debatable (although such a debate requires a healthy disregard for the fossil record), natural selection itself is not. It happens constantly. Right now. Everywhere around the world. In the soil, on the ceiling, on your face, in your gut, anywhere and everywhere a bacterium or virus might be. You grow up bacteria on a plate or in a host, slowly add increasing levels of antibiotics, and pick out the resistant survivors. That's natural selection, right there. It's a process which so undeniably exists, there is absolutely no point in debating its existence. And yet some people do.
I also think that a lot of people don't understand what science is. If you can point a stick at someone, yell "Avada Kedavra!" and reliably kill them in a flash of green light most of the time, it's not magic, it's science. If something is observable and can be tested, then it comes under the banner of science. Science is not a fixed set of facts. It is a way of thinking about the information which you have, and thinking about how you will acquire more or different information. The current set of facts is meant to change with each new acquired observation. Unfortunately, what many have to go on are the popular depictions of science, which are often not of science at all, but some kind of technological magic.
(As an aside, Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius was a horrible, horrible movie for any student of science. Science is not about building crazy gadgets or doing utterly impossible and senseless things. And no, movies meant for children do not get a one free ticket out of being sensible. Monsters Inc. had good imaginary science, why should the rest of you do less?)
In spite of the advantages of thinking scientifically, I don't see it becoming much more widespread than it is now. Thinking scientifically is hard. It requires absolute trust in one's observations, in one's calculations, and in the ideal that there is a truth, even if you can never find it. If there is something which you desperately want to be true, but there is no evidence to support it in spite of repeated testing, then you have to have the strength to let go. You need to always check your sources and be sure of the information you pass on. You need the courage to admit that your initial hypothesis was wrong. It's far easier to simply accept beliefs without questioning them.
I think it's sad, though, to be blind to the excitement as we understand more and more about the way things work, as we find how closely life walks the line between chaos and order, as we come closer to realising how incredibly complex and yet simple biological systems can be, simply for the sake of trotting out the old, ignorant argument of how terrible it would be if someone cloned Hitler.
We already have the first synthetic organism, demonstrating exactly how completely a cell's character is defined by its genome. This is not, of course, entirely new - scientists have been inserting DNA into cells to modify them for years. (I do this on a regular basis.) The difference is that previously, the introduction was partial - the host cell retains some of its original DNA, which helps to stabilise the organism in the face of the introduced genomic materia and the changes that it brings. This is the first time DNA has been introduced into an empty shell, restoring its function to be near-identical to the original.
Perhaps also, this is one of the rare times when such things come to the attention of the public. Scientists working in these fields know that such things are possible - it's simply a matter of expertise, of sitting down and working out the details. But we in science are well-insulated from the real world. There are a shocking number of people out there who do not understand things believed to be self-evident by the scientific community. For example, a lot of people don't realise that while the means by which life was first created, is perhaps debatable (although such a debate requires a healthy disregard for the fossil record), natural selection itself is not. It happens constantly. Right now. Everywhere around the world. In the soil, on the ceiling, on your face, in your gut, anywhere and everywhere a bacterium or virus might be. You grow up bacteria on a plate or in a host, slowly add increasing levels of antibiotics, and pick out the resistant survivors. That's natural selection, right there. It's a process which so undeniably exists, there is absolutely no point in debating its existence. And yet some people do.
I also think that a lot of people don't understand what science is. If you can point a stick at someone, yell "Avada Kedavra!" and reliably kill them in a flash of green light most of the time, it's not magic, it's science. If something is observable and can be tested, then it comes under the banner of science. Science is not a fixed set of facts. It is a way of thinking about the information which you have, and thinking about how you will acquire more or different information. The current set of facts is meant to change with each new acquired observation. Unfortunately, what many have to go on are the popular depictions of science, which are often not of science at all, but some kind of technological magic.
(As an aside, Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius was a horrible, horrible movie for any student of science. Science is not about building crazy gadgets or doing utterly impossible and senseless things. And no, movies meant for children do not get a one free ticket out of being sensible. Monsters Inc. had good imaginary science, why should the rest of you do less?)
In spite of the advantages of thinking scientifically, I don't see it becoming much more widespread than it is now. Thinking scientifically is hard. It requires absolute trust in one's observations, in one's calculations, and in the ideal that there is a truth, even if you can never find it. If there is something which you desperately want to be true, but there is no evidence to support it in spite of repeated testing, then you have to have the strength to let go. You need to always check your sources and be sure of the information you pass on. You need the courage to admit that your initial hypothesis was wrong. It's far easier to simply accept beliefs without questioning them.
I think it's sad, though, to be blind to the excitement as we understand more and more about the way things work, as we find how closely life walks the line between chaos and order, as we come closer to realising how incredibly complex and yet simple biological systems can be, simply for the sake of trotting out the old, ignorant argument of how terrible it would be if someone cloned Hitler.
Tuesday, 15 June 2010
Small World
You know how if you wander around the internet enough, you keep bumping into the same people, again and again? Every time it happens to me, I have to resist the urge to say, "Small world, huh."
Because it really, really isn't.
Because it really, really isn't.
Sunday, 13 June 2010
On another note...
Surprise template change!
I might fiddle with things around for a while longer. And get the actual wintershark somewhere in here. I can't believe I've had a mascot for so long without a single drawing of it.
I might fiddle with things around for a while longer. And get the actual wintershark somewhere in here. I can't believe I've had a mascot for so long without a single drawing of it.
Sequencing Perfection
Anyone who has ever done DNA cloning knows how hard it is to get the sequence you want without accumulating any mutations, especially when amplifying the insert via PCR. Anyone who has ever done DNA sequencing knows how hard it is to get a clean, readable sequence with no bizarre misintepretations by the sequencer's software, or a chromatogram which looks like the frequency plot of a heavy metal track.
I have just looked at the results from sequencing the insert of the vector construct I made. 970 base-pairs of pure, untainted perfection.
Shh, let me enjoy this moment.
I have just looked at the results from sequencing the insert of the vector construct I made. 970 base-pairs of pure, untainted perfection.
Shh, let me enjoy this moment.
Saturday, 12 June 2010
Roommate Chicken
In spite of sounding disturbingly like a recipe, "roommate chicken" is defined by Urban Dictionary as a situation where "a group of people sharing a living space each avoid doing a household chore for an extended period because each believes it's someone else's responsibility. The idea is that eventually the situation will reach a critical mass where the guilty party will cave in and do the chore." Urban Dictionary goes on to add that "in practice, the situation can escalate to extreme levels."
Ha ha ha. How many of us in shared houses haven't been there? I especially love it when someone happens to have a major essay or lab report to submit and feels that they are entitled to skip their duty for that week. Usually, further examination reveals that all of the housemates have some sort of major deadline due that week, and are all of the equal conviction that their deadline is of higher priority than everyone else's.
Take-home message: no deadline is a good excuse. Especially if you had a week to work on it but only started within the last remaining 24 hours. The dishes aren't going to clean themselves no matter how long you leave them in the sink, nor will the residual bacteria gain sentience, realise the shame of their existence and mop up their home for you.
Additionally, roommate chicken probably isn't limited to shared house situations. I've noticed in a variety of situations, that when a shared item runs low, most people prefer to survive without it rather than replace the item, even if the act of replacement is straightforward.
The worst part is perhaps that the one who finally caves in and rectifies the situation is usually the most responsible person, i.e. not the one who was shirking their duty in the first place.
Human nature, I suppose.
Ha ha ha. How many of us in shared houses haven't been there? I especially love it when someone happens to have a major essay or lab report to submit and feels that they are entitled to skip their duty for that week. Usually, further examination reveals that all of the housemates have some sort of major deadline due that week, and are all of the equal conviction that their deadline is of higher priority than everyone else's.
Take-home message: no deadline is a good excuse. Especially if you had a week to work on it but only started within the last remaining 24 hours. The dishes aren't going to clean themselves no matter how long you leave them in the sink, nor will the residual bacteria gain sentience, realise the shame of their existence and mop up their home for you.
Additionally, roommate chicken probably isn't limited to shared house situations. I've noticed in a variety of situations, that when a shared item runs low, most people prefer to survive without it rather than replace the item, even if the act of replacement is straightforward.
The worst part is perhaps that the one who finally caves in and rectifies the situation is usually the most responsible person, i.e. not the one who was shirking their duty in the first place.
Human nature, I suppose.
Thursday, 10 June 2010
The Outcasts
"Hey, can you let me into the lab? My card's not wor- Oh, wait, yours isn't working either - is it?"
"Nope. I'm useless."
"Ummm... Everyone else is in the lab."
"Oh hey, it's J. Hey J - wait a minute. Your card's not working either, is it?"
"Hmm? Well, it wasn't working the last time I tried it..."
"Could you..."
"...so I don't have it on me now."
"Great. Just great."
"So both of you are...?"
"We're all locked out. What do we do now?"
"Nope. I'm useless."
"Ummm... Everyone else is in the lab."
"Oh hey, it's J. Hey J - wait a minute. Your card's not working either, is it?"
"Hmm? Well, it wasn't working the last time I tried it..."
"Could you..."
"...so I don't have it on me now."
"Great. Just great."
"So both of you are...?"
"We're all locked out. What do we do now?"
Wednesday, 9 June 2010
Trapped
I think the key part to a trap is that you never see it at all right up to the moment when you try to step out of it. Then it clamps about your ankle and sinks its steel teeth past flesh into bone, and you know the meaning of agony.
I walked into what I thought was a voluntary situation. Now I find I can't pull out. The one person standing in my way won't let me go, allegedly because he cares about me and won't let me make a mistake. And all through this I keep thinking - if this is about me, why do you pull out your dirty tricks, your guilt-trips, your appeals to my sense of justice and your neverending assault on my logic, until I have no choice but to call a retreat before I agree to your terms?
What are you hiding? What egg are you sitting on, that you are afraid to move lest you crack it, even as you doggedly maintain your grip on to me?
Why won't you tell me? I would help you.
When will you stop pretending that you don't understand?
This conflict fills me with weariness. I do want to give in. It is the easy thing to do, here and now.
But as surely as the fox in the snare knows that if he does not fight, he will not see the next sunrise, so do I know that I will have to keep fighting, and fighting, and fighting, until at last I break free. I would rather suffer once now and have it all over with, than suffer for many years to come.
I just wish you would see, exactly how much pain you are putting me through.
I walked into what I thought was a voluntary situation. Now I find I can't pull out. The one person standing in my way won't let me go, allegedly because he cares about me and won't let me make a mistake. And all through this I keep thinking - if this is about me, why do you pull out your dirty tricks, your guilt-trips, your appeals to my sense of justice and your neverending assault on my logic, until I have no choice but to call a retreat before I agree to your terms?
What are you hiding? What egg are you sitting on, that you are afraid to move lest you crack it, even as you doggedly maintain your grip on to me?
Why won't you tell me? I would help you.
When will you stop pretending that you don't understand?
This conflict fills me with weariness. I do want to give in. It is the easy thing to do, here and now.
But as surely as the fox in the snare knows that if he does not fight, he will not see the next sunrise, so do I know that I will have to keep fighting, and fighting, and fighting, until at last I break free. I would rather suffer once now and have it all over with, than suffer for many years to come.
I just wish you would see, exactly how much pain you are putting me through.
Saturday, 29 May 2010
Coffee Achiever
The unthinkable has happened.
I can and now do drink coffee on a regular basis. I started off with mochaccinos, but now I can handle a long black. My favourite tea-break food consists of chocolate-coated Scotch fingers dipped in hot black coffee, such that the chocolate melts and the biscuit part softens while taking on a coffee taste. Strangely enough, one of my friends at the lab likes the exact same thing. (The difference is that she throws out the coffee post-dipping, while I drink it.)
I suppose I'm going to get married even later now.
I got to try out Lindt's newest offering: dark chocolate with a few salt grains thrown in. It is actually and surprisingly very good. It works the same way as the M&Ms with peanut butter: the salt accentuates the flavour and texture of the chocolate. However, the salt is not homogenous; it is left as crystals embedded in the chocolate. Some people may like it that way, crunchy with little bursts of flavour, but personally I'd rather have some peanut butter M&Ms.
On the further subject of food, I could really go for some marinated goat's cheese with olives right now.
I can and now do drink coffee on a regular basis. I started off with mochaccinos, but now I can handle a long black. My favourite tea-break food consists of chocolate-coated Scotch fingers dipped in hot black coffee, such that the chocolate melts and the biscuit part softens while taking on a coffee taste. Strangely enough, one of my friends at the lab likes the exact same thing. (The difference is that she throws out the coffee post-dipping, while I drink it.)
I suppose I'm going to get married even later now.
I got to try out Lindt's newest offering: dark chocolate with a few salt grains thrown in. It is actually and surprisingly very good. It works the same way as the M&Ms with peanut butter: the salt accentuates the flavour and texture of the chocolate. However, the salt is not homogenous; it is left as crystals embedded in the chocolate. Some people may like it that way, crunchy with little bursts of flavour, but personally I'd rather have some peanut butter M&Ms.
On the further subject of food, I could really go for some marinated goat's cheese with olives right now.
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
Almond Orange Halva Cake
Yeah, totally not twenty-one anymore. Still, a birthday is a birthday.
With that, the recipe for the second cake I brought in today! This one was very popular, even more so than the Sacher Torte. I've had this one for my birthday every year, since the age of, uh, three maybe?
Almond Orange Halva Cake
125 g butter
2 1/2 tsp grated orange rind
1/4 cup caster sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp baking powder
1 cup semolina
1 cup ground almonds
3 tbs orange juice
Syrup
1 cup orange juice
1/2 cup caster sugar
1 tsp brandy
Preheat oven to 190°C. Grease a deep, round 20 cm pan.
Cream butter, rind and sugar with an electric mixer, until light and fluffy. Beat in eggs, one at a time, until well-combined.
Mix together the baking powder, semolina and almonds. Stir in half of the dry mixture into the butter mixture with 1 1/2 tsp of the orange juice, then stir in the rest of the dry mixture and the orange juice.
Pour cake mix into the pan and bake for 40 minutes. Turn out cake, upside-down, onto a wire-rack, over a tray. Brush the top and sides with half of the hot syrup. Return the cake to the oven on the wire rack and bake for a further 5 minutes. Overturn the cake again and return it to the original cake pan. Brush the top with the remaining syrup. Cover and stand for 12 hours before serving.
Syrup
Combine orange juice and sugar in saucepan. Stir constantly over medium heat, without boiling, until the sugar dissolves. Bring to the boil, reduce heat and simmer uncovered for 5 minutes. Stir in brandy.
Additional notes
Some people like this cake slightly burnt. If you want to cater to them, bake at 200°C.
Almond meal can also be used for this recipe; the cake will have a finer texture. If almonds are too expensive, other nuts can also be substituted. My mother likes to use cashews.
Choose your oranges and orange juice carefully! For oranges, they must have a bright colour and have a slight citronella scent, so that the rind will be good. I used fresh pulpy orange juice with no added sugar, but the best orange juice is the kind you squeeze yourself from a fresh orange.
Cherry brandy flavouring is a good non-alcoholic substitute for brandy in this recipe.
For a lemon version, double the amount of sugar for the cake and prepare the syrup using 1/2 cup freshly-squeezed lemon juice and 1/2 cup pineapple juice.
With that, the recipe for the second cake I brought in today! This one was very popular, even more so than the Sacher Torte. I've had this one for my birthday every year, since the age of, uh, three maybe?
Almond Orange Halva Cake
125 g butter
2 1/2 tsp grated orange rind
1/4 cup caster sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp baking powder
1 cup semolina
1 cup ground almonds
3 tbs orange juice
Syrup
1 cup orange juice
1/2 cup caster sugar
1 tsp brandy
Preheat oven to 190°C. Grease a deep, round 20 cm pan.
Cream butter, rind and sugar with an electric mixer, until light and fluffy. Beat in eggs, one at a time, until well-combined.
Mix together the baking powder, semolina and almonds. Stir in half of the dry mixture into the butter mixture with 1 1/2 tsp of the orange juice, then stir in the rest of the dry mixture and the orange juice.
Pour cake mix into the pan and bake for 40 minutes. Turn out cake, upside-down, onto a wire-rack, over a tray. Brush the top and sides with half of the hot syrup. Return the cake to the oven on the wire rack and bake for a further 5 minutes. Overturn the cake again and return it to the original cake pan. Brush the top with the remaining syrup. Cover and stand for 12 hours before serving.
Syrup
Combine orange juice and sugar in saucepan. Stir constantly over medium heat, without boiling, until the sugar dissolves. Bring to the boil, reduce heat and simmer uncovered for 5 minutes. Stir in brandy.
Additional notes
Some people like this cake slightly burnt. If you want to cater to them, bake at 200°C.
Almond meal can also be used for this recipe; the cake will have a finer texture. If almonds are too expensive, other nuts can also be substituted. My mother likes to use cashews.
Choose your oranges and orange juice carefully! For oranges, they must have a bright colour and have a slight citronella scent, so that the rind will be good. I used fresh pulpy orange juice with no added sugar, but the best orange juice is the kind you squeeze yourself from a fresh orange.
Cherry brandy flavouring is a good non-alcoholic substitute for brandy in this recipe.
For a lemon version, double the amount of sugar for the cake and prepare the syrup using 1/2 cup freshly-squeezed lemon juice and 1/2 cup pineapple juice.
Sunday, 23 May 2010
Two Down
Guess what I managed to do!
In an incident involving my left little finger and a soup can... Yeah. It isn't very serious, but it does hurt a lot. Apparently, I have to keep away from sharp objects in kitchens. All sharp objects. Or possibly wear gauntlets.
So, uh... Eight-Fingered Scientist?
Let's see which one is the next to go! I'm betting that the cheesegrater will be involved, and it'll be an index finger.
In an incident involving my left little finger and a soup can... Yeah. It isn't very serious, but it does hurt a lot. Apparently, I have to keep away from sharp objects in kitchens. All sharp objects. Or possibly wear gauntlets.
So, uh... Eight-Fingered Scientist?
Let's see which one is the next to go! I'm betting that the cheesegrater will be involved, and it'll be an index finger.
Saturday, 22 May 2010
Google Pac-Man!
This is the greatest Google Doodle I have ever seen. Or the greatest anything, really.
Go to the Google homepage (now permenantly archived here) and play it, now! Click on "Insert Coin" to play, arrow keys or mouse clicks control Pac-Man, and click on "Insert Coin" again to load a two-player game with Mrs. Pac-Man, who can be controlled with the WSAD keys. (I had a ton of fun controlling both Pac-Man and Mrs. Pac-Man at the same time with both hands. It's also great for playing co-op with a friend, especially since the Google maze is a little larger than the regular one.) It has sound effects and everything - so completely cool!
Thanks for making this, Google! And happy 30th birthday to Pac-Man!
Thursday, 20 May 2010
Objects in Mirror
I looked myself in the mirror today, and really took a look. As in not "Do I look presentable?" but rather "Oh hey, that's me."
The way I look doesn't match what I am inside. Or maybe it does, but I spend entirely too much time in my own headspace and not enough in the real world. There's a curious dissociation between ME me and the me presented to the world. It's like inner me is an underachieving loser, outer me has a happy and fulfilling life, and the two never meet. Even though they occupy the same body.
I'm always startled when I realise the two are the same, and in fact, that happy and fulfilling life is mine.
I'm not sure I deserve it.
The way I look doesn't match what I am inside. Or maybe it does, but I spend entirely too much time in my own headspace and not enough in the real world. There's a curious dissociation between ME me and the me presented to the world. It's like inner me is an underachieving loser, outer me has a happy and fulfilling life, and the two never meet. Even though they occupy the same body.
I'm always startled when I realise the two are the same, and in fact, that happy and fulfilling life is mine.
I'm not sure I deserve it.
Tuesday, 18 May 2010
Sacher Torte
100 g Cadbury Old Gold dark chocolate
50 g Lindt Excellence milk chocolate
1 tbs water
155 g unsalted butter
1/2 cup caster sugar
Extra 2 tbs caster sugar
3 eggs, separated
1 cup plain flour, sifted
2/3 cup apricot jam
Icing
100 g Cadbury Old Gold dark chocolate
25 g Lindt Excellence milk chocolate
125 g unsalted butter
Grease a round non-stick cake pan (I use a flexible sillicone pan). Preheat oven to 200°C.
Chop or break chocolate; melt over a double boiler, or in a heatproof bowl set over a saucepan of simmering water, until smooth. Stir in water and allow to cool to room temperature. The chocolate will have a paste-like consistency.
In a large bowl, cream butter and sugar using an electric mixer, until light and fluffy. Beat in egg yolks one at a time. Stir in the chocolate mixture, and then the sifted flour.
In a separate bowl, beat the egg whites with the electric mixer, until soft peaks form. Gradually add in the extra caster sugar, beating until dissolved after each addition. Fold gently into the cake mix.
Spread half of the cake mix into the pan. Bake for 20 minutes. Allow the cake to stand for 5 minutes, then turn it out of the pan onto a wire rack to cool completely. Repeat with the other half of the cake mix.
While the cakes are cooling, heat up the apricot jam in a double boiler, until liquid. Strain the jam (if you like the jam with some chunks, just remove the bigger pieces). Once the cakes are completely cooled, overturn one of the cakes and spread hot jam over the top surface. Place the second cake on top and brush the top and sides with the remaining jam. Allow the jam to set. To finish the cake, decorate with icing (see below) and allow to set at room temperature. Serve with unsweetened whipped cream.
Icing
In a double boiler, slowly melt the chocolate and butter, stirring until smooth. Cool at room temperature, stirring occasionally, until it reaches a spreadable consistency (this may take 1-2 hours). This icing can be piped.
Additional notes
I use a combination of dark and milk chocolate, although pure dark chocolate was used in the original recipe. If you're willing to splurge on the chocolate, Valrhona is an excellent brand to use, as the chocolate is of a high quality and has subtle fruity notes. The cake is meant to be rather dry, which is why it is served with whipped cream, but if you want it a little more moist, heat it up before serving.
This cake recipe was originally published in The Australian Women's Weekly, i.e. it works perfectly if your kitchen is in Australia, less so elsewhere in the world. You may have to refrigerate or heat things up to get the recipe right.
This was the first cake I ever tried making - wasn't I an ambitious child? Needless to say, it didn't go so well, so I'm pretty pumped about getting it right this time.
Next challenge: griddle scones!
Saturday, 15 May 2010
The Competent Sequel
Just came back from watching Iron Man 2, and I think it's best described as a competent sequel. It falls a little flat - none of the hook of the first movie, which just dragged you into the plot. If Transformers 2 had too many explosions, I think Iron Man 2 didn't have enough, or rather, they were not as well-placed. The battle with the main enemy was just bland Although we know he's going to be defeated in the end, it would be nice if there was a big struggle first, instead of him just falling over after a few hits. It was just... not epic.
On the other hand, it was hardly bad. The story was solid and believable, and the acting was excellent. You really feel that you're looking at real people interact, not some characters from a Marvel comic book. I especially liked the dynamic between Stark and Rhodes - you can tell they're good friends, with the arguments, bantering and utter lack of discomfort with each other that such a friendship entails. Also, the humour was top-notch. It flowed naturally, the dirty jokes were kept subtle, and the silliness never undermined the more serious messages.
Also, we find out what Stark does if he needs to go to the toilet while in his suit! (It involves one of the most hilarious facial expressions I have ever seen on film.)
In other words, a decent movie and worth watching, if only for the high-octane Grand Prix scene, but don't expect the thrill of the first movie.
So that was fun! Back to work tomorrow, of course.
On the other hand, it was hardly bad. The story was solid and believable, and the acting was excellent. You really feel that you're looking at real people interact, not some characters from a Marvel comic book. I especially liked the dynamic between Stark and Rhodes - you can tell they're good friends, with the arguments, bantering and utter lack of discomfort with each other that such a friendship entails. Also, the humour was top-notch. It flowed naturally, the dirty jokes were kept subtle, and the silliness never undermined the more serious messages.
Also, we find out what Stark does if he needs to go to the toilet while in his suit! (It involves one of the most hilarious facial expressions I have ever seen on film.)
In other words, a decent movie and worth watching, if only for the high-octane Grand Prix scene, but don't expect the thrill of the first movie.
So that was fun! Back to work tomorrow, of course.
Thursday, 13 May 2010
Sorry About the Thumb
... said the server at the fish and chips shop, as he took my ticket number and handed over my food order.
How do they even do that? Note that he had to:
- Observe, in an instant, the nasty-looking scab on my thumb, complete with a crusting of dried blood
- Not get grossed-out or drop the fish
- Comment readily and inoffensively while conveying sympathy
Hospitality school must be gruelling. I'm imaging some sort of commando-style training here.
A McDonald's restaurant, just a few minutes after opening, gleaming and smelling faintly of floor-cleaner. The counter staff wait in their freshly-pressed uniforms, for the first customer of the day.
The door bursts open, or perhaps it would be better to say it shattered open, because a bloodied corpse has just been flung through the glass. It rolls across the floor, smearing the polished tiles, before coming to rest against a chair. A man limps through the broken door, boots crunching the glass, clad in rags which at one time may have been clothing. His face is blackened with soot and dust and motor oil and who knows what else. A rusty old submachine gun is tied to his arm with a blood-spotted bandage, such that his finger can rest on the aged trigger. His free hand is clenched around a bayonet or knife, blade still dripping. He looks around, sniffing in big, noisy breaths. His eyes are yellowed with madness.
Abruptly, he throws his head back and roars. "BIG MAAAAAC!"
One of the counter staff, a pretty blonde, steps up to the cash register and swiftly punches some buttons. "One Big Mac. Any fries or drink for you?"
As implied earlier in this post, the bandages are now off, to allow my injury to complete its healing in the open air. This is a good idea as the majority of the visible damage to my thumb is arguably attributable to the compressive bandaging, and not the V-slicer.
I'm also wondering if I should be concerned that my thumbnail doesn't seem to have grown at all while bandaged.
On an entirely different note, that second-last cake is totally from Coles. Funny how something familiar just jumps at you from a page.
How do they even do that? Note that he had to:
- Observe, in an instant, the nasty-looking scab on my thumb, complete with a crusting of dried blood
- Not get grossed-out or drop the fish
- Comment readily and inoffensively while conveying sympathy
Hospitality school must be gruelling. I'm imaging some sort of commando-style training here.
A McDonald's restaurant, just a few minutes after opening, gleaming and smelling faintly of floor-cleaner. The counter staff wait in their freshly-pressed uniforms, for the first customer of the day.
The door bursts open, or perhaps it would be better to say it shattered open, because a bloodied corpse has just been flung through the glass. It rolls across the floor, smearing the polished tiles, before coming to rest against a chair. A man limps through the broken door, boots crunching the glass, clad in rags which at one time may have been clothing. His face is blackened with soot and dust and motor oil and who knows what else. A rusty old submachine gun is tied to his arm with a blood-spotted bandage, such that his finger can rest on the aged trigger. His free hand is clenched around a bayonet or knife, blade still dripping. He looks around, sniffing in big, noisy breaths. His eyes are yellowed with madness.
Abruptly, he throws his head back and roars. "BIG MAAAAAC!"
One of the counter staff, a pretty blonde, steps up to the cash register and swiftly punches some buttons. "One Big Mac. Any fries or drink for you?"
As implied earlier in this post, the bandages are now off, to allow my injury to complete its healing in the open air. This is a good idea as the majority of the visible damage to my thumb is arguably attributable to the compressive bandaging, and not the V-slicer.
I'm also wondering if I should be concerned that my thumbnail doesn't seem to have grown at all while bandaged.
On an entirely different note, that second-last cake is totally from Coles. Funny how something familiar just jumps at you from a page.
Monday, 10 May 2010
Left Hand Man
Part of my thumb has been reacting badly to the bandaging. Which means it has to be kept exposed. Which means I can't wear a glove over it. Which means I'm back to being one-armed once more.
On the day when I plan a colony PCR, no less. (Fifty colonies, and six controls. Each one individually picked out and loaded onto a gel after the PCR. You do the math.) And the thing is that doing it one-handed is only slightly slower than with both hands. Is there anyone who actually enjoys doing colony PCRs?
Skills mastered so far:
Left-handed pipetting
Left-handed labelling
Left-handed, one-handed gel loading
One-handed Parafilm sealing of plates
One-handed, four-fingered typing
One-thumb grossing-out of anyone who looks at it
On the day when I plan a colony PCR, no less. (Fifty colonies, and six controls. Each one individually picked out and loaded onto a gel after the PCR. You do the math.) And the thing is that doing it one-handed is only slightly slower than with both hands. Is there anyone who actually enjoys doing colony PCRs?
Skills mastered so far:
Left-handed pipetting
Left-handed labelling
Left-handed, one-handed gel loading
One-handed Parafilm sealing of plates
One-handed, four-fingered typing
One-thumb grossing-out of anyone who looks at it
Friday, 7 May 2010
Why I Experiment
The sling is off, and my thumb is well on the way to recovery. Soon, the One-Armed Scientist will be no more. But that's not what I want to talk about here.
In the course of my type of research, we make mutants. Not the grotesque humanoids of fiction with special powers, but rather individual cells - bacteria - with changes at a fundamental, microscopic level. Some of them do have special powers, such as antibiotic resistance or increased ability to cause disease. I usually work with mutations for the worst - bacteria which are slower, die more easily, infect less than the pathogenic originals, because an analysis of them says something about how an unmutated strain causes disease. Technology has progressed to the point that we can manipulate the genetic material of an organism to a fine level, precisely cutting out a single gene and inserting it to cause a controlled mutation. Barring random chance, one can practically tailor a single organism to one's desire, especially with a simple, single-celled bacterium.
I think sometimes we forget that they're still living, natural things, with all the variation and unpredictability which that implies.
The standard way to construct a mutant in my lab, is to prepare a stretch of DNA precisely constructed to be identical to the target region in the bacterium under study, with a single point artificially changed. The constructed DNA, through random chance, is then exchanged with the original sequence, causing the bacterium to acquire the mutation. Usually we insert something to make it favourable for the constructed DNA to be taken up, such as adding an antibiotic resistance gene and then growing the bacteria in the presence of that antibiotic. Notwithstanding whatever disadvantage the bacteria may experience from the mutation, the induced survival advantage enables it to survive long enough that the mutation can be studied. The entire process can be controlled carefully, by cutting DNA with enzymes which only cut at certain points, by checking the size of fragments by running them on agarose gels, and, ultimately, by sequencing the constructed DNA so that even a single wrong base can be seen. We can construct a sequence of DNA exactly to specifications using these modern tools.
But then there are the things which happen which don't fit our ideas of how things work.
I once cut a piece of DNA with two enzymes, such that only another piece of DNA cut with the same enzymes could join to it. The second piece contained a gene for a red fluorescence protein - if the two pieces successfully joined and entered a bacterial cell, the bacteria would glow pink. However, I made a mistake - the second piece of DNA I added had not been cut with any enzyme, much less the correct ones. By all rights, it could never have connected with the first piece.
I got pink bacteria.
If I had straightaway realised my mistake, and thrown out the DNA, I would never had known that could happen.
Science is a systematic way to examine the world, by determining a way in which something can be tested, and then going ahead and testing it. That is the basis of the research I do. But the world is diverse - incredibly so. To systematically examine all phenomena is impossible. There is so much out there to question, one needs a place to start. And there is no better start than the random, anomalous occurance which doesn't fit in with one's preconceptions. Most major discoveries have started from such random occurances.
Which is why I believe one should keep working with things even if logically, they seem to have gone wrong. Accidentally tried to join uncut DNA with a cut sequence? Put it in some bacteria anyway and see what happens, it might be something exciting or unusual. Gel bands don't look right? Maybe you're the one expecting the wrong thing. Look at it again. The mutant bacteria seem to be missing something important which no bacteria should be able to survive without? Maybe that's precisely what you're looking for. If you wait, and keep repeating things until you get the results you were expecting, you might lose the truth.
After all, we are not here to construct precisely-specified pieces of DNA, or mutants with prescribed features. We are here to do research. We are here to examine, and discover. We are here to understand the world better so that we adapt ourselves to live in it better.
We are the children, gathering pebbles on the beach.
It might make more sense to look at each pebble, one by one, starting from one end of the beach and working towards the end.
But then you miss the view of the ocean.
In the course of my type of research, we make mutants. Not the grotesque humanoids of fiction with special powers, but rather individual cells - bacteria - with changes at a fundamental, microscopic level. Some of them do have special powers, such as antibiotic resistance or increased ability to cause disease. I usually work with mutations for the worst - bacteria which are slower, die more easily, infect less than the pathogenic originals, because an analysis of them says something about how an unmutated strain causes disease. Technology has progressed to the point that we can manipulate the genetic material of an organism to a fine level, precisely cutting out a single gene and inserting it to cause a controlled mutation. Barring random chance, one can practically tailor a single organism to one's desire, especially with a simple, single-celled bacterium.
I think sometimes we forget that they're still living, natural things, with all the variation and unpredictability which that implies.
The standard way to construct a mutant in my lab, is to prepare a stretch of DNA precisely constructed to be identical to the target region in the bacterium under study, with a single point artificially changed. The constructed DNA, through random chance, is then exchanged with the original sequence, causing the bacterium to acquire the mutation. Usually we insert something to make it favourable for the constructed DNA to be taken up, such as adding an antibiotic resistance gene and then growing the bacteria in the presence of that antibiotic. Notwithstanding whatever disadvantage the bacteria may experience from the mutation, the induced survival advantage enables it to survive long enough that the mutation can be studied. The entire process can be controlled carefully, by cutting DNA with enzymes which only cut at certain points, by checking the size of fragments by running them on agarose gels, and, ultimately, by sequencing the constructed DNA so that even a single wrong base can be seen. We can construct a sequence of DNA exactly to specifications using these modern tools.
But then there are the things which happen which don't fit our ideas of how things work.
I once cut a piece of DNA with two enzymes, such that only another piece of DNA cut with the same enzymes could join to it. The second piece contained a gene for a red fluorescence protein - if the two pieces successfully joined and entered a bacterial cell, the bacteria would glow pink. However, I made a mistake - the second piece of DNA I added had not been cut with any enzyme, much less the correct ones. By all rights, it could never have connected with the first piece.
I got pink bacteria.
If I had straightaway realised my mistake, and thrown out the DNA, I would never had known that could happen.
Science is a systematic way to examine the world, by determining a way in which something can be tested, and then going ahead and testing it. That is the basis of the research I do. But the world is diverse - incredibly so. To systematically examine all phenomena is impossible. There is so much out there to question, one needs a place to start. And there is no better start than the random, anomalous occurance which doesn't fit in with one's preconceptions. Most major discoveries have started from such random occurances.
Which is why I believe one should keep working with things even if logically, they seem to have gone wrong. Accidentally tried to join uncut DNA with a cut sequence? Put it in some bacteria anyway and see what happens, it might be something exciting or unusual. Gel bands don't look right? Maybe you're the one expecting the wrong thing. Look at it again. The mutant bacteria seem to be missing something important which no bacteria should be able to survive without? Maybe that's precisely what you're looking for. If you wait, and keep repeating things until you get the results you were expecting, you might lose the truth.
After all, we are not here to construct precisely-specified pieces of DNA, or mutants with prescribed features. We are here to do research. We are here to examine, and discover. We are here to understand the world better so that we adapt ourselves to live in it better.
We are the children, gathering pebbles on the beach.
It might make more sense to look at each pebble, one by one, starting from one end of the beach and working towards the end.
But then you miss the view of the ocean.
Tuesday, 4 May 2010
Missing
When I was seven I got into a heated argument with my brother, and he slammed his bedroom door in my face. Unfortunately, my hand was resting on the doorframe, with left thumb between the frame of the door and the hinges, and even more unfortunately, my first reaction upon my thumb getting jammed was to pull it free.
It wasn't painful, up until the point where I noticed my entire thumbnail had been ripped off and was sitting in the doorframe. Then it hurt. Bad. I was taken to the hospital and my thumb was bandaged up. The nail eventually grew back, but it was a number of months before I could use that finger again.
I was taking piano lessons at the time, and in spite of my injury I wasn't too concerned. Surely I could compensate for the out-of-action digit with another finger.
No such thing. My music instructor absolutely refused to allow me to continue my lessons, insisting that I could NOT play a piano without a full set of fingers. My piano training ended with that.
I still enjoy listening to piano pieces very much. I still cannot play it.
On reflection, now that I'm older, my instructor was utterly terrible. On additional reflection, I should have read through my brother's music books and learnt to play myself, compensating for the injury as required. But for a little girl, the word of a teacher is the law, and if she said something was impossible, it was.
I think of this, every time I struggle to open a door while holding something in my only good hand, or whenever I have to take three trips to move equipment to a room, or whenever I have to find someone to ask for help to get the plastic wrap off a new box of pipette tips, or whenever my supervisor cracks yet another tasteless joke regarding my right hand.
And I swear that I will never allow that to happen ever again.
It wasn't painful, up until the point where I noticed my entire thumbnail had been ripped off and was sitting in the doorframe. Then it hurt. Bad. I was taken to the hospital and my thumb was bandaged up. The nail eventually grew back, but it was a number of months before I could use that finger again.
I was taking piano lessons at the time, and in spite of my injury I wasn't too concerned. Surely I could compensate for the out-of-action digit with another finger.
No such thing. My music instructor absolutely refused to allow me to continue my lessons, insisting that I could NOT play a piano without a full set of fingers. My piano training ended with that.
I still enjoy listening to piano pieces very much. I still cannot play it.
On reflection, now that I'm older, my instructor was utterly terrible. On additional reflection, I should have read through my brother's music books and learnt to play myself, compensating for the injury as required. But for a little girl, the word of a teacher is the law, and if she said something was impossible, it was.
I think of this, every time I struggle to open a door while holding something in my only good hand, or whenever I have to take three trips to move equipment to a room, or whenever I have to find someone to ask for help to get the plastic wrap off a new box of pipette tips, or whenever my supervisor cracks yet another tasteless joke regarding my right hand.
And I swear that I will never allow that to happen ever again.
Saturday, 1 May 2010
One-Armed Zombie Scientist
No, I didn't die, get resurrected, etc. I did take part in the Zombie Shuffle earlier today (more photos can be seen here). I went as a zombie doctor (one-armed, of course) in a labcoat liberally coated in some very realistic and gory-looking fake blood, and joined the shuffling crowds at the Carlton Gardens. It was a lot of fun! Some people had really spent a lot of time on their costumes. We saw a zombie smurf, a zombie Ronald McDonald, a zombie Statue of Liberty, a zombie samurai, a zombie television (you read that right), a zombie Domo-kun... Heaps of creativity! A lot of the "zombies" got into character, sniffing around, leering at passing cars, clawing signposts or even crawling across the floor. One chap even staggered around dustbins, took out random pieces of garbage and gnawed on them. Admittedly, that was perhaps a little too in-character.
Anyway, it was a ton of fun, and if I can I'll go again next year. Pretending to be mindless is fun!
Anyway, it was a ton of fun, and if I can I'll go again next year. Pretending to be mindless is fun!
Thursday, 29 April 2010
A Sling Shot
I'm making it my personal quest to make the titles, for all the entries with this tag, to have punny names. I've heard plenty over the last few days.
The sling's still on, but the fresh bandages are less bulky and therefore hurt less. I'm also starting to get adept with using my left hand - it hardly shakes during pipetting anymore. And my left-handed writing is improving... slowly.
So far it's been an interesting experience (but then again, I anticipated that it would be, hence the blog entries with this theme). Having essentially only one arm to do all the work means that I have to think differently about what I'm about to do, and sometimes plan ahead a little. I might even keep using some of the techniques I originally developed to help deal with my situation, especially if they free up my right hand for other things.
I've had various people come up to me, saying they'd never had the patience to work with one hand, could never manage, etc. I think if they ever had to, they would. Humans are an incredibly adaptable species, paradoxically with a strong aversion to change. And one can get used to almost anything, however inconvenient.
Nevertheless, my co-supervisor has reached a higher level than I have. He tells me he injured his right shoulder in an accident once, and had to keep the arm in a sling. Since he was not very good with his left hand, he used the injured hand, sling and all, to do his lab-work.
Hardcore.
The sling's still on, but the fresh bandages are less bulky and therefore hurt less. I'm also starting to get adept with using my left hand - it hardly shakes during pipetting anymore. And my left-handed writing is improving... slowly.
So far it's been an interesting experience (but then again, I anticipated that it would be, hence the blog entries with this theme). Having essentially only one arm to do all the work means that I have to think differently about what I'm about to do, and sometimes plan ahead a little. I might even keep using some of the techniques I originally developed to help deal with my situation, especially if they free up my right hand for other things.
I've had various people come up to me, saying they'd never had the patience to work with one hand, could never manage, etc. I think if they ever had to, they would. Humans are an incredibly adaptable species, paradoxically with a strong aversion to change. And one can get used to almost anything, however inconvenient.
Nevertheless, my co-supervisor has reached a higher level than I have. He tells me he injured his right shoulder in an accident once, and had to keep the arm in a sling. Since he was not very good with his left hand, he used the injured hand, sling and all, to do his lab-work.
Hardcore.
Monday, 26 April 2010
Dressed to Impress
Tomorrow the long weekend ends, and with it my lack of access to medical facilities. The sling might come off tomorrow. Fingers crossed!
It's a funny thing - the only reason I needed a sling was to keep my arm elevated, to reduce the bleeding. But walking around with a sling, people tended to assume the worst (i.e. my arm was broken). It would be a fair feat to break an arm with a mandoline while slicing onions...I think a sling is such a visible dressing, usually associated with major arm injuries, that it instantly catches attention, drawing gasps and concerned inquiries as to what happened..
Except from my supervisor, who seemed entertained by the whole thing, although he tried to put on a sympathetic face.
In any case, I will be glad to have that thing off. Impressive appearance notwithstanding, my arm was getting cramped, being perpetually bent while held up by the sling. I suppose that would not be a concern for someone who had actually broken their arm.
In the meantime, I can go around bragging about my ability to carry out a PCR with one arm tied behind my back - or down my front, as the case may be.
It's a funny thing - the only reason I needed a sling was to keep my arm elevated, to reduce the bleeding. But walking around with a sling, people tended to assume the worst (i.e. my arm was broken). It would be a fair feat to break an arm with a mandoline while slicing onions...I think a sling is such a visible dressing, usually associated with major arm injuries, that it instantly catches attention, drawing gasps and concerned inquiries as to what happened..
Except from my supervisor, who seemed entertained by the whole thing, although he tried to put on a sympathetic face.
In any case, I will be glad to have that thing off. Impressive appearance notwithstanding, my arm was getting cramped, being perpetually bent while held up by the sling. I suppose that would not be a concern for someone who had actually broken their arm.
In the meantime, I can go around bragging about my ability to carry out a PCR with one arm tied behind my back - or down my front, as the case may be.
Sunday, 25 April 2010
Write Hand Rule
For a - northpaw, I suppose the term would be - being forced to use one's left hand, and only the left hand, has been something of a revelation. Having my handwriting revert to that of my one year old's self was just the start.
For example, do you notice that you usually hold on to an object when writing on it, to keep it steady? I noticed only when I couldn't do it anymore. I had to write lightly to prevent the paper from shifting with the pen's movements. Anchoring it with heavy object only helped a little, so long as the pen moved away from the point where the paper was held down.
But it was labelling small, smooth-surfaced objects, like the ubiquitous Eppendorf tube, where the real problems appeared. At the moment, I tape them down to a vertical surface to keep them still, while I label them laboriously with my left hand, breath held to minimise the shaking of my wrist. But one-handed wrestling with sticky tape brings another set of issues. And no matter how stable the surface, my handwriting remains at the mercy of my poorly-trained left hand.
I've taken to typing up my lab notebook entries - the notebook is meant for future researchers as well as evidence in patent claims, and I hardly think illegible text would facilitate that. But one-handed typing is tiresome in its own right.
This entry, for example. It's hardly long, but already my left shoulder cramps with the effort of covering the entire keyboard on its own.
Take care.
For example, do you notice that you usually hold on to an object when writing on it, to keep it steady? I noticed only when I couldn't do it anymore. I had to write lightly to prevent the paper from shifting with the pen's movements. Anchoring it with heavy object only helped a little, so long as the pen moved away from the point where the paper was held down.
But it was labelling small, smooth-surfaced objects, like the ubiquitous Eppendorf tube, where the real problems appeared. At the moment, I tape them down to a vertical surface to keep them still, while I label them laboriously with my left hand, breath held to minimise the shaking of my wrist. But one-handed wrestling with sticky tape brings another set of issues. And no matter how stable the surface, my handwriting remains at the mercy of my poorly-trained left hand.
I've taken to typing up my lab notebook entries - the notebook is meant for future researchers as well as evidence in patent claims, and I hardly think illegible text would facilitate that. But one-handed typing is tiresome in its own right.
This entry, for example. It's hardly long, but already my left shoulder cramps with the effort of covering the entire keyboard on its own.
Take care.
Saturday, 24 April 2010
The One-Armed Scientist
I am a predominantly right-handed person. Owing to various theories that left-handeds are more "creative", among other things, I have made some half-hearted attempts to be ambidextrous. As the short instances of truly horrible handwriting in my Social Studies textbook (boring, and therefore ideal for practice) can attest to, these attempts were largely met with failure.
On the morning of Friday, 23 April 2010, at 11:20 am as described on the incident report, I managed, through a combination of stupidity, carelessness and a V-Slicer, to lose a 5mm-thick chunk of my right thumb. The cleaness of the slice left no material to suture, and so the medical staff who attended to me were rather at a loss as to how to stem the profuse bleeding. A combination of applied pressure, elevation, and an ice pack slowed the blood loss, after which they wrapped the wound in absorbant padding and compressive bandages, a dressing which would hopefully last the long Anzac Day weekend until the medical centre would be open once more. I was released with a well-bandaged thumb, a sling to keep the wound elevated, and an injunction not to get the dressing wet under any circumstances.
The enormity of the situation was readily apparent to me. I had lost the use of my right thumb for an unspecified amount of time - the nature of the wound meant it would take some time to heal - and, by extension, any activities which required the use of a right hand and an opposable thumb. I couldn't write, I couldn't use a knife and a fork at once, getting money out of my wallet was going to be a challenge, cutting something with scissors was clumsy and dangerous. Furthermore, I would once again have to take a break from the lab until I had the use of my pipetting hand once again. It seemed that my PhD would, once again, see a delay.
Or would it?
Humans have an incredible ability to adapt to adversity. I had long held that disability was never an excuse for self-entitlement, there was always a way to survive without expecting too many allowances from others. This was the test.
I strode into the lab. With one hand I pulled on one sleeve, and grabbed the other end of it so it covered the front of my body, sling inclusive, leaving the right sleeve hanging free. I couldn't quite twist around to align the button at the back of the labcoat collar with its buttonhole, so a friend stepped in and did it up for me, and also knotted the ties around the waist. I got a box of gloves a size larger than what I was accustomed to using, and with a bit of twisting and pulling, managed to get it on.
"She's a one-armed scientist!" someone remarked in amusement.
It has begun.
On the morning of Friday, 23 April 2010, at 11:20 am as described on the incident report, I managed, through a combination of stupidity, carelessness and a V-Slicer, to lose a 5mm-thick chunk of my right thumb. The cleaness of the slice left no material to suture, and so the medical staff who attended to me were rather at a loss as to how to stem the profuse bleeding. A combination of applied pressure, elevation, and an ice pack slowed the blood loss, after which they wrapped the wound in absorbant padding and compressive bandages, a dressing which would hopefully last the long Anzac Day weekend until the medical centre would be open once more. I was released with a well-bandaged thumb, a sling to keep the wound elevated, and an injunction not to get the dressing wet under any circumstances.
The enormity of the situation was readily apparent to me. I had lost the use of my right thumb for an unspecified amount of time - the nature of the wound meant it would take some time to heal - and, by extension, any activities which required the use of a right hand and an opposable thumb. I couldn't write, I couldn't use a knife and a fork at once, getting money out of my wallet was going to be a challenge, cutting something with scissors was clumsy and dangerous. Furthermore, I would once again have to take a break from the lab until I had the use of my pipetting hand once again. It seemed that my PhD would, once again, see a delay.
Or would it?
Humans have an incredible ability to adapt to adversity. I had long held that disability was never an excuse for self-entitlement, there was always a way to survive without expecting too many allowances from others. This was the test.
I strode into the lab. With one hand I pulled on one sleeve, and grabbed the other end of it so it covered the front of my body, sling inclusive, leaving the right sleeve hanging free. I couldn't quite twist around to align the button at the back of the labcoat collar with its buttonhole, so a friend stepped in and did it up for me, and also knotted the ties around the waist. I got a box of gloves a size larger than what I was accustomed to using, and with a bit of twisting and pulling, managed to get it on.
"She's a one-armed scientist!" someone remarked in amusement.
It has begun.
Saturday, 10 April 2010
Appreciation
You know what is the most rare and precious thing in the world? It's the smile from someone who hardly ever smiles. It's warm and happy and genuine, it's nothing like the polite upturn of the mouth used by everyone else for everything, and it's all the more beautiful because you might never see it again and you're left scrambling, wondering what you did that you might do again, just to see that smile one more time. It's something you want to hug away in your memory forever, because the feeling it inspires is like nothing on earth.
See, this is why the cold, antisocial types are so popular with the lady-folk. Being one of the lady-folk myself, I can sympathise.
I haven't mentioned it here previously, but for the past three weeks I've been sick - first with a terrible sore throat, and subsequently with a persistent cough which has not resolved as of yet. It is primarily the cough which has exiled me, from the lab where I do my research and thus, from all the friends close enough to meet in person. It has been a horrible experience.
I used to think I was antisocial, able to sustain myself on a minimal of human contact. But these weeks have shown otherwise. I need that social contact, not as a momentary pleasure but as a critical requirement for maintaining my mental equilibrium. I need to see people, talk to them, know that they miss me as much as I miss them. It's been a frightening, frightening revelation.
Those throwaway well-wishes, tacked onto the end of the few messages I received while trapped at home - "Hope you're feeling better" - they should not have been like a cooling drink after a long trek through a desert. I should not have been as thirsty as I was. There shouldn't have been a desert.
I am far more human that I thought I was, and it terrifies me.
See, this is why the cold, antisocial types are so popular with the lady-folk. Being one of the lady-folk myself, I can sympathise.
I haven't mentioned it here previously, but for the past three weeks I've been sick - first with a terrible sore throat, and subsequently with a persistent cough which has not resolved as of yet. It is primarily the cough which has exiled me, from the lab where I do my research and thus, from all the friends close enough to meet in person. It has been a horrible experience.
I used to think I was antisocial, able to sustain myself on a minimal of human contact. But these weeks have shown otherwise. I need that social contact, not as a momentary pleasure but as a critical requirement for maintaining my mental equilibrium. I need to see people, talk to them, know that they miss me as much as I miss them. It's been a frightening, frightening revelation.
Those throwaway well-wishes, tacked onto the end of the few messages I received while trapped at home - "Hope you're feeling better" - they should not have been like a cooling drink after a long trek through a desert. I should not have been as thirsty as I was. There shouldn't have been a desert.
I am far more human that I thought I was, and it terrifies me.
Thursday, 1 April 2010
Monolith Action Figure
I'm just about 100% positive that this is an April Fool's joke. (The "Availability: Europa" was a bit of a giveaway.) But dammit, I want one!
The canned unicorn meat, on the other hand, is just gross.
I also like Goog- I mean, Topeka's new Translate for Animals application. I think it would be very useful. Finally, I can find out what it means when a cat says, "Meow".
Also, xkcd is awesome, but we always knew that.
TEXTp is rather nauseating - don't watch for too long!
Wikipedia is brilliant - it all sounds subtly wrong, somehow, but everything there is literally, factually correct!
All in all, I have to say April the First is one of my favourite times of the year. Sure, anyone with half a brain would be on the lookout for suspicious activity and most of the pranks are dead obvious, but it's fun and gives everyone a chance to show off their lighter side.
And the best part? The day isn't over yet.
(More shenanigans listed here!)
The canned unicorn meat, on the other hand, is just gross.
I also like Goog- I mean, Topeka's new Translate for Animals application. I think it would be very useful. Finally, I can find out what it means when a cat says, "Meow".
Also, xkcd is awesome, but we always knew that.
TEXTp is rather nauseating - don't watch for too long!
Wikipedia is brilliant - it all sounds subtly wrong, somehow, but everything there is literally, factually correct!
All in all, I have to say April the First is one of my favourite times of the year. Sure, anyone with half a brain would be on the lookout for suspicious activity and most of the pranks are dead obvious, but it's fun and gives everyone a chance to show off their lighter side.
And the best part? The day isn't over yet.
(More shenanigans listed here!)
Sunday, 28 March 2010
Teddy Bears
The heck is this thing? I'll give a dollar* to anyone who can explain it.
*Offer may not be sincere.
*Offer may not be sincere.
Thursday, 25 March 2010
Talkative
I think I talk too much. No. I know I talk too much.
In the time I have for quiet reflection, I know this, quite forcefully. It's all I can do do remember past gaffes, with SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP in a constant loop dubbed over the dialogue. But in the real world, acting on real things? That knowledge has little effect. Must I rehearse everything I say, so as to edit it of stupidity?
It's like part of me is intelligent, but unfortunately has been placed in control of a brick. A stupid brick.
This was brought on by, uh...
I don't know what brought this on.
I'm going to go play Command & Conquer. INSTEAD OF WORKING!
In the time I have for quiet reflection, I know this, quite forcefully. It's all I can do do remember past gaffes, with SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP in a constant loop dubbed over the dialogue. But in the real world, acting on real things? That knowledge has little effect. Must I rehearse everything I say, so as to edit it of stupidity?
It's like part of me is intelligent, but unfortunately has been placed in control of a brick. A stupid brick.
This was brought on by, uh...
I don't know what brought this on.
I'm going to go play Command & Conquer. INSTEAD OF WORKING!
Monday, 15 March 2010
On Chronic Workaholism
Happy Pi Day, Ides of March, etc. I did actually bake a pumpkin pie - recipe and photographs pending my getting it right.
A couple of hours ago, my housemate stopped on the staircase and asked me if I ever do anything but work. It's a reasonable question. I haven't been attending the cake suppers, free dinners, Quidditch matches (let's just say Muggle Quidditch involves running around with a broom between one's legs trying to catch a guy dressed in yellow, and leave it at that), gardening activities, or indeed any other social event held for residents of late. I've stayed holed up in my room, leaving only for the occasional meal (as far as my housemates know, at any rate), working away on the computer.
Obviously I haven't been working as non-stop as my housemates think (there's a lot more one can do on a computer than work, especially if connected to the Internet - look at what I'm doing now). But they are right, in the sense that I've been withdrawing socially in order to focus on my work. And they are largely right, in that I've been working as continuously and for as long hours as I've been able.
Workaholism is a curious thing. In my case at least, it's not an attraction to the work. To my mind, once work becomes fun, it is no longer classified as work - at best you're getting paid to play. Work, by definition, is unnattractive, by virtue of its tediousness or necessity. I think what workaholism is, is the compelling need to achieve something, which can only be attained, or is perceived to be only attainable, by working.
For example, one might become a workaholic out of a desire to earn a lot of money for a specific goal, such as buying a new car. One may be forced into workaholism in order to complete a large project on deadline. One may wish to provide for one's family, and thus grind well past overtime into the night, every day of the week. There are lots of rewards through work, so while work remains disliked, there is a motivation to do it.
In my case, however, the motive is a curious one. I, of course, wish to get the work done, out of responsibility for my project and knowing that I only have a limited, limited time to complete everything. But that is only the reason to do work. The slide into workaholism comes because I know if I stop, such is my inherent laziness that I would not be able to start again, for hours or even days. Therefore I push hard, never daring to stop until my fingers ache from gripping the mouse and a dull pressure forms behind my eyes. It's an addiction - not to the work, but to not stopping.
Naturally, it is not the healthiest way to proceed, but the sole psychological alternative in my case appears to be leaving everything to the last minute, in which sheer panic fuels an acute form of workaholism. Personally I prefer the go-go-never-stop version of things. At least the stress level is constant, and a lot more gets done.
Make that a LOT more. The look on my co-supervisor's face when I presented a 27 x 70-cell data table summarising the analysis of 66 proteins, completed in a mere two weeks, was absolutely priceless. Also priceless: his astonished exclamation that he didn't think there were that many proteins.
Of course, my main supervisor didn't so much as blink. Curse him and his poker face.
A couple of hours ago, my housemate stopped on the staircase and asked me if I ever do anything but work. It's a reasonable question. I haven't been attending the cake suppers, free dinners, Quidditch matches (let's just say Muggle Quidditch involves running around with a broom between one's legs trying to catch a guy dressed in yellow, and leave it at that), gardening activities, or indeed any other social event held for residents of late. I've stayed holed up in my room, leaving only for the occasional meal (as far as my housemates know, at any rate), working away on the computer.
Obviously I haven't been working as non-stop as my housemates think (there's a lot more one can do on a computer than work, especially if connected to the Internet - look at what I'm doing now). But they are right, in the sense that I've been withdrawing socially in order to focus on my work. And they are largely right, in that I've been working as continuously and for as long hours as I've been able.
Workaholism is a curious thing. In my case at least, it's not an attraction to the work. To my mind, once work becomes fun, it is no longer classified as work - at best you're getting paid to play. Work, by definition, is unnattractive, by virtue of its tediousness or necessity. I think what workaholism is, is the compelling need to achieve something, which can only be attained, or is perceived to be only attainable, by working.
For example, one might become a workaholic out of a desire to earn a lot of money for a specific goal, such as buying a new car. One may be forced into workaholism in order to complete a large project on deadline. One may wish to provide for one's family, and thus grind well past overtime into the night, every day of the week. There are lots of rewards through work, so while work remains disliked, there is a motivation to do it.
In my case, however, the motive is a curious one. I, of course, wish to get the work done, out of responsibility for my project and knowing that I only have a limited, limited time to complete everything. But that is only the reason to do work. The slide into workaholism comes because I know if I stop, such is my inherent laziness that I would not be able to start again, for hours or even days. Therefore I push hard, never daring to stop until my fingers ache from gripping the mouse and a dull pressure forms behind my eyes. It's an addiction - not to the work, but to not stopping.
Naturally, it is not the healthiest way to proceed, but the sole psychological alternative in my case appears to be leaving everything to the last minute, in which sheer panic fuels an acute form of workaholism. Personally I prefer the go-go-never-stop version of things. At least the stress level is constant, and a lot more gets done.
Make that a LOT more. The look on my co-supervisor's face when I presented a 27 x 70-cell data table summarising the analysis of 66 proteins, completed in a mere two weeks, was absolutely priceless. Also priceless: his astonished exclamation that he didn't think there were that many proteins.
Of course, my main supervisor didn't so much as blink. Curse him and his poker face.
Monday, 8 March 2010
Hailing Taxis
"What's worse than raining cats and dogs?"
In a complete reversal of last year's weather, it's been raining over here. Profusely, in fact. A mere two days ago, we had an attack of hailstones, some as big as a golfball. The beautiful arching roof of the Southern Cross Station is in need of repairs as a result of the aforementioned.
I cannot say I regret it. Storms have something wild and attractive about them, even when it's cold and windy and there's no umbrella. The heat gives one no option but to shrivel up against oneself, drained of vitality, desperate for any sort of cooling relief. Rain gives one strength, pushing one to wrap up warmer and waterproof. Given blistering hot sun and a heavy monsoon storm, I know what I would prefer.
Nevertheless, I do feel sorry for the property damage which has occurred. Melbourne is built to deal with dry weather - heavy rain is almost unheard of. But such a sudden change in weather patterns in itself is a cause for concern.
We with our recycling bins and our Bokashi buckets and our forced vegetarian diets and our carbon offsets and our concern, think we're doing something. But it's minor - so pitifully minor. The real changes needed are things people are too frightened to do.
Meanwhile the rain pours every day.
In a complete reversal of last year's weather, it's been raining over here. Profusely, in fact. A mere two days ago, we had an attack of hailstones, some as big as a golfball. The beautiful arching roof of the Southern Cross Station is in need of repairs as a result of the aforementioned.
I cannot say I regret it. Storms have something wild and attractive about them, even when it's cold and windy and there's no umbrella. The heat gives one no option but to shrivel up against oneself, drained of vitality, desperate for any sort of cooling relief. Rain gives one strength, pushing one to wrap up warmer and waterproof. Given blistering hot sun and a heavy monsoon storm, I know what I would prefer.
Nevertheless, I do feel sorry for the property damage which has occurred. Melbourne is built to deal with dry weather - heavy rain is almost unheard of. But such a sudden change in weather patterns in itself is a cause for concern.
We with our recycling bins and our Bokashi buckets and our forced vegetarian diets and our carbon offsets and our concern, think we're doing something. But it's minor - so pitifully minor. The real changes needed are things people are too frightened to do.
Meanwhile the rain pours every day.
Sunday, 28 February 2010
Anonymity
The Internet does a good job of creating an illusion of anonymity. I say illusion, because while on the face of things it would seem impossible for anyone to connect what you do on the Internet to the real you, there is a connection, a very real connection, made of fibre-optic cable, sillicon chips and electrical impulses, which anyone with the knowledge can trace to the person tapping the keyboard. It doesn't help that, with an illusion of assured facelessness, people tend to be more careless with information they leave on the Web. It takes just a little carelessness spread out across various sites, and all one has to do is bring all these indiscretions together to build a picture, of the real person, their friends, and satellite photographs of their home. It's almost terrifying, when the supposed anonymity proves to be a sham.
Then again, perhaps all of us, deep down, want to be discovered. After all, there is a way to remain truly unknown, and that is to refrain from all connections. By taking pot-shots into the darkness of the Web, perhaps the intention is that, someday, someone will reach back and say, "Found you."
Until then, there is a thrill, in having a little secret which no-one knows about but which anyone could reveal with little effort, like some sort of superhero from a book.
Except this is real life, and you don't get a retcon, and the main character always dies in the end.
Then again, perhaps all of us, deep down, want to be discovered. After all, there is a way to remain truly unknown, and that is to refrain from all connections. By taking pot-shots into the darkness of the Web, perhaps the intention is that, someday, someone will reach back and say, "Found you."
Until then, there is a thrill, in having a little secret which no-one knows about but which anyone could reveal with little effort, like some sort of superhero from a book.
Except this is real life, and you don't get a retcon, and the main character always dies in the end.
Friday, 19 February 2010
This Is Average
My room window faces a hill. On the plus side, it blocks out the brunt of the hot Australian summer. On the minus side, I occasionally have to use electrical lighting even in the daytime.
I can't stand Cadbury Creme Eggs. Why anyone would want to imitate raw egg using a sugary product is beyond me. Eggs are delicious as they are.
Why would anyone travel several kilometres for a pizza restaurant? This had better be some good pizza.
This morning I was talking to my supervisor in his office, when a downy gray feather slowly descended from the ceiling to the floor. I accused him of being a pigeon smuggler, a magician or possibly a werebird, which he vehemently and laughingly denied. I pretended to suspect nothing, but I knew something was amiss. Further evidence came in the form of a small black feather on the staircase, even though, once more, there were no more birds to be seen in the area, and indeed no means by which any avians might access the building. More on this issue as I investigate.
Calling is different from emailing. This I have discovered. Cone falls, on the other hand, are something else entirely.
This entire post was the product of boredom.
I can't stand Cadbury Creme Eggs. Why anyone would want to imitate raw egg using a sugary product is beyond me. Eggs are delicious as they are.
Why would anyone travel several kilometres for a pizza restaurant? This had better be some good pizza.
This morning I was talking to my supervisor in his office, when a downy gray feather slowly descended from the ceiling to the floor. I accused him of being a pigeon smuggler, a magician or possibly a werebird, which he vehemently and laughingly denied. I pretended to suspect nothing, but I knew something was amiss. Further evidence came in the form of a small black feather on the staircase, even though, once more, there were no more birds to be seen in the area, and indeed no means by which any avians might access the building. More on this issue as I investigate.
Calling is different from emailing. This I have discovered. Cone falls, on the other hand, are something else entirely.
This entire post was the product of boredom.
Thursday, 11 February 2010
Pack Up, Shut Up, Go
Here it is, once again.
To cram everything into a 40 x 60 x 100 cm space. To pack away life, home, everything familiar into an unfamiliar feeling and lock it all away. To split myself into two once again and live two lives across a piece of ocean.
I used to want a life of adventure. But now I realise that the more you travel, the more places you place your mark, and the more places call back to you. It just gets easier to ignore the voices the more you do it.
I just want one place which I can truly, definitively call home. But that will have to wait for a few years.
Just a little longer now. Wait for me.
To cram everything into a 40 x 60 x 100 cm space. To pack away life, home, everything familiar into an unfamiliar feeling and lock it all away. To split myself into two once again and live two lives across a piece of ocean.
I used to want a life of adventure. But now I realise that the more you travel, the more places you place your mark, and the more places call back to you. It just gets easier to ignore the voices the more you do it.
I just want one place which I can truly, definitively call home. But that will have to wait for a few years.
Just a little longer now. Wait for me.
Monday, 8 February 2010
Clutter
It was, I think, 2002 or 2003 when we moved into the new house. It was certainly a nice house, bounded by a small jungle on one side and a river/canal on another. My main interest, however, was the bathtub in the master bedroom. Perhaps now I could attempt that water-wasting yet oh-so-decadent method of self-cleansing, as immortalised in both media and literature!
Not so. My mother was too crafty for me. "Finish clearing your room," she suggested, "and I'll let you use the bath."
I didn't earn the right that year, or the year after. Each year, in fact, the task grew steadily harder as I amassed more material., making it more and more difficult to put everything into a coherent order. Finally, in self-defence, I decided I wasn't interested in the bath and allowed the clutter in my room to do as it would.
Then, at some point, I became an adult.
Today, I have finished clearing my room. I have gone through every item in my possession, and thrown away some four or five large bags worth of material which I no longer value. The room is now organised, and if I chose I could locate most of my possessions if necessary. The task is complete.
The room feels emptier, somehow.
Not so. My mother was too crafty for me. "Finish clearing your room," she suggested, "and I'll let you use the bath."
I didn't earn the right that year, or the year after. Each year, in fact, the task grew steadily harder as I amassed more material., making it more and more difficult to put everything into a coherent order. Finally, in self-defence, I decided I wasn't interested in the bath and allowed the clutter in my room to do as it would.
Then, at some point, I became an adult.
Today, I have finished clearing my room. I have gone through every item in my possession, and thrown away some four or five large bags worth of material which I no longer value. The room is now organised, and if I chose I could locate most of my possessions if necessary. The task is complete.
The room feels emptier, somehow.
Saturday, 6 February 2010
Inside Out
I like to keep things inside.
Oh, no, don't get me wrong. I have raging fits of temper. I have moments when I spill all, as coherently as it appears to me at the time, with furious, brazen words. There are times when I suddenly have the urge to be honest, to tell the truth as I see it.
But most of the time, I keep it inside.
Part of it is that I have no one to talk to. Not out of want of trustworthy people, but rather that they seem to have problems of their own or, as the case may be, they more readily part with their problems than I do. Being selfish under such circumstances would be wrong, and perhaps pointless as well. If someone badly wants to unload their secrets, they would not pay a great deal of attention to another person's issues.
So I keep it all inside.
It works, I suppose. I've gotten good at talking out the truth with myself. And when the cause is uncertainty, rationalising the facts or even doing a bit of research helps. As for the rest, well, my body has a very strong will to survive, even when I don't.
It's both frightening and empowering, to rely on oneself.
Oh, no, don't get me wrong. I have raging fits of temper. I have moments when I spill all, as coherently as it appears to me at the time, with furious, brazen words. There are times when I suddenly have the urge to be honest, to tell the truth as I see it.
But most of the time, I keep it inside.
Part of it is that I have no one to talk to. Not out of want of trustworthy people, but rather that they seem to have problems of their own or, as the case may be, they more readily part with their problems than I do. Being selfish under such circumstances would be wrong, and perhaps pointless as well. If someone badly wants to unload their secrets, they would not pay a great deal of attention to another person's issues.
So I keep it all inside.
It works, I suppose. I've gotten good at talking out the truth with myself. And when the cause is uncertainty, rationalising the facts or even doing a bit of research helps. As for the rest, well, my body has a very strong will to survive, even when I don't.
It's both frightening and empowering, to rely on oneself.
Monday, 1 February 2010
Don't Follow Me, I'm Going to Zorbitron
I have to say, I love the Borders Bookstore. There are a wide range of books on the most fascinating of subjects, the environment is comfortable for browsing, and in spite of the posh atmosphere no one looks at you askance when you walk in wearing a T-shirt and shorts. This morning, with some time to kill, I wandered in with my mother. Borders was fairly empty at the time, this being a working day. My mother made a beeline for the non-fiction, and found what she was looking for with a compact book about actors and actresses. This sort of thing doesn't interest me greatly, and I was about to move on to another section when I spotted The Encyclopedia of Animated Cartoons, now in its third edition. Intrigued, I flipped through it.
It was, as its name suggested, very much in the style of an encyclopedia. Various animated feature films, television specials and television cartoons were listed, with a short run-down of the voice actors and production crew, and a brief blurb. The text was relieved with the occasional greyscale cartoon screen capture, and a few pages of coloured images at the centre of the book.
I have often wondered about the relevance of such books in the age of the Internet, that endless repository of information on more subjects than any one person could possibly be aware of. What could be the purpose of purchasing a book when information can be so readily obtained with lesser cost to both the wallet and the environment? Perhaps the allure of a book is the promise of accuracy, and in the collection of information carefully prepared by the author. In order to read up about, say, Turbo Teen on the Internet, one must have first seen it mentioned somewhere. A book would have already done the necessary research, and presents the information in a clear and accurate manner, ready for consumption.
Digressions aside, I continued to scan through The Encyclopedia of Animated Cartoons, marvelling at the sheer number of animated features which have been created thus far. I stopped at a familiar name.
THE TRANSFORMERS: THE MOVIE
Ah, the 1986 classic which is much reviled by some fans and loved by others, and notable for its polarising decision to kill off most of its popular cast. I continued to read.
Set in 2005, the Transformers and their archenemies, the Decepticons...
The Transformers are actually a class of autonomous robots, of which the Decepticons are a single faction. A fairly common mistake, nothing too ser-
...are at war with one another when an Earthly group, the Autobots...
Wait, what?
...enters the picture and helps send the Decepticons into outer space.
I must have stared for sometime, re-reading the sentence to check if I had read it wrongly. When it became apparent that I hadn't, I had to clamp my mouth shut to hold in my giggles. Where on earth had the author gotten that information? The almost complete inaccuracy was astonishing. Not only were the Autobots erroneously listed as being a separate, "Earthly" group from the Transformers, but the blurb also stated the complete opposite of what happened at the beginning of the movie.
Then again, perhaps it I was being unfair. Mistakes are common, and surely I couldn't expect the author to have a complete understanding of all the subtleties in every cartoon he had listed in his book. Surely this was only a one-time error. I looked in the section on television cartoons.
TRANSFORMERS
The Autobots, residents of the planet Zorbitron...
At that moment I had to double over to keep my laughter, if not completely inaudible, at least at a low volume. Part of me doesn't want to know how "Cybertron" managed to end up so mangled, or where the author got "Zorbitron" from, but another part really, really wants to know!
But I think I'll stick to using the Internet as a source of information on cartoons. Especially since this encyclopedia of "animated cartoons" lists Walking with Dinosaurs, but not any of the Bionicle movies.
It was, as its name suggested, very much in the style of an encyclopedia. Various animated feature films, television specials and television cartoons were listed, with a short run-down of the voice actors and production crew, and a brief blurb. The text was relieved with the occasional greyscale cartoon screen capture, and a few pages of coloured images at the centre of the book.
I have often wondered about the relevance of such books in the age of the Internet, that endless repository of information on more subjects than any one person could possibly be aware of. What could be the purpose of purchasing a book when information can be so readily obtained with lesser cost to both the wallet and the environment? Perhaps the allure of a book is the promise of accuracy, and in the collection of information carefully prepared by the author. In order to read up about, say, Turbo Teen on the Internet, one must have first seen it mentioned somewhere. A book would have already done the necessary research, and presents the information in a clear and accurate manner, ready for consumption.
Digressions aside, I continued to scan through The Encyclopedia of Animated Cartoons, marvelling at the sheer number of animated features which have been created thus far. I stopped at a familiar name.
THE TRANSFORMERS: THE MOVIE
Ah, the 1986 classic which is much reviled by some fans and loved by others, and notable for its polarising decision to kill off most of its popular cast. I continued to read.
Set in 2005, the Transformers and their archenemies, the Decepticons...
The Transformers are actually a class of autonomous robots, of which the Decepticons are a single faction. A fairly common mistake, nothing too ser-
...are at war with one another when an Earthly group, the Autobots...
Wait, what?
...enters the picture and helps send the Decepticons into outer space.
I must have stared for sometime, re-reading the sentence to check if I had read it wrongly. When it became apparent that I hadn't, I had to clamp my mouth shut to hold in my giggles. Where on earth had the author gotten that information? The almost complete inaccuracy was astonishing. Not only were the Autobots erroneously listed as being a separate, "Earthly" group from the Transformers, but the blurb also stated the complete opposite of what happened at the beginning of the movie.
Then again, perhaps it I was being unfair. Mistakes are common, and surely I couldn't expect the author to have a complete understanding of all the subtleties in every cartoon he had listed in his book. Surely this was only a one-time error. I looked in the section on television cartoons.
TRANSFORMERS
The Autobots, residents of the planet Zorbitron...
At that moment I had to double over to keep my laughter, if not completely inaudible, at least at a low volume. Part of me doesn't want to know how "Cybertron" managed to end up so mangled, or where the author got "Zorbitron" from, but another part really, really wants to know!
But I think I'll stick to using the Internet as a source of information on cartoons. Especially since this encyclopedia of "animated cartoons" lists Walking with Dinosaurs, but not any of the Bionicle movies.
Saturday, 30 January 2010
Update XXVI: Countdown
Once again, I'm on the threshold of yet another phase in my life. This time, it will be four years (or more) straight, with little to no breaks in between. I'm actually rather looking forward to it. Once a routine has been established, there's no need for breaks, and indeed they can be quite annoying. Also, I will be doing some important work, which I must say does appeal to me.
A few days ago I was walking past a Forever 21 outlet, and I thought to myself, "Oh, hey, I'm the age everyone wants to be." I'm also going to lose that status soon. Can't say I place very much importance on it, other than as a marker of my ever-increasing age.
The other day, I bought what will probably be my last Bionicle set: Tahu. It was a sad moment as I clicked the pieces together, perhaps the last time I will have that joy of seeing a new set come together. But I have to say, I think I picked the perfect set to end my collection with. The Hau is the most iconic of the Kanohi, as well as one of the most beautifully designed. It sent a wave of - something through me, as I held the two masks which came with the set. Something wistful. Something nostalgic. A longing, perhaps, for the old simple days on that beach in Ta-Wahi, the sound of the sea in one's years, the seaweed-draped canister lying quietly in the sand and that anxious blue person in the distance, waving with all her might...
I enjoy looking back a lot, it seems. At the old friends I once had who, through inaction or circumstance, have drifted away, sometimes to the point of no return. At the things I used to do. The things I was proud of once. The things I'm still proud of - a smaller number. The things I once thought were important.
It's strange. I'm still the same inside. I have the same sort of reactions, the same kind of shrinking away, the same type of enthusiasm. The same disdain. The difference lies only in the triggers. Things are the same, only not so.
I can only imagine now, what sort of things I do would endlessly irritate me in the future.
A few days ago I was walking past a Forever 21 outlet, and I thought to myself, "Oh, hey, I'm the age everyone wants to be." I'm also going to lose that status soon. Can't say I place very much importance on it, other than as a marker of my ever-increasing age.
The other day, I bought what will probably be my last Bionicle set: Tahu. It was a sad moment as I clicked the pieces together, perhaps the last time I will have that joy of seeing a new set come together. But I have to say, I think I picked the perfect set to end my collection with. The Hau is the most iconic of the Kanohi, as well as one of the most beautifully designed. It sent a wave of - something through me, as I held the two masks which came with the set. Something wistful. Something nostalgic. A longing, perhaps, for the old simple days on that beach in Ta-Wahi, the sound of the sea in one's years, the seaweed-draped canister lying quietly in the sand and that anxious blue person in the distance, waving with all her might...
I enjoy looking back a lot, it seems. At the old friends I once had who, through inaction or circumstance, have drifted away, sometimes to the point of no return. At the things I used to do. The things I was proud of once. The things I'm still proud of - a smaller number. The things I once thought were important.
It's strange. I'm still the same inside. I have the same sort of reactions, the same kind of shrinking away, the same type of enthusiasm. The same disdain. The difference lies only in the triggers. Things are the same, only not so.
I can only imagine now, what sort of things I do would endlessly irritate me in the future.
Wednesday, 20 January 2010
Red Tape is Fun
"What about "Red tape holds the nation together"?"
If you're planning on applying for a student visa to study overseas, take my advice and GET AN AGENT. On one hand, you might get a lousy agent who conveniently tells you to take the IELTS test a month too late for you to actually take it on time. On the other hand, said agent is paid to circumnavigate red tape and make aggressive phone calls to the embassy. The exchange is worth it, trust me. Furthermore, you don't have to pay anything beyond the standard visa application fee - the embassy pays the agent directly.
However, if you choose to handle the matter yourself, be prepared to send an inquiring email to your case officer:
Dear [WITHELD],
I took a medical examination last year for the renewal of my previous visa, less than twelve months ago. Shall I go for another medical test now, or are my previous results still valid for my current application?
Regards, etc
And get a reply like this, two days later:
Medical report is valid for only 1 year.
[automatically generated signature]
Expect officers to ask for copies of your passport even though NOWHERE in their document checklists did they mention such a thing was required. If an officer promises that a call will be made to you to advise you of the next action to take, no call will be made. Ever. No calls can be made into the embassy either, as the telephone line is carefully protected by a minefield of automated responses.
But if you really want some fun? Fill in the wrong form.
And then offer to pay the application fee with someone else's credit card.
- Bernard Woolley
If you're planning on applying for a student visa to study overseas, take my advice and GET AN AGENT. On one hand, you might get a lousy agent who conveniently tells you to take the IELTS test a month too late for you to actually take it on time. On the other hand, said agent is paid to circumnavigate red tape and make aggressive phone calls to the embassy. The exchange is worth it, trust me. Furthermore, you don't have to pay anything beyond the standard visa application fee - the embassy pays the agent directly.
However, if you choose to handle the matter yourself, be prepared to send an inquiring email to your case officer:
Dear [WITHELD],
I took a medical examination last year for the renewal of my previous visa, less than twelve months ago. Shall I go for another medical test now, or are my previous results still valid for my current application?
Regards, etc
And get a reply like this, two days later:
Medical report is valid for only 1 year.
[automatically generated signature]
Expect officers to ask for copies of your passport even though NOWHERE in their document checklists did they mention such a thing was required. If an officer promises that a call will be made to you to advise you of the next action to take, no call will be made. Ever. No calls can be made into the embassy either, as the telephone line is carefully protected by a minefield of automated responses.
But if you really want some fun? Fill in the wrong form.
And then offer to pay the application fee with someone else's credit card.
Monday, 18 January 2010
Flat Major
Or, the apparent result of dropping a piano on a military base. The complementary riddle concerning the release of a piano down a mineshaft (flat minor) is a little more subtle, but requires the first to aid its setup.
I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned MS Paint Adventures. If I haven't, it is a grave injustice because it deserves to be mentioned. Repeatedly. I have never seen another webcomic - I use the term loosely, because "webcomic" does not properly describe MS Paint Adventures - create such a sense of epic scale so successfully. Part of it may be that readers are able to influence the story by making suggestions for character actions, so there is a very real investment in characters. The other part consists of the grand-scale animations, which are staggering in their length and complexity. Things happen in this story, and they are BIG.
Now if I haven't mentioned Alice is Dead before, this is because I didn't know of it previously. This is also a grave injustice, though an unintentional one. There are currently two episodes of the game, and while the puzzles aren't too hard, the writing is riveting and the art, beautifully detailed. The world of Alice is Dead is twisted version of Wonderland, and one can't help but want to know how deep the rabbit hole goes. So to speak.
I've been cleaning up the corners in my life, quite literally. There comes a time when one must sit down and go through the belongings which were once valued, now not so much. I have twenty years worth of collected material, most of it junk, to sort through. It is inevitable when pursuing such an occupation that there are a few surprises. For one, I discovered a large number of fancy pens, most of them still working well, including a lovely Sheaffer. I also found some old, old things I've forgotten about - photographs, papers, drawings, even cash - hidden away like a squirrel might hide its nuts. With the same effect.
One of the interesting surprises came when I was searching through a folder of art constructed by myself primarily between the ages of one and five, and which proved very difficult to prune down. I found an old, old drawing of a bird by myself at around the age of four, with the wobbly lines and patchy colours typical of a hand lacking dexterity. It was recognisably a Kakapo.
Clearly the drawing had been copied from a photograph - I doubt that at that age I could even pronounce "Kakapo" properly. But the main features had been preserved, so that my twenty-one-year-old self was capable of recognising it at a glance. There is a lesson here somewhere.
My father is finally retiring his seven-year-old IBM ThinkPad, a model which I maintain was the best work laptop ever made. I remember playing Lego Robohunter on that thing, and taking my first wobbly steps into the Internet. I remember using it as a backup computer when mine failed repeatedly, and then again when mine failed for good. I remember the day when it finally could no longer function without a constant power supply, its battery not nearly as durable as the computer itself.
I think I will miss it. When something has been nearby for so long - especially something with so intimate an association as a laptop - it leaves a mark. Suddenly the things you thought would always be there clearly and firmly demonstrate that all things are tentative.
Change is inevitable.
Except from vending machines.
I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned MS Paint Adventures. If I haven't, it is a grave injustice because it deserves to be mentioned. Repeatedly. I have never seen another webcomic - I use the term loosely, because "webcomic" does not properly describe MS Paint Adventures - create such a sense of epic scale so successfully. Part of it may be that readers are able to influence the story by making suggestions for character actions, so there is a very real investment in characters. The other part consists of the grand-scale animations, which are staggering in their length and complexity. Things happen in this story, and they are BIG.
Now if I haven't mentioned Alice is Dead before, this is because I didn't know of it previously. This is also a grave injustice, though an unintentional one. There are currently two episodes of the game, and while the puzzles aren't too hard, the writing is riveting and the art, beautifully detailed. The world of Alice is Dead is twisted version of Wonderland, and one can't help but want to know how deep the rabbit hole goes. So to speak.
I've been cleaning up the corners in my life, quite literally. There comes a time when one must sit down and go through the belongings which were once valued, now not so much. I have twenty years worth of collected material, most of it junk, to sort through. It is inevitable when pursuing such an occupation that there are a few surprises. For one, I discovered a large number of fancy pens, most of them still working well, including a lovely Sheaffer. I also found some old, old things I've forgotten about - photographs, papers, drawings, even cash - hidden away like a squirrel might hide its nuts. With the same effect.
One of the interesting surprises came when I was searching through a folder of art constructed by myself primarily between the ages of one and five, and which proved very difficult to prune down. I found an old, old drawing of a bird by myself at around the age of four, with the wobbly lines and patchy colours typical of a hand lacking dexterity. It was recognisably a Kakapo.
Clearly the drawing had been copied from a photograph - I doubt that at that age I could even pronounce "Kakapo" properly. But the main features had been preserved, so that my twenty-one-year-old self was capable of recognising it at a glance. There is a lesson here somewhere.
My father is finally retiring his seven-year-old IBM ThinkPad, a model which I maintain was the best work laptop ever made. I remember playing Lego Robohunter on that thing, and taking my first wobbly steps into the Internet. I remember using it as a backup computer when mine failed repeatedly, and then again when mine failed for good. I remember the day when it finally could no longer function without a constant power supply, its battery not nearly as durable as the computer itself.
I think I will miss it. When something has been nearby for so long - especially something with so intimate an association as a laptop - it leaves a mark. Suddenly the things you thought would always be there clearly and firmly demonstrate that all things are tentative.
Change is inevitable.
Except from vending machines.
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