Saturday, May 31, 2003 Finding Nemo Yep, a kid flick. Be prepared to brave the theaters filled with screaming six-year-olds needing to go to the bathroom in the middle of the film. Now on to my impressions... Wow. That was the beginning? Well, I guess they didn't want to wreck the sensibilities of the children in the audience. From reviews that I had read prior to the screening, I had the impression that it would have been more disturbing. The only other Pixar film I have seen is Monsters Inc. where the styles and technical achievements are very similar. Polished and colorful. Pixar does monsters and fish very well. The humans however are caricatures, which I suppose works in this case since they are gags and peripheral to the story. The story itself is filled with wonderful characters. Marlin (Albert Brooks) is a neurotic and overprotective clownfish, annoying at times, but ultimately sympathetic. Wanting to keep someone you love safe is a universal theme and the people at Pixar are smart enough to milk it for what it's worth (especially when half the audience are parents). Dory (Ellen DeGeneres) is the blue tang who accompanies Marlin to help find his son. Dory has problems, though, specifically memory problems of Memento proportions, and she is easily manipulated due to her child-like persona as well as the memory loss. There are also a lot of other details that were quite amusing. My favorite character was Gill (Willem Dafoe) the zebra fish constantly planning jailbreaks from the dentist office aquarium. The greedy, food-obsessed seagulls were spot on (although I wouldn't think their beaks would be sharp enough to pierce sail tarp!) and the dentist's braces-wearing, fish-killing niece was deliciously bratty (of course, the Psycho theme playing whenever she showed up helped too). At the end, though, I was sort of hoping that Dory and Marlin would get together but that was sort of spoiled by Bruce the shark and his cronies escorting the blue tang back to the coral reef. (I guess girls can't resist bad boys even if they are cartoon fish.) [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 6:37 PM : 0 comments ] Reading Habits Another way to track reading habits is to look at which section in the bookstore or library you gravitate toward first when you enter. By gravitate, I mean standing in front of the shelves, looking at covers, and reading the titles and summaries. Yes, stores and libraries often put bestsellers and new books at the front to stop patrons in their tracks, but let's disregard that for a minute because everyone to some degree notices shiny, new things. Four years ago, I would have said with fair confidence that I would go to the science fiction and fantasy section of a store first and rarely look at any of the other genres. One year ago, I would have been seen browsing the literature and mainstream fiction sections instead. And now, well, I'm mostly at the bargain bin. One could say that my tastes are less picky and have cheapened considerably. In one sense, yes, but the main reason for this would have to go to my pocketbook. But on a different level, I have become extremely picky. I no longer go to bookstores and libraries (most of the time, anyway) to inhale the scent of paper and ink--I'm there because I already know what I want to get. I would have to blame this particular problem on the internet with its superior search capabilities and databases of reviews and summaries and for society for making me feel guilty of wasting time. Blog reading, however, is a more haphazard endeavor. When I first began reading blogs, I was in a complete vacuum except for perhaps a few other semi-serious novelists. I knew about webrings, though, and it was fairly easy to find webrings of bloggers. But for a person like me, it was exactly the wrong route to go. Many of the blogs I found on webrings were written by confrontational riot grrls and angsty teenagers. This wasn't necessary bad, mind you (one man's junk is another man's treasure and all that), but it was a lot like reading the telephone directory. The turning point was when I decided to research the origin of the term "blog." I found Rebecca Blood's essay on the history of the weblog which not only answered my question but also reassured me that online confessionals was not the sole purpose of the blog. From there, I read the popular blogs and slowly stumbled into a strange clique of late 20's to early 30's bloggers obsessed with juvenile humor and hit mongering--another dead end (although I have to admit that some of them were on my blogroll for a while). There were also some review sites. Although most are run by teenagers dedicated to making people feel good, a few reviewers were actually honest about what they thought were good or bad blogs. So I read reviewed blogs. At about the same time, I also began participating in the now defunct Blogger Insider that paired bloggers up randomly to interview each other. This was a great idea to allow bloggers to find out more about each other and to find new reads. I was quite disappointed when the project was discontinued due to some bloggers not reciprocating the interview process. Recently, the blog equivalent for gravitating toward a certain section have been looking up blogs of people who are geographically close to me or have similar academic interests. I posted several months ago a list of blogs on campus. Last night, I stumbled on yet another campus blog aggregator: Dartblogs which began last month. This was inspired by the Harvard Weblogs Project. (Of course, it might also be due in part to Dave Winer's idea for Citizen Bloggers in New Hampshire--interesting, but too topical and narrow for the long-term.) An article from The Chronicle of Higher Education, Scholars Who Blog (via Daypop) is yet another find that includes directories to blogs with academic interests. But with quotes like these: "Almost all are in public policy, law, or the social sciences; only 14 of the blogs in Mr. Farrell's directory are by scholars in the humanities or natural sciences." It makes me wonder if I have stumbled onto another dead end. (In his defense, Henry Farrell says: "I strongly suspect that the dearth of humanities and natural sciences bloggers in my list is in part an artefact of my weak ties networks - I’m more likely to come across social scientists’ and lawyers’ blogs than I am, for example, computer scientists’ writings.") [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 10:05 AM : 0 comments ] Friday, May 30, 2003 Peculiar Type #8 - Relationship Columnists Not Needed The houses built in the early 1920s along Pine Street had been ruthlessly gutted and demolished within a span of three months. The Samson and Moynihan Company had considered it a success that they had outbid their rivals to build condominiums and a shopping center in this old, tired district, and the contractors were eager to put up the buildings as soon as possible to collect that final paycheck from the city. Don was glad that Samson and Moynihan had outbid Smith, Smith, and Smith-Johnson because that meant that he had a job with regular hours for at least two years as the district was being renovated. It meant that he could use his hands instead of idling in front of the television and being nagged by the wife. It also meant that there would be fewer arguments about money, and that it was an excuse to avoid the in-laws and to pretend that there was nothing wrong with the kids. During lunch break, Don would stake out a seat at the stone wall. Although the original houses were gone, the architect had decided to leave the stone wall that divided the subsequent hilly forest from the relatively flat district as a demarcation between human activity and one of the few remaining pockets of nature. Samson and Moynihan didn't understand the architect's rationale, but Don didn't care. It gave him a perch while he ate his customary salami sandwich. Don's lunch companion was a pimply-faced kid in his early twenties. Marty was one of those happy kids with either a grin or a whistle on his lips. He was optimistic and talkative. Usually Don left him to chatter away while he munched on his sandwich, allowing him to talk away the gloomy thoughts that always lingered in the periphery. But today, Marty was silent. The older man swallowed and glanced at the kid. Marty was a little pale and he was chewing mechanically as if lunch was a chore and not a respite. Don cleared his throat. "Hey Marty, what's the matter?" He winced. His voice sounded gruff, unused, and maybe even a little accusatory. "Nothin' Don." "Aw, com'on, you can't fool me." Marty sighed as if he was Atlas, carrying the world on his shoulders. "It's Sandy. She won't talk to me. And I can't think of anything that I might have done wrong." Sandy was Marty's equally young wife. Don had seen her once, a pretty, plump girl with long hair to match her name and a charming smile. Marty and Sandy reminded him of the first years of his marriage, when he had thought that he had been happy. And now, he felt hollow as if something had leaked out through the years. He wondered if his wife felt the same way. "Have you told her that you love her?" he found himself saying. "That I love her?" Marty was confused only for a moment. "Well, of course, that must be it! I don't recall telling her that this morning. You must be a genius, Don!" And as the kid began jabbering about how he had read in this magazine once that husbands should pamper their wives to put them in a good humor and that maybe he should offer to cook dinner for Sandy, Don fell back into a silence that was now cloudy with questions of his own. Should he follow his own advice? [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 5:12 PM : 0 comments ] Linguistic Stereotypes Mandarin vs. Cantonese. Pretty much every Chinese speaker familiar with these two dialects thinks that Mandarin is genteel, aesthetically pleasing, and makes one sound more educated. Cantonese, on the other hand, has been regarded as the poor cousin who rants like a fishwife on ecstasy. I vehemently disagree. Compare a shouting match in Mandarin with a shouting match in Cantonese. Mandarin is a lot shriller, on average, than Cantonese. French vs. German. This one is practically a no-brainer. French is known as "the language of love" and German is "guttural and harsh sounding." Different speakers can make each language sound either beautiful or ugly, but I actually associate each language to temperament. I find French to be artsy, flighty, and at times snobby. German sounds very practical and frank. Various forms of English. And by this, I mean accents. As I posted before (numerous times), I find the southern accent annoying. I've lived long enough with it, however, to overlook it most of the time. This goes for all other types of accents (British, Australian, Canadian, Midwestern, Valley Girl/Surfer Dude speak, etc.) except for the New Jersey accent, which stands out as grating no matter how hard it tries to disguise itself as merely annoying. Interrogators can stop using Barney as a torture device. All they have to do is to hire a native New Jerseyan. I'm sure natives from New Jersey are nice people. I just don't like the accent (especially if you're stuck in a flying tin can for several hours at 30,000 feet sitting next to a kid from New Jersey who just can't shut up). * * * Is it Art or is it just plain, old Crap? (via Reflections in d minor) Um, I got 11/16. I guess my ability to ferret out the pretentious bs isn't that great. The Geek Test. This says that I am a Major Geek. I think my score would have been higher if I knew more about computers and had role-playing games. Hits and Misses. (via Allied) "Site counters are useful tools for personal sites and blogs. And they can be loads of fun too!" Well, I agree to that. But unlike some of the interviewees, I don't even try to tailor my posts toward my on-and-off-again audience because, to be honest, I don't know what they want due to no feedback. Aside from linked posts, if I personally find one of my posts insightful or informative, there are no spikes in visitors. If anything, there are less visitors and no comments. (Which, I guess, should tell me a couple things. People don't care for my insights, I'm speaking over their heads, or people are too busy to visit. I'd like to think the very latter.) And I don't blog according to peak visitor times. My posts usually coincide with my free time (typically in the morning, at lunch, or in the evening, EST--and if you don't know that already, well, now you know). But do you know what I really worry about? Other people logging my hits on their website. It's very easy to tell when I'm bored. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 6:14 AM : 0 comments ] Thursday, May 29, 2003 The Thursday Threesome: Pop Quiz! Onesome: Ain't- There's a lot of slang floating around out there. Some of it has even found its way into the dictionary. Is there any one word that you find more annoying than others? That you just wish would fall off the face of the planet, never to be heard again? I'm somewhat of a word elitist. I like to coin new word clusters (especially if they roll off the tongue easily or sounds nice) but most colloquial and slang terms bother me to no end. For instance: Wicked. It means "cool." When I first heard it being used in this fashion, I was about to scream. I still don't like it being used this way. And saying "wicked cool" together does not cancel out the effect. Bling-bling. Money, dollar signs, gaudy jewelry. I suppose it came from the sound of cash registers, but somehow for me, it sounds like what a rapper wannabe decked out in gold jewelry would say to indicate that he got laid. Phat. Also meaning "cool." I dislike this term because it causes too much confusion, especially when people use the term to describe other people. Is it phat or fat? However, I do like tripping (going crazy) and wacked (weird, messed up) and maybe a few other terms, mostly because I can say them without feeling, well, wacked. Twosome: It- It's/Its, they're/their/there. Just a few of the most commonly misspelled words in the English language. So the question is, when you blog, do you worry about grammar, punctuation and spelling? If you notice a typo do you go back and edit? Or do you shrug it off because everyone makes typos? Yes, I worry about grammar, punctuation, and spelling when I write an entry. Besides the it's/its, they're/their/there paradigm, I'm also rather anal-retentive about to/too, possessive vs. plural, and my newest pet peeve: site/sight, nite/night, and all their derivatives. However, I'm a little more liberal about punctuation and I can never tell how to use that or which. I usually type up my entries in Notepad and then copy and paste into Word where I run a spell and grammar check. Then I replace the entry in Notepad with the corrected entry before sticking it into Blogger. For some reason, Blogger doesn't like Word characters like m-dashes and quotation marks. It must be some technical quirk. And I almost forgot. I absolutely detest people who write without capitalization and/or use hacker speak. The complete laxity in rules make me go cross-eyed. Threesome: Purty?- Purty/pretty, crick/creek, warsh/wash. All common pronunciations, whether they sound pretty or not. And one is mispronounced. What's one commonly mispronounced word that just drives you nuts? Oh, you wouldn't want to go there with all the southern pronunciations. I could rant about that all day. But I will say this. Since my parents' first language is not English (as are my other relatives) I have a certain tolerance for mispronunciations by non-native speakers. Of course, putting non-native speakers with southern English-speakers is a bad idea. I think my Mom speaks pretty good English, but for some reason, some southerners cannot understand her at all. I spent my first years listening to Cantonese and French, so my own accent may be a little funky. Of course, you can judge for yourself here (mp3) if you haven't already listened to my prior audblog post. Recently, though, I've been disturbed by this: Intestine. Some people pronounce the last syllable like the last syllable in turpentine. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 5:27 PM : 0 comments ] Are All Blogs Created Equal? (via Shawn Allison) Short answer: No. Why? Disregarding that some blog software are more powerful than others or that some people have better design skills than others (or even that some people have better spelling ability than others), blogs solely in terms of hits and linkage are unequal. Usually this is due to: real life fame (Dave Barry, Wil Wheaton), historical significance (such as the creators of Blogger and Userland), certain bloggers being around longer than anyone else, and readers being too entrenched to branch out to new authors. Me? I find this topic amusing. It's just a more elegant way for people to moan about their lack of hit stats. One can't alter real life fame (unless you've found the cure to cancer or at least published a best-selling book), historical significance and being around longer than everyone else (unless you have a time machine), but one can at least give a little nudge to new or obscure authors. However, if bloggers are so obsessed with driving traffic to their own sites and tearing down the popular kids in blogland, I'd say people have missed the point of blogging entirely. [originally posted on 8:40 AM] [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 4:37 PM : 0 comments ] Wednesday, May 28, 2003 There is no Tuesday Too. Well, duh! It's Wednesday. (I think I'll just answer these and then get some real sleep.) 1. Where do you suppose jf has gone? I don't think she's gone anywhere. Real life has probably gotten her swamped. 2. Should we do anything about it? Alternately, has anyone emailed her to see if she's okay? I'm not too worried. There have been bloggers before who have taken off months before getting back into the game. But now that you've mention it, I'll probably leave a comment on her blog. I usually don't e-mail unless someone specifically states on their website that it is okay to e-mail them comments. 3. And for a change of pace, what were your birthday parties like as a kid? I had no birthday parties. This is not because of indoctrination by cheapskate parents. If I had wanted a party, my parents would have gladly helped me write the invitations and order the food. Really. My sister is the party girl. One time she invited pretty much her entire grade for a wild time at the local skating rink. Insecurity and self-embarrassment were probably the main things keeping me from asking anybody over to my house let alone a party. And there was the problem of gifts. I had no problem with bringing chocolate cupcakes and candy to school to share with everyone, but I have a difficult time with accepting gifts from others. The primary reason is that I have to fake looking pleased at the gift. A secondary reason is that the gift is never what I need, want, or like. People may think they know what they should get me, but they are 90% of the time wrong. But I have been invited to birthday parties before. It usually involved a small gaggle of girls giggling and gossiping and playing dumb games. Sleepovers were also a rather frequent part of the party. Of course, by that time, I realized I was completely out of my league. But what could I do but pretend that I was having a good time too? [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 4:37 PM : 0 comments ] Un-Sleeping Habits Periodically I go on sleepless binges. When these binges occur is extremely predictable. Of course, it's entirely my fault for creating such a situation, but I can't help but recall those days when all-nighters were a rather weekly occurrence. I also can't help wondering how I got through all of that with people actually considering me saner. The worse time during the all-nighter is between four and seven in the morning (like this morning, in fact) when my brain ceases to function no matter what I do. I'm catatonic--semi-aware, yet not asleep--and I'm stuck exactly like a broken record. I keep on glancing at the clock every twenty minutes or continuing to write the same sequence of words over and over again. But my sleeping habits are really quite ordinary. What I find strange are people who sleep with the light on, especially with the light left delibrately on. Lamps, nightlights, what-have-you at three in the morning make me think of people with sleeping disorders like sleepwalkers, insomniacs, and people who sleep with their eyes open. Sometimes I think people leave the lights on because they never got over their childhood neuroses about boogeymen in the closet. But unlike people who feel safe going to bed with the light on, I feel vulnerable. I can't hide in the light. * * * Other Stuff: My Pet Skeleton. Both trendy and gothic. Perhaps more trendy than gothic. But I definitely like the artwork. Blogstreet. What I found really funny was that blog IQ correlates directly with popularity. The lower the IQ, the higher the popularity. Maybe the developers of this site delibrately fixed it this way so that the nobodies could feel better about themselves. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 2:26 PM : 0 comments ] Tuesday, May 27, 2003 The Atmosphere of Words ca·bal, noun: the artifices and intrigues of a group of persons secretly united to bring about an overturn or usurpation especially in public affairs; also : a group engaged in such artifices and intrigues from Merriam-Webster The word, cabal, is like a very dark scrying stone. It conjures up medieval ruins and phantoms in black cloaks dabbling in forbidden languages. Old men scribble with quills in the flickering light of a fireplace. Women hold bowls of oily libations and fashionable men wink, slightly sinister. There are libraries containing molding tomes and parchment etched with strange symbols and diagrams. It is that shiver, just as a passage of a puzzle-mystery is read, when it passes from pretentious to predatory. And it doesn't matter where it is read--whether it is during a storm (shadows in the corners), in an empty room (unexpected noises), or in a crowded bus terminal (a pair of eyes, watching)--that feeling that everything seen is only a veneer to something entirely unknown. The roll of the syllables is the sound of an old bell, the creak of doors, the tap of a heel against a cold stone floor. The flat of a blade hits a corner. It is the hiss of fabric rubbing together. Or perhaps fingernails tapping against a surface. It is all seriousness and provocative stares. But this word has been dragged out from the realm of otherness by newspapers that need something new even if it's old, by newscasters who say every word as if they are commenting on a football game. It's used like an ugly lampshade when it would have been better off as the polish on a very expensive shoe. Atmosphere has been skewed, and now instead of those delightfully horrible nights populated with monsters and whispered Latin, the world is inundated with visions of dirty fingernails and garish boots. Uncouth laughter and smoke (guns, cigars) fill the air. Surgically altered women in scanty clothing, wide swimming pools, and grinning plastic skulls just for kicks. There are glimpses of green in suitcases and red buttons that say, do not touch--except the greasy fingerprints are everywhere. There is no longer the logical, intellectual cabal. No, it has turned into a posse for dummies with wide-open spaces and flashy jewelry. There is no longer anything to understand. Nothing at all. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 2:14 PM : 0 comments ] Monday, May 26, 2003 On Traffic Cars hit lots of wildlife. Squirrels. Raccoons. Rabbits. Opossums. Deer. Household pets can also be victims. And what about those odd animals called pedestrians? Well, apparently drivers don't pay attention to those either. Unlike animals with brains the size of a baseball or smaller, pedestrians do have one advantage. That is, walk signs. These lights are coordinated with the other traffic lights so that pedestrians will be able to tell when cars have stopped on both sides. However, one must note that this will not deter the occasional driver who runs the red light in a desperate attempt to get to the nearest bathroom or cars that turn when there isn't a sign that explicitly says "Don't turn on a red light." Another invention designed to help the pedestrian is the crosswalk. These stripes of white paint on the road, unfortunately, are miserable failures when it comes to providing the pedestrian a peace of mind. Some drivers rarely look at yellow crossing signs let alone paint on the road, and to them, a pedestrian is nothing, just as grass clippings spewed out from a lawnmower is nothing. Pedestrians should also beware of drunken young people in vans if they happen to live near a school as well as roads with few to no traffic lights (as lack of regulation tends to turn a driver's mind to autopilot). One must especially be aware of sadistic drivers who speed up their monster trucks when a pedestrian is in sight, eager to add a person to their scorecard of dead rodents and family pets. There's no doubt about it. "Motor vehicles accidents account for more deaths than all natural disasters combined." Why do pedestrians have to pay for their environmentally conscientious motives by getting squashed into bloody pancakes along road shoulders? What is it about wheels and engines that turn ordinary people into either numb automatons or raving monsters? I can't speak for the clueless chipmunk that lives in the stump in the backyard, but I do know that when I see a roaring truck bearing down on me, I run for my life. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 4:37 PM : 0 comments ] Sunday, May 25, 2003 Catching Pets Low, flat-roofed souvenir shops littered the sides of 98 like so many smudged white cartons. In one of those shops, amidst the garishly dyed coral and the shrink-wrapped tupperware containers filled with cowries, conches, and clamshells, I had noticed a small plastic cage on the top shelf lined with small pebbles. In the corner of the cage, a strange creature with the body of a whelk and the legs of a spider kept watch. "We can catch hermit crabs ourselves." I expressed some doubt at my father's words. Half the panhandle was already razed of palm trees and replaced with concrete and expensive hotels. Where, in these posh surroundings, would we find such a homely creature? We stopped at the empty shoreline, where the 98 turned into a bridge. The beach here was less sandy, and where the water lapped at the land, the ground turned into small gray stones. It smelled of brine and car exhaust drifting down from the bridge. The sun was overly bright but failed to penetrate the pea-soup water. "There!" I squinted, seeing nothing, not even my reflection. My father had waded in ankle-deep and reached into the water. He pulled out a turban shell, stained green from algae, and dropped it into a plastic container. I examined the shell, seemingly empty except for the frightened hermit crab that had retreated so far into its home that only the tips of its legs in the outer chamber were visible. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 9:09 AM : 0 comments ] Unconscious Mutterings Badminton:: Birdie Obsessive compulsive :: Disorder Prosthetics:: Plastic Sophistication:: Suave Hiphop :: Jam Stammering:: Idiot Property taxes:: Money Lowrider:: Jeans Blowtorch:: Destruction Formality:: Necessity * * * PowerPoint Remix. I'm rather ambivalent about powerpoint. It's well-suited for some subjects that require the display of data and where the speaker uses powerpoint as a visual tool and not a crutch for his talk. Then again, there are powerpoint atrocities such as this (warning! actual ppt file) that make you want to go back to scratching grunts in the dirt. Addendum and Aside: Funny that I mentioned powerpoint exactly one year ago. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 6:35 AM : 0 comments ] Saturday, May 24, 2003 Down With Love. This is one of those nudge-nudge-wink-wink bawdy films that you can snicker throughout the screening without feeling guilty. It's an over-the-top, cartoonish sex comedy paying homage to the genre that had its heyday back when Doris Day and Rock Hudson were an item. But like Pillow Talk and its ilk, I can't help feeling that I've got the movie equivalent of drinking too many diet cokes. Optical Illusions. I've always wondered what people perceive before they've been conditioned to see a certain way due to the properties of the real world. Would they see the "sloping" lines or would they correctly identify them as parallel? Unfortunately, there's no way to ask a baby the necessary questions. Button Maker. Here's a little tool for the button-maniacs among us. I prefer text links which use up far less space. Besides, I hate Silkscreen. It makes me feel blind. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 5:20 PM : 0 comments ] Friday, May 23, 2003 The air was cold. I wrapped my arms around me and watched my granduncle sip from his cup of tea like a drugged Buddha. My sister was flipping through the trendy magazines on the coffee table and my parents were sitting on the couch, not quite relaxed, as my grandaunt conversed with them. The room was filled with furniture glazed deep brownish-red. The walls were decorated with ebony panels inlaid with mother-of-pearl in floral patterns. An upright piano--completely off-limits--sat neglected in the corner. Curio cabinets faced each other at opposite ends of the room. They contained jade and ivory items, the most intriguing a carved ivory object--spheres within spheres. I puzzled over how such a thing was achieved. Suddenly, my grandaunt turned her attention on me. Sitting on a straight-back chair with gray laced in her short black hair, she was a self-assured empress. "Tell me, what do you want to do after you get out of college?" Out of college? I was still a middle school student, not even thinking of applying to any colleges yet. My interests varied from month to month. So what was I to tell her? "Um, I think...I think I want to be a doctor." I let out a breath. That sounded suitably impressive. And then, unbelievably, she turned to my father and smirked, "You'll have to work harder now, won't you?" My father laughed, embarrassed. Nothing overt had been said, but it had been implied that we were the Asian equivalent of poor white trash. And that I was too dumb to get anywhere without a gratuitous amount of money. What irritates me now is that I assumed that such attitudes from older Chinese women were normal. Subtle (or not so subtle) prying questions, as well as social barbs laced with comparisons are their usual fodder. I only see the brittle but polished surface. Is this a generational thing? A cultural thing? A getting older thing? I don't know, but I'm sure they will continue to plague me with questions like ruthless interviewers. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 6:23 PM : 0 comments ] Bomb Is Suspected in Explosion at Yale. Once again, this is something that makes me wonder exactly how safe I am at school. You would think that a law school would be fairly innocuous compared to where I work at (a medical school). Access to various buildings at Dartmouth during the day is pretty much free to anyone. Sure, the security people tell everyone to be aware of their surroundings and anyone who looks like they don't belong, but exactly how many people spend their day doing this? Most students I know are worried about their next experiment or the next exam--not if the person coming in the door at the moment is a professor or a suspicious character. This also reminds me of a fire alarm that occurred this week which emptied the biomedical buildings. No one was aware that there were any drills planned and some people were annoyed because their experiments were interrupted and ruined. I had thought maybe a bunsen burner had accidentally tipped over and had triggered the alarm. Then again, in light of this article, it might have been something else. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 10:28 AM : 0 comments ] Thursday, May 22, 2003 Getting locked out of your own home sucks. No, my roommates did not throw me out. Apparently the locksmith/security people who had installed some state-of-the-art keypad thingee in front of the apartment building also changed the locks. The construction workers nearby who were supposed to have the master key found out that their key doesn't work either. I stormed down to the housing office (past a quartet of trombones, a woman on crutches, a couple sitting under a perfectly coiffed tree) just before closing time and the rather perplexed and clueless women at the office gave me a new key. The key still doesn't work, and the office is closed, but somehow I've managed to yank the door open on the umpteenth try. So much for "security". The "Little" Things: Beauty in the eye of the builder. (via Byrd's Brain) I'm flabbergasted. And I'm not just saying that because I like big words. If she truly felt that her marriage was worth more, she would have never bought the insurance policy in the first place. Tea Aids Oral Health. "A spot of tea may offer more than just a pleasant way to pass the afternoon. Research findings presented this week at the 103rd General Meeting of the American Society for Microbiology in Washington, D.C. suggests that it can help fight bad breath and may boost the powers of toothpaste." Necro-Photography: Crypts of the Capuchin. "A macabre cathedral right in the heart of Rome built with the last earthly remains of the hooded brothers." The Catacombs of Paris. "Double exposed film made for a happy accident in the case of these unretouched photographs taken in the miles of winding subterranean tunnels that lie under the streets of Paris." [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 4:04 PM : 0 comments ] Soda and Crackers Some people have definite ideas on where they want to go and won't hesitate to let you know it whether you want to or not. I want to go to XYZ University! I'm going to work for the 123 Company! I've already decided I want to go to Prof. InsertHisNameHere for my thesis lab! (And I don't see the point of doing the third rotation!) I have no problem with ambitious people who know what they want. But these loud declarations to all and a sundry are a lot like the preachers who proclaim their faith on street corners--insincere and self-ego-inflating. Also: Why don't washers and dryers accept nickels, dimes, or pennies? Or even dollar bills for that matter? Are other types of currency not good enough? Besides, I don't have any more quarters. Yet Another Note: I'm tired of people coming to this site using weird and disturbing search terms. Don't they ever read the short summary that the search engines provide with the link? If they ever read them, it would be immediately apparent that this site is not what they're looking for. Or am I the only one who ever reads search summaries? A link: "[T]he similarities between one story and another is intriguingly similar." Tell me something that I don't already know. * * * The Thursday Threesome: Rain, rain, go away. Come back another day. Onesome: Rain, rain- Some people love rainy days every once in a while. Are you one of them? Do they make you want to curl up in bed with a good book or going walking through the mist? Or would you rather it just go away? I like rainy days. Sunny days make me cranky. Twosome: Go away- If you could go away to just one place, where would you go and why? Anywhere, really. I need to see someplace new. Threesome: Come back another day- What's the one place you've been to that you would like to go back to another time? There are many places that I've been to that I would like to go back. One reason is that I never really appreciated or explored those places while I was living there. I let myself be sidetracked by other things that I considered more important at the time. I'm trying not to do that at my current location, but it's difficult, especially since I don't have a car and the bus system here is almost nonexistent. It's easy to make excuses (work, not enough money, not willing to throw pride away and beg for a ride with someone who does have a car) instead of just going out and doing it. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 4:32 AM : 0 comments ] Wednesday, May 21, 2003 Landscaping He stands on the threshold, a stone wall. Like every morning, the strange, lumbering creatures appear on the other side carrying large pieces of wood intent on making as much noise as possible. It didn't matter that he stood there in plain view--these creatures only cared for their own tasks, such as digging up dirt and placing odd-shaped stones in random patterns. A bark startles him from his vigilant reverie. A shaggy yellow canine appears from around a corner, its nose pointed straight at him. Silently cursing himself for his own carelessness, he leaps off the stone wall and makes a sprint towards home. Gratuitous Meme Linkage: Blogumentary Preview Trailer. The beginning had me grinning maniacally--I was half-expecting some green alien babes to show up in the rest of the thing--but I guess you'll have to cut the piece some slack since it is work done by an amateur. Hopefully, though, the rest of the documentary won't be filled with tech-savvy yuppies like the preview. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 4:53 PM : 0 comments ] Tuesday, May 20, 2003 A Spy Machine of DARPA's Dreams. (via Blogdex) There's already serious ethical considerations in human genome sequencing (for instance, if you have a gene to predispose you toward a disease, insurance companies could deny you coverage), but this project takes notions of privacy to a whole other level. Do you want someone to know what you had for breakfast, which articles you read, and exactly what keystrokes you hit on the keyboard? Do you want someone to have access to your medical records, your grocery list, the transcript of your latest kinky encounter? If this information is gathered, a stranger could know you, could track you down, could impersonate you. Very scary. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 5:20 PM : 0 comments ] These Girls These Days. Humph. I hope I'm not like those girls. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 5:38 AM : 0 comments ] Einstein Archives Online In real life, the Einstein Papers Project is located on a quiet street lined with quaint expensive cottages. The project itself was housed in one of the smaller ones, dark, with a car port hanging off to the side. A small paved pathway led up to the front door which looked deceptively like a locked side door. One was uncertain whether or not it really was locked. Before last year, the bursar's office was also located in the building, taking up the entire first floor. With all the busy, jaded women working the computers, I had wondered if the small blue sign in front with Einstein's signature was simply a decoration and not a formality. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 5:09 AM : 0 comments ] Monday, May 19, 2003 More Critical Navel Gazing Here's something to muse about (yet again): A Male/Female Blogger Poll. Obviously, this isn't going to be scientific, but it'll be interesting to see the results. I'm not answering the questions because I'm not a political junkie nor do I read many political blogs (and if I am reading a political blog, it's usually not a well-known one). Already from reading ASV's comments, I see several stereotypes emerging: There are more blogs (particularly political blogs) written by males than females. Blogs written by males get more media exposure. Female bloggers tend to be more emotional while male bloggers are more factual. Female bloggers have longer posts and focus more on the details whereas male bloggers are short and to the point. There are few female bloggers who are scholars. Maybe these stereotypical views are characteristic of ASV readers, but I have a feeling that other bloggers might agree. I can probably find counterexamples for all these assumptions except #1 which really requires rigorous statistical sampling to be proven true or false. I'm sure no one's going to read this post and realize that these stereotypes are floating in their head. I'm too underground for my own good. But before you criticize me for thinking I'm above this, I'm not. I have my own wrong-headed stereotype to admit: The people who do polls and surveys on the differences of male and female bloggers are typically female bloggers. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 12:47 PM : 0 comments ] Sunday, May 18, 2003 "The Fear of Getting Blogged" Sounds rather ominous, doesn't it? In personal blogs, how much is too much when it comes to revealing your life? Some would argue that one shouldn't reveal anything. Others would say it's okay to spew out anything as long as you don't put your home address on your website in size 47 font. But the problem is that personal information is the very thing that gives blogs their authentic voice. This blog doesn't have much traffic but is ridiculously easy to find. Because of this reason, I don't talk very much about work. For one thing, professionally, I don't want to get "scooped" on research which could mire me in grad school pretty much indefinitely. Another thing is that I don't want to piss off anyone I might have to interact with later. Some people are known to hold grudges for a long time and if they are in a position of power, they can deny you a job or trash your paper. If I talk about people I know, such as friends, family, and roommates, I do not use their real names. I also only write down things which I am not afraid to talk to them about if we were to discuss it face to face. The weblog is not the online equivalent of a priest at a confessional. The priest is obligated to keep things confidential. The internet is not. Peculiar Types are occasional fictional entries that are based on real life observations. I make sure everything is masked. I change not only the names, but also appearances, ages, genders, and general situations and settings. My purpose here is not to spotlight one particular person--so that for instance, if you met John Doe on the street you would immediately recognize him--but to point out personality quirks that are in the people around us as well as ourselves. That said, writing personal entries are indeed enjoyable and cathartic. But I must confess, it also takes a lot out of a person, and I am quite relieved and content that I can mostly blabber about science, media, and other minutia without feeling attention-deprived. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 4:17 PM : 0 comments ] Links: X2. The X-Men sequel is a mindlessly fun time. If you are also looking for socio-political messages, they are in this film too although they are played out rather heavy-handedly. That's the price you pay in an MTV culture that needs to be hit over the head to realize anything. More Students in Writing Programs Expect (and Get) Hollywood Offers. (via 2blowhards) I see this less as a decline of literacy and more as a result of practicality. Nowadays, few people can afford to follow their wishes and whims. Writing for obscure literary journals may feed the artistic spirit, but "selling out" to Hollywood (or to business in any field) will feed your stomach. However, selling out doesn't mean that you squash all creativity--you just have to be more prudent about your time and your priorities. Besides, writing is still one of the few fields where going to a graduate fiction program isn't necessary for actually being good in that field. The New Gender Gap. There's plenty of statistics but no solution. Of course, I don't see this gap very much in my field. If anything, it's the opposite. Less than a third of my undergrad class was female. Consistently, there are more male professors than female. The answer might lie partially in grade school, in the classrooms. We need better teachers who like kids and are not as dumb as doorknobs. Unfortunately, I think the situation is similar to the writers as I stated above--people who are going to be the best teachers are probably going to take their skills to jobs that pay more. Standing at the Altar and Happy Mother's Day. (via Tacoshop Psychic) Excellent, emotional writing. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 8:47 AM : 0 comments ] Unconscious Mutterings Naked:: Now Singular:: Plural Particle:: Physics Unified:: Theory Lion:: Mane Capitulate:: Surrender Quantum:: Mechanics Celestial:: Bodies Motion:: Detection Delight:: Turkish *Star Trek, science, and C.S. Lewis. Yep, I'm a geek. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 5:14 AM : 0 comments ] Saturday, May 17, 2003 A Proclivity for Approval Beauty pageants are strange things because they never made any sense to me. I was probably around six when I started paying attention to beauty pageants because the commercials on television made them seem like a Big Deal. The only parts I really liked were the opening numbers when the young women would prance around in skimpy, outrageous costumes. After that, it was downhill and I went to bed early. I never stayed to watch the final three showdown until a couple years later, but by that time, my interest had waned so much that I'd rather go to sleep anyway. But because I couldn't stay all the way to the end of the show, I took up jotting down the mysterious scores that appeared on the screen during every competition. Perhaps if I stared at the numbers long enough, I would discern who would win. I was too lazy to pull out the calculator to tabulate the numbers though. I no longer watch beauty pageants. My viewing habits are not really due to feminism and political correctness, but they are influenced by age. Most contestants are younger than I am. Any contestants my age are probably considered old hags. None of the contestants show maturity or experience--not that I expect any--but these young women are shown as the pinnacle of womanhood when I have hardly started my life at all. However, what annoyed me the most was the abuse of numbers. How can you quantify something unquantifiable? The crave for ratings have spilled into the internet from hot-or-not sites to post ratings on progressive weblogs. This isn't surprising, but what is startling (and humbling) is how easily I could be sucked into such things. When this blog was newer, I submitted it to several review sites as well as to directories that had rate options. Now that I look back on it with a mixture of amusement and disgust, I realize that I craved attention and approval--and in some ways, the reviewers (even the cranky ones) obliged. The people inputting votes in the weblog directories weren't so kind, and that hurt. Aren't we all to some degree approval and attention seeking? Don't we all wish to be important to the world? Someone stated once that one person is not important unless this person was going to bring about world peace or find a cure for cancer and if the person wasn't going to do any of these things, he or she might as well not be born at all. I don't believe that statement--not because that world peace and curing cancer cannot be solved by a single person--but because there are connections to everything and everyone and taking out even an unassuming garbage person from thirty years ago will screw up what we know today. Yet I'm not immune to those mysterious numbers, despite this self-analysis. Occasionally I still check those blog directories and feel disappointed when someone gives me yet another zero. But I take comfort that the score only reflects someone's opinion (and that someone even bothered to waste their time even submitting a vote) and not my absolute value. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 8:19 AM : 0 comments ] Friday, May 16, 2003 Ancient Medicine When I was younger and I was feeling ill, my mother would prepare a traditional Chinese soup consisting of several herbs. Sometimes she would make me eat it even if I wasn't sick. When I questioned her why I had to eat it, she would be vague and say, "Oh, it's for preventing stomach troubles." I was extremely unsatisfied by that answer. As someone who has been westernized almost to the point of no return, I find it difficult to understand the rationale people have for using thousand-year-old methods that only have anecdotal evidence to support them. No charts. No statistics. Only the word of patients saying that a particular medicine alleviated their symptoms. One might as well buy a plane ticket to Timbuktu to have a witch doctor pronounce some magic words. The most glaring problem is the placebo effect--perhaps these methods don't work at all, only the belief that they work eliminates the symptoms. Some researchers have tried to put science back to folk medicine by analyzing traditional methods for possible compounds. In the reductionist approach, one chemical is isolated and tested against possible targets for efficacy. If it works, then they will try to work out the mechanism for action. The problem with this approach, however, is the fact that it is reductionist. How are they to know that they isolated the correct compound? How do they know that the compound works alone and not in conjunction with other compounds? This is where the integrated approach comes in to analyze the efficacy of a mixture of compounds. Some pharmaceutical companies have already started to do this by using a variety of tools to narrow down the possible active ingredients including gene expression arrays, biological and chemical fingerprinting, activity-reporter assays, and mass spectrometry. Already, there is evidence that herbal medicine has scientific basis. Chemicals in the same plant, for instance, may act to inhibit metabolizing the main ingredient to a toxic compound, enhance absorption into the body, and prevent transcription of genes involved in diseases like cancer. Simply applying one chemical as a drug, then, would be ineffective and possibly even lethal. Several compounds are needed for several targets. But despite the growing amount of papers showing the much needed hard scientific data, I remain skeptical. The consistency of any herbal concoction is iffy at best. Analysis of herbal remedies made by different companies do not have identical components--even samples made by the same company have been shown to have wildly different compositions. So if someone says that Herbal Remedy A works like a charm, when I buy Herbal Remedy A at the store it might not be the same thing. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 3:45 PM : 0 comments ] Michael Jordan Tried to Steal My Date. (via Metafilter) Bummer. If I had a hot date but Julia Roberts is sitting at the next table flirting with him, I'd dump him right quick. Stealing dates is bad etiquette, but tolerating and ignoring it because of pride is plain stupid. Penguin Dreams. There's also the nightmare. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 10:16 AM : 0 comments ] Thursday, May 15, 2003 The Return of the Pig I can't help but think that perhaps the glorification of chauvinism, violence, and sex is a backlash against the de facto political correctness that has permeated the public conscience. It is a no-win situation for feminists precisely because of political correctness. Being PC is one of the pillars of feminism. Neo-chauvinism hides behind this by saying that its very existence is multiculturalism and irony rolled into one. And feminists dare not attack it for fear of undermining their own pillar. The core of the matter, though, is not chauvinism versus feminism but the clash of beliefs. How is one able to allow the existence of ideologies that are in direct opposition to one's own? The easy way out is to not care about what anyone else does--but that route, unfortunately, leads to anarchy. Attempting to instill everyone with respect for their fellow human being is going to be pointless if a particular group's ideology disregards respect for personal gain. This is a difficult topic because it is easy to get trapped in circular reasoning. Humans are still animals no matter how "above it" we think we are. It is admirable that we have gotten this far, but even in the most altruistic, there is a small part that is completely instinctual and involved in self-pleasure. Whatever the case, no one thinks the same way. People who like violent rap, laddie mags, and denigrating others have no right to call others who have different tastes elitists. The media may make it seem like this is mainstream, but exactly how many people want to attend rowdy parties 24/7? Probably no more than the segment of the population who even has a preference for classical music. Maxim connoisseurs are just as elite and obnoxious as beatnik poets. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 10:49 AM : 0 comments ] Is it just me? I get annoyed by bad personal habits, like talking with your mouth full. * * * The Thursday Threesome: Quick As Can Be! Onesome: Quick as- Quickly now, June is almost here: are you attending any graduation ceremonies in the next few weeks? Hmmm... Maybe that should be "Have you been invited to any?" No, I have not been invited. But I may just crash my school's graduation ceremony to hear the commencement speech by David McCullough, a two-time Pulitzer winner for his biographies of Presidents Harry Truman and John Adams. I have hopes that he will be a better speaker than news anchor and wannabe historian Tom Brokaw. Twosome: Can- Still moving right along: Can it really be the Merry Month of May? How many birthdays do you have to remember this month? Family? Friends? Associates? The only birthday I really have to remember is my Dad's. About one-fourth of the first-year biology grads have their birthdays in May--all within a week, I might add--which isn't all that statistically impossible. I think it's something like picking eight people by random and you're bound to get two people with the same birthday. Threesome: Be(e)- Be ready, the bug population is starting to be a bother (at least from blog reports). Is there any particular crawly or flying beastie that just makes you jump out of your skin? Worms aren't that smart, but they are rather aesthetically pleasing. Spiders look scary, but are shy--if you don't bother them, they won't bother you. And flies may be ugly, but they're really useful in genetic and developmental studies. Other bugs--I couldn't care less--if they're off doing their own thing, they might as well be living in Africa. I hate mosquitoes. It's not that I find their appearance particularly frightening. I just have horrible allergic reactions to their bites. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 5:02 AM : 0 comments ] Wednesday, May 14, 2003 Peculiar Type #7 - The Ditz Carrie stifled a yawn and glanced at the clock. Twelve fifty-seven. Perhaps she should not have had the second helping of pasta salad for lunch. She was feeling as doped up as a dog that had eaten half of the Christmas ham. A sharp jab in her arm made her blink her eyes. "The boss will have your hide if you fall asleep during the meeting," Roberto whispered. "Not if he doesn't see me first." He whipped out the pen from behind his ear. "Want some advice?" "Why not? You're going to give it to me anyway regardless of whether I say no or yes." "Take notes," he said, tapping the end of his pen to the pad sitting on the small arm desk attached to his chair. "Guaranteed to keep you awake." "And a cup of coffee doesn't?" Terrance, the skinny department director, coughed to get everyone's attention. At that moment, a figure--slim but top heavy--breezed in to take the empty seat beside Carrie. Alex, the analyst three doors down, was wearing (again) a one size too snug suit with a scandalous neckline and bright lipstick that Bozo the clown would be proud of. Carrie wondered briefly if the woman got a wedgie every time she sat down. Terrance rolled his eyes at Alex's entrance but clicked the control to begin his presentation. Fifteen minutes into the meeting--while Terrance was droning about company statistics, Roberto was busy scribbling in his pad, and Carrie was on the verge of dozing off--Alex leaned over so that her upper body was sprawled on Carrie’s desk. Carrie caught a whiff of her strong perfume and tried vainly not to hyperventilate. Roberto studiously concentrated on his notes, trying to ignore the cleavage dangling in his peripheral vision. "Hey Enrique," she breathed in a little-girl voice. "Isn't Terrance talking about information relating to your project? Make sure to take a lot of good notes!" "Uh huh," he mumbled. When she settled back into her seat, Carrie and Roberto exchanged exasperated glances. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 5:28 PM : 0 comments ] Life is a flying turkey... [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 5:13 AM : 0 comments ] Tuesday, May 13, 2003 Science Fiction Without the Spaceships What if, during early human history, man did not just domesticate animals? What if a particular animal developed a direct biological relationship with humans? What would this society be like? I asked more questions and before I knew it, I was building up a hypothetical world based on a biological premise. Perhaps I might try writing a story to answer some of those questions. Links: Torsalo Fly. A rather uglier animal/human relationship than what I am envisioning. Ray Bradbury: symbiosis and metaphors. "Because he's got more knowledge of cities -- and people -- in his little finger than most politicians have in their whole bodies." [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 4:26 PM : 0 comments ] Monday, May 12, 2003 Oh. My. God. That exam was the worst ever. Everyone else thought so too, so after those grueling hours, the entire class headed on over to one student's house and we had beer, burgers, and birthday cake in the rain. And commiserated. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 6:47 PM : 0 comments ] Sunday, May 11, 2003 I'm slaving away in the kitchen when one of my roommates saunters in, opens the freezer, takes out a hunk of meat the size of my head and throws it on the oven. This is the same roommate who likes to microwave chicken and coke in the same container. "What are you making?" she asks. "Vietnamese rolls." She stares at me blankly. "Vietnamese rolls. You know, from Vietnam." I show her the package of rice wraps I bought at the store with the words 'rice wraps' in Vietnamese and 'Made in Vietnam' in English printed over the top plastic cover. She looks skeptical and inclines her head to the roll I have just finished wrapping up. "That looks Chinese." Arg! * * * A Recipe for Vietnamese Rolls 2 cups of fresh bean sprouts 2 carrots, grated 1 cucumber, finely sliced 1 cup of scallions, finely chopped 2 cups of lettuce, chopped 1 package of rice vermicelli 1 lb of chicken, chopped and sautéed (with onions, optional) 1 package of rice wraps Possible modifications: The lettuce doesn't have to be chopped; it can be used like a second "wrap". Parsley and cilantro can also be added as well as finely grated peanuts. Chicken can be substituted with beef or shrimp if desired. The rolls can also be fried in a vat of oil like traditional Chinese spring rolls and eggs rolls if you don't mind adding a lot of fat to a usually healthy dish. Soak the vermicelli in boiling water for approximately five minutes. Drain. Add each of the ingredients to the rice wrap, fold in the sides and roll it up. The wrap will be easier to handle if it is moistened with water for about a minute. I like to eat the rolls plain, but that's just me. Usually the rolls are served with dipping sauce consisting of: 1 cup water 1/2 cup vinegar 2 to 3 tablespoons of fish sauce 1 tablespoon sugar 1 teaspoon salt some hot sauce or hot peppers (optional) [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 3:42 PM : 0 comments ] Unconscious Mutterings Want:: Gimme Pleasure:: Real Sugar:: Sweet Special:: Someone Pure:: Delight Right:: Now Something:: Else Cherish:: Four Pub:: Beer Snap:: Berserker [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 6:12 AM : 0 comments ] Saturday, May 10, 2003 Happy Mother's Day! Yesterday, I wished my Dad a happy birthday. Convenient now that I think about it. My father's birthday is close to Mother's Day and my mother's birthday is close to Father's Day. I don't have to make extra trips to the card store. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 9:25 PM : 0 comments ] Statistics obsessive? Here's another way to keep track of your nodal point in the world wide web: Blogstats. The similar blogs are interesting. I can see how the algorithm equated this blog with others due to words and links such as "previous post", "kind of gal", and random poetry. Sort of like lumping all the blogs together that mention "president" or "knitting". Otherwise, they're not really similar at all. Hollywood extras, budding Washington Post journalists, and dungeon receptionists. Nope, nothing like a sleepless biology grad student who likes music and writing. The one degree of separation thing, though, is scary. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 9:04 PM : 0 comments ] In Laboratory, Ordinary Cells Are Turned Into Eggs. Apparently some scientists have bypassed the impossibility of an experiment I explained last month. Of course, I usually don't trust the Washington Post on science reporting so I dug up the actual Nature article. Chitosan. I was curious about this after I read about it on this site which mentioned it as something used by weight-loss companies. It's a biopolymer from sea food such as lobster and has potential to be used in drug delivery, bandages, and cosmetics. And even though I'm not an organic chemist, I can't see how it can block cholesterol and fat uptake by its structure. Where is your heart? Fairy tales had witches and giants hiding their hearts in physically inaccessible places like caves guarded by monsters. In reality, that's biologically impossible, but have you ever wondered why your heart is where it is? I had always assumed the mechanism for determining body axis followed the developmental biology cannon that emerged from its humble origins of Frankenstein-like grafting experiments. However it looks like it's more complicated. One model proposes that electricity affects body axis by using the asymmetrical distribution of ion channels in an embryo. Yet another hypothesis stems from an experiment showing that nodal flow created by beating cilia generate the morphogen gradient that helps determine body axis. Due to the structural properties of the protein in the cilia that make it beat a certain way, it's not surprising then that one side is biased. Sometimes I just amuse myself by reading old papers like this 1977 paper on the biological effects of electric and magnetic fields (pdf). [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 9:38 AM : 0 comments ] Friday, May 09, 2003 Student wins valedictorian suit. (via metafilter) Okay, maybe I'm the wrong person to comment on this (since I was the only valedictorian at my high school), but I find going to court in order to be "first" too excessive. The drive to top everyone only brings on jealousy and stress. I learned from some of the "better" smart people that you should not shove your accomplishments into somebody's face even if they ask for it, never talk about grades, and don't put down anyone with their own academic problems. When I went to college, everyone I met had been a valedictorian or very close to it in high school--this fact was unspoken on campus--and in a way, it was nice to be somewhat average. People who kept obsessively worrying about their grades at this stage often developed neuroses and break downs. That said, being valedictorian at my high school meant only two things: you had the highest GPA and that you gave a speech during the graduation ceremony. I liked giving the speech. I probably mentioned it before, but my graduation ceremony fell during one of those once in a 13 year cycle things when cicadas become adults and saturate the air with their mating calls. So I had to talk over them. And if anyone had been paying attention to my words instead of swatting horny insects, I had been talking about cheese (although I threw in the obligatory 'looking forward to the future' thing near the end to pacify the school officals). I mean, if you had a football stadium full of ears expecting the same old drivel, wouldn't you like to say something unusual to spice things up? But otherwise, I felt sort of uncomfortable being at the 'top' so I never said anything, especially when grade-crazy students wanted the person who ranked first to show himself or herself. Maybe I was afraid of getting lynched. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 7:04 PM : 0 comments ] Today was one of those days where I just can't think of anything simply because I was busy. Could be because I haven't had anything to eat since yesterday at lunch. I know, I know--that's not particularly healthy, but it's not like I had very much time to sit down let alone run to the cafeteria to grab something to eat. Oh, and I had this really awesome post about body axis determination, but the computer froze and all my words went to la-la land. Maybe I'll write it up again tomorrow when I'm taking a break from studying. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 5:06 PM : 0 comments ] Thursday, May 08, 2003 Blogosphere Fads of Today (Generalizations, Oversimplifications, and Possible Wrong-Headedness) Most people in the real world don't know what the heck a blog is. If they had to guess, they'll probably pick, "c. a medical condition involving infected warts" on a multiple choice test. Political blogs, particularly warblogs, are the most described in the media. Other blogs are are mostly ignored, relegated to being exercises of self-absorption. Blogs make readers feel like they personally know the author, even if the person behind the words is in reality an ax murderer wanted in seven states. Photoblogs are the results of people getting a digital camera for Christmas. If a blog is a niche blog, it's really, really niche. Just like those bacteria that can only live in deep sea thermal vents. Everybody wants to move their blog to Moveable Type if they aren't already using it. Most blogrolls consist of a mixture of popular blogs and incestuous, clique-y linkage. Over-photoshopped blogs, blogs with too many templates, or blogs with weekly layout changes usually don't contain much content. Also, pre-teens and teenagers display an alarming competence at website designing. This competence, however, does not translate well to their writing ability, particularly spelling. Weekly and daily memes aren't as "hot" as they were a year ago. Bloggers are obsessed with personal statistics. Popular blogs with a feedback system consistently get many comments, even when the author is having an off-day and posts something stupid. Is this the result of obligation by the loyal readers or are they just scrambling for attention? Unpopular blogs, on the other hand, often devote their posts to lamenting their lack of hits. If you are famous in real life, you will immediately get lots of visitors if you start a blog. Many bloggers have cats. Does being a feline-lover make you more likely to blog? Audio-blogging is another example of the fickleness and short attention span of the blog collective. It was really popular for a few weeks and now no one's talking about it. Sort of like Tickle-Me-Elmos if you think about it. Many personal bloggers sound cranky. Or maybe it's just me. If there are other generalizations that you can think of that are true, ridiculous, or otherwise, add it to the comments. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 10:08 AM : 0 comments ] A Conversation My pessimistic voice is a gloomy witch dressed in voluminous black robes and a smirk. "No one visits your page to read what you've written. All the hits you see are from people seeking to satisfy their strange fetishes through search engines." "Why should I care?" I retort. "Why should you care to tell me this?" The smirk is still on her face. "You should care. Your commenting record is beginning to look like your real life. You continue to talk, but no one listens. No one cares about what you say because it doesn't interest them." "You might have a point there, but if the readers aren't interested, they shouldn't be reading my stuff in the first place." She sighs, her mouth turned downward. "With that sort of attitude, it's a wonder you have any readers at all. You're inaccessible as it is with all those big words you use." "Big words?! I'm not dumbing down myself for anybody!" The witch rolls her eyes. "Don't kid yourself. You're like a fifth-grader being stuck with the sixth-graders and trying too hard to fit in. Your immaturity and arrogance shows only too well." I think I should start banging my head against the wall. * * * The Thursday Threesome: Coffee, tea or me? Onesome- Coffee: Do you drink coffee? If so, do you ask for brewed or do you prefer the fancy espresso drinks? What's your flavor? I don't have a preference for kinds of coffee, but I find plain coffee unpalatable. I usually mix in milk, sugar, cream, or chocolate/cocoa mix depending on what's available. Twosome- Tea: Do you drink tea? Hot or iced? Regular, herbal or flavored? Yes, I like green, mint, or oolong tea, hot. Call me a tea-drinking elitist if you will, but I think iced tea is an abomination, what passes for regular tea at the grocery stores should be shelved with other bland things like bran and baby food, and berry-flavored tea is akin to painting your car an electric lime green so more car thieves will notice it and steal the cd system you recently installed. Threesome- Or Me?: Ok, not really me! Seriously, what's your favorite beverage? Alcoholic or non, healthy or not? I don't have a favorite beverage, but I do have a strong aversion to brightly colored drinks that look like the results of a chemist having too much fun in the lab. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 4:54 AM : 0 comments ] Wednesday, May 07, 2003 "Everybody understands Mickey Mouse. A few people understand Herman Hesse. Hardly anybody understands Einstein. And nobody understands Emperor Norton." -- Malaclypse the Younger [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 5:01 AM : 0 comments ] Tuesday, May 06, 2003 Sometimes Science and Common Sense Don't Mix In the same film, researchers ask ninth graders and Harvard seniors--interviewed as they graduate, still dressed in their graduating robes--the same questions about the causes of the seasons and phases of the moon. It is bad enough that the high schoolers, like almost everyone, think that summer is due to the earth getting nearer to the sun.* But worse, the Harvard graduates respond the same, in the same overwhelming numbers. Members of both groups, when pressed, come up with unusual explanations to buttress their arguments. The only real difference between the two groups is that the Harvard students project much more confidence while they mouth their inanities, while the public high school students show some hesitancy. Is building confidence in ignorance what education is really all about? Does four expensive years of college only produce more literate ignorance? (from Thinking About Science, pdf) Harvard students are far from stupid, yet how can this observation be? I will be the devil's advocate and give a possible explanation. Most Harvard students aren't astronomy majors. In fact, most are probably not science majors--I would assume most people want to go there for the liberal arts program or for its prestige. It is not like my undergraduate school where everyone (including the literature majors) was required to take quantum mechanics. I would assume the curriculum is like the Dartmouth undergraduate curriculum in that respect--a student only need to take a "history of science" class as a science requirement. I took history of science classes for fun. I'm not sure how these classes are taught in true history departments but mine were liberally sprinkled with calculus (yes, the actual stuff and not the namby-pamby, hand-waving statement that Newton invented it) and philosophy. One thing I took away from these classes was that science eventually evolved away from the Aristotelian view of the world to ask more probing and rigorous questions that upon initial examination do not appear to be intuitive. The rest of the world, though, has a tough time catching up. The Aristotelian view can be likened to the observations of a toddler--first hand experience that becomes the "common sense". Let's say the toddler drops a rock and a feather and sees the rock hit the ground first. From this experience, the toddler would believe that heavier objects fall to the ground faster. Science, however, says that all objects fall at the same rate because gravity's effect is constant. The toddler would be perplexed by this statement without being told that other forces are being put into play such as friction and air resistance. The public is a lot like the toddler in this respect. By first hand observation people experience nature doing one thing. The media says something to the contrary and explains it as scientific fact without additional information. Perhaps it's the result of short attention spans or the tendency of scientists of not giving good explanations to lay people, but whatever the case, there is a disconnect between knowledge and practicality. What really started me thinking about this (and thus finding the above quote) was a post on International No Diet Day. My initial reaction wasn't, "darn the stupid media for showing skinny models to wreck impressionable young girls' self-esteem and physical health" but "why can't any of these people understand that losing weight by crash dieting is a biochemical impossibility?" Of course, I could blame my rather un-society-mediated reaction to a recent post I had concerning the biochemical pathway of metabolism--but it is one of the results of common sense and science clashing. The metabolism pathway was figured out several decades ago by rather crude methods, however the knowledge never really made it out to the public. For the regular person, it is common sense--eat more gain weight, eat less lose weight. So people diet, not seeing that it is muscle that they are losing and not fat. (But of course you can't see it, you can't just cut open a person to observe what's happening.) Doctors might mumble something about what's really going on, but the layperson will just think that they are only parading around the evidence of their higher education. People say that a higher education will get you nowhere if you don't have common sense. Sure, if what you're talking about is explicating poetry by dead bards**, but this doesn't mean that you should do away with education--particularly science education--altogether. *Note: If you don't already know, the seasons are caused by the tilt of the earth's axis and the phases of the moon are caused by the reflection of the sun and the earth's shadow as it rotates about the earth. **I am by no means ridiculing Shakespeare and his ilk. Art and literature may improve the quality of life, but it is not necessary for survival. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 6:11 PM : 0 comments ] An additional note: Spam is not solely a phenomenon of the e-mail account. I've also gotten spam in my guestbook as well as my comments. I'm sure people who run message boards and usenet groups also get spam in a forum that is supposed to fascilitate free discussion. Tagboards, instant messaging, chat rooms: I'm sure also has their own spam. And real life? Look at the mail box. And the telemarketer who calls while you eat dinner. The infomercial. Heck, even the commercials between shows are getting longer. What about the commercials before the movies? And the product placement in the media? Even books aren't immune. Sometimes I wonder if my thoughts are even my own at all. Perhaps all these words are just the product of commercialist conditioning. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 10:47 AM : 0 comments ] Tuesday Too 1. Are you trying out, or do you know anything about these new blogger [thingies]? Well, I have an inkling of what they're talking about but I'm not going to jump onto the newest technobabble thingeemajig any time soon. I'm an old school kind of gal and at this point, I'd rather update the html by hand than to sacrifice my hard earned words to some distant network monster. Besides, it took me a while to even get bloggerized, if you know what I mean. 2. Have you tried other weblog systems that you would suggest that blogger folks switch to? Dammit Jim, I'm a biologist, not a computer engineer! No. Those three letter words like php, cgi, sql, scare me. 3. Lately it's been reported there is so much spam filling the inboxs that people are going to stop using email. On average how much junk email do you get every day? Is it so much that you would consider giving up email? You could make up a funny sentence or two just using the email subject lines, if you're really feeling creative today. I get about 30-50 pieces of spam each day. A lot, I know and I should set up some sort of filter, but I'm much too lazy to do that. However, the spam is only spewing onto my public e-mail accounts. My school e-mail account (which is easily guessable) only gets spammed by the secretaries who think it's a good idea to e-mail the same notifications at the same time. I would not stop using e-mail because of spam because its usefulness outweighs the abuses. Even if everyone stopped using e-mail and started using something else, I'm sure the spammers will find other devious ways to get their "message" out. I deleted all my spam before looking at the Tuesday Too so I cannot be creative today. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 10:16 AM : 0 comments ] When a Cello Is Not Just a Cello (Part of Another Dream) The orchestra is tuning up and suddenly, I can't find my cello. It's nowhere among the cases and stands and chairs. I rush out of the auditorium, the orchestra already starting without me. I'm not so much worried about not playing as I am trying to find my instrument. In the lobby, next to the doors leading to the auditorium, are more empty instrument cases. As I plow through them, occasionally turning up a violin or viola, I begin crying. I can't find my cello. The lobby is beginning to fill with patrons, the stuffy and expensive kinds with sequins and minks and shiny gems. I am acutely aware that I am wearing an unattractive uniform, a white blouse and a puffy black skirt as big as a tent, but I screw up my courage and ask these people if they've seen a cello. They ignore me, except for the woman closest to me who wrinkles her nose as if I am a dog that had had an accident. I walk back into the auditorium, but it's no longer an auditorium. I must have taken a wrong turn because I end up in a music store--a cello store. But I'm far from ecstatic. The store is a bit creepy. It's dim and the walls are a dingy lime green. The display cases are round and rotating with garishly painted cellos drawn and quartered--insides offered up to the prying eye. The ceiling fan, instead of blades, consists of white and pink and black cellos whirling slowly about in the air. The cashir counter is backlit with white and the shelves above display cello parts as if they were museum artifacts. The man behind the counter has red hair and a red beard, but there is something definitely wrong about him as he leers at me. I escape out the front door and find myself just outside a shopping complex. * * * Self-Analysis I believe the cello represents my creative streak. I am upset in the dream because I think I've lost it. The stuffy patrons are the people around me who disdain creative energies. In the music store, other cellos are cut open, dissected, and put on display like morbid curiosities. Perhaps the man with the red hair represents someone, something, or maybe even part of me that wants to kill off my creative streak. I am not sure what the shopping complex means. * * * Syaffolee blog | archives | links | a well, as they demand an enzyme cleaving a fast Computer which could possibly hurt other pieces during World seemed forced. If she is interesting to his weapons, a tank of a sense of complications primarily meningeoencephalitis . Maybe the sidewalks with me at a study in his or even history where the second to spell occasionally correctly some time discussed my life. [posted by S. Y. From Rob's Amazing Poem Generator. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 4:46 AM : 0 comments ] Monday, May 05, 2003 Perhaps It's Part of Human Nature I don't know what people's problems are when they are questioned and they get pissy. It's as if their knowledge, their belief, their reason for being are threatened. Maybe they are the authority in so-and-so, but that doesn't mean that they can't be wrong. And then they demand an apology from the other party. Maybe the apology is deserved or maybe it isn't, but demanding an apology itself dampens the sincerity of this ritual and somehow (to me) seems to be downright rude. * * * I am not sure of my posting schedule this week. You could say it's "midterms week" although I'm not taking any midterms--only the second to last test that I have to memorize anything ever (and I do mean ever). The other thing I'm working on is some underground and unedited serial fiction. The key word here is unedited so don't click on the link if you're not willing to be amused by my latest writing attempts. It's posted for self-gratification and not from any misguided attempts on my part to get it out for any serious reading audience. (Oh yeah, and for any of you with me since the dawn of time--2000--the serial TOGP is back up.) So even though tests and marathon writing sessions haven't deterred me from posting before, I'm just warning you. [pos