Do you listen to pop music because you're sad, or are you sad because you listen to pop music?

Oh, gentle readers. It's a typical Wednesday morning at 3AM. Where are I? At lab doing some biochemistry and listening to Kylie Minogue.

In 2002, her Fever album had just come out and I was taking Munich by storm with Alan. Memories of dancing in kunstpark ost to silly pop music. When will I see you again, sweet Munich?

I have always felt a strong affinity for southern Germany. The art, the music, the landscape, the history, the people. Is it the weltschmerz?

Today I got to have lunch with Susan Lindquist, MIT prof and the former director of the Whitehead institute. As we say "BFD": big fucking deal. Nothing codifies and distills my purpose like meeting a luminary. Arguably one of the most successful scientists I've met (and at Stanford I've met many successful scientists), Lindquist's candor and approachability was surprising.

One of the topics we discussed at length was the state of scientific education in America. Why do half of all American's not believe in evolution? A lion's share of the blame can be placed on the ivory tower and its inability or unwillingness to communicate with the general public. The rest of the blame can be placed on class room teachers who read from textbooks. There are few if any experimentalists who teach; most instructors regurgitate minutia into the gaping mouths of the baby bird student/automatons. No wonder why our country thinks science is inaccessible and boring.

But why didn't I learn about evolution until I was a junior in college? "Nothing in biology makes sense except in the light of evolution." This is disturbingly true. I've always thought that biology answers the what, where, and when, and how, but evolution answers the why. And that's usually more interesting.

For he is like a refiner's fire

I've been going through a baroque phase lately and it's totally distressing me.

My favorite as of late is Vivica Genaux, this tomboyish Alaskan mezzo. She seems to have moved away from her short hair and pants role in the last few years, but boy, can she nail the fioratura. Not only can she sing a legato, her range is incredible. Not in the link I posted, but in another version of Qual guerriero in campo armato on youtube she sings from G3-C6. Seriously, people.

She does this wierd jaw-moving thing when articulating runs...it doesn't seem to be in rhythm, so I don't know what to make of it. She's fierce nonetheless.

Ballwalking

Went to Nebraska for the annual pheasant hunting/Thanksgiving activities. It was beyond wonderful to see my family, most of whom I haven't seen since last Christmas (!). My little sisters are growing up to be such interesting, talented, and kind young women. My brother and I are fighting over if we can get them to come to NYC or SF for college, that would pretty much make my life.

The highlight of the trip was hanging out with Alan and his posse in Lincoln. His friend Jake lives in some hippy commune by the dumping ground for the Lincoln municipal parks, so we climbed around on dismantled playground equipment at dusk. Reclaimed by weeds, these cast-offs of childhoods forgotten were reminiscent of Where the Wild Things Are mixed with post-apocalyptic dystopia.

Bricktop was a bittersweet reminder of the Shatterdays of CoMO, but fun nonetheless. Someone who shall remain nameless may have lost a bet about Eddie Murphy and was forced to ballwalk to the bathroom.

I'm seriously considering becoming the master of my own destiny and moving to the city--at least for a trial period. Although still partial to Inner Sunset, I'm currently in love with the Duboce Triangle. It's true, victorian arctitecture, bay windows, hardwood floors, and vaulted cielings make me salivate. The only way I know to decide if I'm unnessesarily romanticizing SF is to take the plunge. Ballwalking, indeed.

Fittingly enough, I've been listening to a lot of Dichterliebe recently. I always considered that song cycle to be the ugly stepsister of Winterreise, but it's finally growing on me.

Rachel A, a big fan of song cycles in general--especially Dichterliebe--introduced it to me the first time we hung out.

We sat on her floor on Bass street and read some of the Heine text.

Und sah die Nacht in deines Herzens Raum,
Und sah die Schlang', die dir am Herzen frißt,
Ich sah, mein Lieb, wie sehr du elend bist.

And saw the night in your heart's room,
And saw the viper that feeds on your heart;
I saw, my love, how truly miserable you are.

What an image!

I love the literal translation of the German, there's something
so much more raw about a language whose word for meat is
'fleisch'--literally flesh. I'll liken it to the choice between
"shacking up" and "cohabiting".

The way she spit out those words, it was obvious that the passage
had been seared into her mind. Now I know how she felt.

Craig and Ed: a retrospective

After 4.5 years, Craig and I have decided to seperate. Although I cannot understand or agree with his decision, I can only support him in the new chapter of his life he has chosen to undertake. Here's a look back:



At Addison's, our favorite restaurant in Columbia. Where we had our first date, celebrated many birthdays and anniversaries.



At the martini bar for my 22nd birthday. Our group was just about the only people there that night. Eventually the gays started trading clothes in the bathroom, much to the horror of the middle-aged straight bartenders.



Us with our miniature schnauzer, Zipper. I never had a dog growing up, and this was my first puppy. He's spoiled rotten, but I love him more than most people in this world.



So much happening in this picture! I don't remember where we were, but Ryan and Manda can always be counted on to make the fun times.


We dressed up as a pitcher and catcher for Halloween the year the Cards won the world series (October 2006?). Took Shattered by storm that night and ruled with impunity...like always.


Craig doing one of his famous snarls. As he would always say, "Don't touch the hair pre-club." And he meant it too.


Trops formed the second member of the trifecta: dinner at Addisons, drinks at Trops, and then stumble across the street to Shattered--the only place worth going in CoMO.

At one of Robyn's house parties, Craig in a usual state of undress.


When we first starting dating, one of our favorite things to do was attend recitals at Mizzou. Sitting in the dark, watching our friends on stage. Feeling close to those you loved, a strange mix of voyeurism and gratitude at having the priveledge of sharing with the performers.

One of my best memories is sitting in the audience watching Rachel AuBuchon and Craig perform Ravel's Don Quichotte set. Two people I will always love.


Thanks for four and half wonderful years, Craig.

Typical Monday night

Get buzzed off a jug (!) of mimosas, listen to Idomeneo (usually not a fan of Mozart), and work on my qualifying exam practice talk for tomorrow morning.

Oh, I'm right where I belong.

Earlier this weekend, I went to Eliz's housewarming party in the Mission. After Poornima, Kich, Wally (Lia's labradoodle puppy), and I almost were sold drugs, we found out she has an amazing apartment!

Hardwood floors, fig and citrus trees in the backyard, cool neighbors with a baby. I threatened to kill her and assume her identity...which I would have to make good on if I didn't love her so much.

After getting pretty much shit-faced, we got crepes. I had banana and Nutella. Talk about the best drunk food ever.

Have I mentioned how much I love my friends?

And nature sympathized.

Misanthrope in one act

Disturbed old man at bus station: Hey, get your bike off there! I was here first.

Me: Take your haldol, you crazy piece of shit.

Other bus stop patrons: [jaws dropped] ...?

And scene.