BTW, Has anyone proposed lighting the ocean on fire?

Dear gentle reader-

This post finds me in a fantastical mood. I've followed the BP gulf oil scandal with bated-breath, devouring any photos of the event I can get my greedy fingers on. I'm not so much interested in the Morning Show style of "failed heavy mud dump" talking points, but more along the lines of "how will we survive when the oceans have become poisoned and Ed has to live in a post-apocalyptic world he has yearned for?".

Look at this image I found of boats trying, as far as I can tell, to make pretty designs in the surface sheens.



The color palette immediately immediately reminded me of William Blake's Nebuchadnezzar, one of my all time favorites.



The painting of course depicts the dream in which Nebuchadnezzar goes insane (the un-PC term would be stark raving mad) and lives in the wild like an animal for seven years. For what some have surmised to be clinical lycanthropy, in which the affected person has delusions of being transformed into an animal, does this foreshadow a more conspicuous example, perhaps Kafka's The Metamorphosis?

Regardless, living alone in the wilderness doesn't seem like such a punishment to me. I would miss the internet and civilized facilities. After all, it was Mencken himself who said, "I'd trade the whole Acropolis for one American bathroom".

But I digress. Where were we? Oh, yes. The oil spill and finger pointing.

I like how the speechifying pontiff-in-Chief would rather play puppeteer to 15% of the nation's economy than show some goddamn exectutiveness and fix arguably the largest man-made environmental disaster since Chernobyl.

Staring agog from across your computer screen: But, Ed how can you, from your ensconced throne of curmudgeonly libertarianism, advocate government interventionism? Of all the 10th amendment trampling in the last few years, wouldn't this qualify for the general welfare clause more than "cash for clunkers"?

But there is plenty of blame to go around, and I'm sure the filth of the tawdry scene will cling to everyone involved like oil on a damselfly's wings.



Update: Yes they are apparently planning on burning the ocean.

Pierrot says goodbye to the moon

Dear gentle readers-

This post finds me deliriously happy. My first committee meeting is over, I feel refreshed and enthused for another round of science. I bought a one way ticket to MO so I can help Craig pack and move to CA in two weeks.

One nagging thought remains: I will be forced to become perpetually diurnal for the first time in two years. The nightowl routine has shielded me from the horrors of day-living: interacting with the passively vacuous, mouthbreathers of the 9-5 world. "But I like being a science vampire," the nerd says.

I used to think I was broken, no matter what I do I can't give up a knee-jerk misanthropic outlook. Recently I've realized it is not a dislike of humanity in general, I just like being left alone. Grocery shopping at 1:30AM is one of the greatest pleasures of my life. To some extent it fulfills my Mad Max-esque fetish of living in a postapocalyptic world, something about which I regularly daydream. And you a develop strange, unspoken relationship with the night Caltrain conductors, the janitors, and the checkers at Safeway. I can honestly say I've never talked to--or for that matter met--any of my neighbors in the two years I've lived in Mountain View.

Unhealthy, non?

Oh night, I will miss you.

I can't begin to give a justice to the happenings of the last few months, but here's it in a nutshell: Craig and I got back together and he's planning on moving out in June to live with me. The science is going well (slowly but well) and I have two Nobel Laureates on my thesis committee (yikes!). I got a $120,000 NSF GRFP grant (third time's the charm). I saw the sun rise on my favorite city this Sunday morning after missing the midnight caltrain back from visiting Mike, Jenn, and Ella so I got a hotel room and made the best of it. Brunch on Market was delicious and poetically lonely.

Update over.

Tonight I watched the Madonna episode with Liz, Jay, and Lia...some of my favorite people in the entire world. And I was totally gagging on the eluh-ganza!

This is me reading Elmo to Ella this weekend--who PS has a view of the Golden Gate bridge from her bedroom window--Jealous!:



It was nice to spend time with a child that wasn't a monster after teaching Splash (the insect taxonomy class) to 7-12 graders this week. Although to be fair, I think I was probably a pretty shitty human being during those years too.

But seriously, y'all. Could my life get any better? I mean the Met might call and offer me the title role in Rigoletto and I could wake up tomorrow with six-pack abs...

Krone des Lebens,
Glück ohne Ruh,
Liebe, bist du!

[Crown of life,
Happiness without peace,
Love, are you!]

If I saw Goethe right now, I would plant a big sloppy kiss on him.

Craig is coming to visit on Thursday. Come what may, indeed.

Why do I feel like Carmen in Act IV, only this time both Don Jose and Escamillo are going to stab me to death outside the arena?

Rastlose Liebe

I'm twitterpated.

And our third date is on Friday.

The reinforcements have been called in because I "have to design a lighting concept... and costume decisions".

The last time I felt this way, was well, a long time ago.

Edit: I bought filet mignon and Trojans at the grocery store Friday evening, garnering scandalized looks from my middle aged checker. I only made use of the meat. What kind of girl do you think I am?

Lord, I smell trouble

Dear gentle readers,

Something terrible happened this weekend. Given a horrible situation, I acted in what I thought was the most ethical and conscientious manner. At this moment, I'm unable to tell if I've unintentionally caused irreparable harm. In retrospect, it is difficult to say if I would have behaved in the same way.

In the words of Tina Turner:

Lord knows I've tried,
I've tried to do what's right,
Five whole long years of stayin' home,
both day and night,
And I smell a whole lotta trouble,
Lord I smell trouble ahead of me.
But oh, worries and troubles,
I wonder why they just won't let me be.

Go watch the clip, Tina can sang it. At the time, did everyone else get it?

Her face is contorted with pain; the pain of knowing the man she loved was beating and raping her, the pain of hiding this from the rest of the world, the pain of watching Ike become a cocaine addict, the pain of staying with a man she once loved because she was afraid for her children.

Loving someone despite their fatal flaws can be a dangerous habit.

After she left Ike, she sang pop music. She was happy. The scary aspect of her tale is that the blues she sang with Ike came from a very real place, a very honest place. It was beautiful and ugly.

Some times I think that this blog is like a Greek tragedy. All the action happens off stage.

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.

Maybe this time, for the first time

Is an existentialist crisis precipitated by memories of Cabaret normal?

I need more structure in my life. This whole working 80 hours a week is fine, but working whenever I want is screwing with my little brain full of mush.

Looking back, I like to think that my time in CoMO was spent "being creatively fulfilled"--a goal I try to strive for. To be honest though, it was more like five years of single minded focus on escaping the midwest.

In the physical sense I knew I wanted to relocate to one of the coasts, surround myself with people smarter and more creative than me. Not to sound like a pompous ass or anything, haha.

Introspection will be the death of me.

I saw Dr. Birchler this week when he came to Stanford. It was great to see a familiar face and be reminded of a different life.

Speaking of random things: I'm teaching an entomology taxonomy course to highschoolers in two weeks! Mom is sending me my duplicates so we can do some hands on stuff with the kids. I think it's going to be a lot of fun.

Now I just have to find some live specimens. How do you politely ask your friends if they could collect fleas or cockroaches? I think those are probably the only insects that survive the peninsula's suburban sprawl.

Une musique de cuivreaux fenêtres des incurables.

I slept in today and the perfect storm of conditions combined to promote weird dreams: sounds of the power-washing of my apartment complex, the lack of air conditioning, a mango overload from my fruit cleanse the day before.

In the dream, I was wandering through an Antebellum manor house which strangely resembled McKee gymnasium, the rehearsal space for the opera class at Mizzou. The house was uninhabited, but seemingly used as storage for antique furniture draped in white sheets.

No breeze. No wind, just hotness.

I walk up the stairs to the bathroom that has white beadboard (um which definitely did not go with the plantation style facade, but that is a story for another day). I look in the mirror over the sink and I see a different pair of eyes looking back at me. Through the mirror, the eyes are green, unblinking. That's it.

When I woke up I had a vague sense that this dream was a metaphor for being raped.

I guess that is what I get for reading Maeterlink before going to bed? As he would say, "Oh! rien n'y est à sa place."

Nothing is in it's right place.

You Lie!

Doing my best to be blissfully ignorant of the sham-debate about health care reform.

Did you see Skeletor Nancy Pelosi's head just about snap off when Joe Wilson yelled "You Lie!" to Obama? Damn, gurl, time for a throw-down [Nancy taking off her hoop earrings and smearing vasoline on her mummy-neck].

Good for Obama for keeping his composure and taking the high road by adressing the issue. If he embodies one attribute, it's poise.

Which made me wonder, how would have previous presidents reacted?

GW: [ducks] "Oh goshdarn Dick Cheney, I thoughted that theys throwin shoes again."

Bill Clinton: "[Bites lower lip and squints into camera] It depends on what your definition of 'lie' is."

GHWB: "Read my lips: [vomits into lap of stenographer] no more lies."

Reagan: "Why you little punk. Mr Gorbachav, tear down that bastard!"

Carter: "All the major parties shall bring about the consummation of the [pulls out the tampon from between his legs which he sets on the podium] reformation."

Gerald Ford: "...I'm glad you raised that concern. In the case of Helsinki...aw, hell, this job sucks ass."

Nixon: "You goddamn cocksucker Jew-Bastard! I will prevail over all you mother-fuckers! Checkers, attack!"

LBJ: "You are letting our boys down. You are letting our boys in Vietnam down. [Unzips pants, removes penis] Look, you're not going to win this fight. Look what you're up against. [Addressing penis] Who is bigger, you or Joe Wilson? That's right."

A day off

I haven't taken a whole day off to veg in such a long time.

I read most of the new issue of Cell...

And then I walked around in my underwear, ate raspberries, did laundry, went to the gym, drank a 2 liter of diet coke, and sang most of the baritone aria book haha. Sorry, downstairs neighbors.

I've been warming up every day for a week but today was the first day I really sang anything. Verdi, Tchaikovsky, Mozart, Verdi, Verdi, Verdi, Bizet.

Toreador indeed!

Some of my favorite crazies

1) The goth dyke that pukes in her (incongruently) sequined purse on the midnight CalTrain. Seen her twice so far, usually this happens on a Tuesday or Wednesday. You go gurl!

Is the purse a remnant from her life before she became a goth? Did she steal it from a sorostitute for the sole purpose of holding her vomit on the ride home? Cause that would make her my hero.

2) The cougar I keep running into at Safeway at 1AM. She is often dressed like she just got off work at the strip club, I swear to god I didn't know anyone could pair dayglow spandex miniskirts and various animal print (zebra, leopard, dalmation?!) hooker heels on a regular basis. Tonight she was painfully hitting on (like usual) the poorMexi-checker: "...That's what I tell my son. Who's in college. Goodnight Darlin'. "

At least she's owning it. Next time I promise photo documentation.

3) In my apartment complex, the yuppie dad who is father to "the screamer". A child who I thought was being bludgeoned with a wasp nest full of rusty nails, but apparently "just doesn't like riding in the car". Seriously, I have never heard a kid scream like that, the first couple times I thought about calling the police.

The same drama has unfolded multiple times: the father carries the screaming child towards the minivan. The child screams. The father tries to reason with said child for various amounts of time. Child still screams. Repeat ad naseum.

I hope the kid is autistic or has some nerve disorder. I've contemplated leaving a note on the winshield imploring them to seek counseling. Or maybe quit sodomizing their child in the minivan? I haven't decided yet.

4) Lenny, our upstairs neighbor from the house on Crestmere. World champion kickboxer (seriously), personal trainer, salsa dance instructor, loud porn enthusiast. Every day the salsa music would play for hours. Then quiet for a few moments. Cue the loud porn for about 5 minutes. Lather, rinse, repeat.

5) No one can top the crazy that lived next door at U-Place in CoMO. We called him the mathematician. He was a conspiracy theorist and watched FOX news and argued loudly with the TV every night. And he was a big crazy face mathematician. John Nash style, but on meth.

All of these crazy faces: "puking dyke", "Safeway cougar", "yuppie dad/screamer", Lenny, and the "mathematician" have made my life more interesting in their own way.

And for that I would like to say thank you.