For the Love of Science

Okay, it is truly shocking to me that I have been writing this blog for over 6 months now and have yet to write a post like this, but here goes:

Mythbusters...we need to talk.

I have lost count of the number of people I have humored as they say that they find this show "entertaining, but come on, it's not real science." Yeah, you go ahead and think that.

Somewhere around, oh, 4th grade maybe, you are taught the Scientific Method (tm). According to the Scientific Method (tm), you follow several steps when conducting science:

1. Look at the shit we know.
2. Form a hypothesis about the shit we have yet to know.
3. Develop an experiment that, through the clever use of controls and isolation of said controls from all possible variables, will either confirm or disprove said hypothesis.
4. Oh, come on, you should know how this goes by now.
5. Look at the data.
6. Confirm, debunk, or revise the hypothesis.
7. Rinse and repeat.

What many people say about the Mythbusters is that they don't really follow the Scientific Method (tm). There are too many variables...not enough controls, they say. They haven't taken every possible occurrence into account, they say. They never conclusively prove or disprove anything, they say.

And they would be right.

But there's a dirty little secret that most of you non-science types haven't caught on to yet: The scientific community does the exact same thing. Every day. I have spent a fair amount of time doing actual, real research - not the profit-motivated, fine tuning kind of research done in industry, but academic research where the end goal is the acquisition of new, hopefully groundbreaking, Knowledge. In this world, we do not employ carefully, cleverly crafted hypotheses with a very specific goal in mind for every experiment...we throw a whole pile of crap at the wall and see what sticks. Oh, sure, we start with a goal in mind, but any advisor worth his salt knows that the most significant advances made in his lab are almost without fail a BYPRODUCT of whatever that student or postdoc was TRYING to do. Case in point: I went into my weekly meeting with my boss on Tuesday, armed with all sorts of movies and data. One of my movies demonstrated something we already knew - that the enzyme I was working with would inevitably be deposited on the surface of the device I was doing the reaction on. But, upon seeing this effect in action, his reponse wasn't, "Oh, shit, now we have proof that this is a problem" it was "WOW....what can we do with that???" Now, Isaac Asimov said the same thing slightly more eloquently:

"The most exciting phrase to hear in science, the one that heralds new discoveries, is not 'Eureka' (I've found it) but 'That's funny...'"

Forget the Scientific Method (tm). THIS is how science is really done. Above all, and contrary to popular belief, it is an intensely creative endeavor. It is sloppy, it is ridiculous, it is inconvenient and rarely wraps itself up in tidy little packages. I am constantly amazed at how many people I meet that think that science and creative expression are mutually exclusive concepts, much as they believe that science and faith (or for that matter creativity and faith) are. This is why so many people find me an enigma, while from my perspective I make perfect sense (side note: I find that most people eventually come around to my logic - at least, anyone who matters).

Which brings me back to the Mythbusters. I am a fan of the way they do things - there are always holes in their methods, but that's science. It doesn't mean their conclusions are without merit - anyone that's ever had a paper or grant proposal reviewed knows all too well that even the most well-planned experiment can be shot full of so many holes it resembles a block of Emmentaler (mmm...cheese...) by the time you get it back. This is why we teach a whole lot more in the way of theories than we do laws. Relativity is a pretty fucking cool idea, and there's a lot of evidence out there to support it and darned little to refute it, but we don't know enough yet to say it's definitely true. Gravity, on the other hand...we're pretty sure about at this point. We've had a few hundred years to try to disprove the latter...only a hundred or so with the former, and when Einstein first came up with it we didn't really have the proper tools to test it for a few more decades. So it's still a work in progress.

But tonight, the Mythbusters were using methods that even I have to take issue with. They were testing the famous 5-second rule. (In the process, they also took advantage of their new-found bacterial culturing skills to test the whole your-mouth-is-dirtier-than-a-dog's notion. For those of you that are wondering, it's totally true. However, I am rather peeved that they neglected to mention that this has already been studied by actual scientists in laboratories, and the reason has nothing to do with the number of bacteria that find their way into the respective mouths via frequency of ass-lickings and garbage-scavenges, but rather the fact that dogs have a stronger anti-bacterial agent in their saliva than we do PRECISELY BECAUSE THEIR MOUTHS ARE EXPOSED TO MORE BACTERIA. Ain't nature grand?) So I won't get into all of the different ways in which they tried to determine whether the amount of time spent on the floor affects the number of bacteria transferred - to sum up: they tried a dry food and a wet food, different areas of a floor, straight transfer from the floor to the petri dish, etc. etc. Here are my problems with the way they went about it:

1. They tried to come up with a "uniformly dirty floor." I won't go into the specifics - it was fairly disgusting. My point being, there's still absolutely no guarantee that it was uniformly dirty - bacteria grow in groups, and some areas will most definitely be more dense in cell population than others, depending on any number of fairly random factors (floor topology, for example). Which would be corrected for if you wiped the food across a larger portion of said floor, but that messes with the whole 5-second rule stipulation that the food remain stationary. But there was absolutely no control done that showed that the floor tiles being used were, in fact, uniformly dirty.

2. They didn't specify how many duplicate trials they did. As an analytical chemist, reproducibility is everything, and things like this give me hissyfits. I believe they did duplicates, I just don't know how many, and while I realize this does not make for riveting TV, I really want to know because again, we're dealing with cell cultures, and any variations between trials will be grossly amplified.

3, and this is the big one: the big control experiment that they did to eliminate the wet/dry food factor was to bring the petri dish in direct contact with the floor for the specified periods of time (I believe they did 2 and 6 second trials). The result from this trial was, not surprisingly, that the dishes in each case picked up so many bacteria that the individual colonies merged on the plate, making it impossible to count them to get a data point. One surface covered in bacteria looks just like another surface covered in bacteria - if you can't fit any more in the space allotted, they stop reproducing. From this, they concluded that you cannot tell the difference between a 2-second exposure and a 6-second exposure. WRONG. JUST BECAUSE YOUR INSTRUMENT (in this case, YOU) CAN'T TELL THE DIFFERENCE DOESN'T MEAN THERE ISN'T ONE.

This is the point in the show where I stop speaking in actual words and start making pft! pfffttt! noises at the screen.

Adam and Jamie, I still adore you. But please, no more microbiology without a trained professional on board. Hell, a trained microbiologist would probably be appalled by what I consider good science. To each his own. But as long as you stick to trying to blow shit up by improbable means, we can probably make this work.

Oh, and before any of you smartasses try to read anything into the fact that my "For love of science" entry is so much longer than my "For love of God" entry...just know that while I feel I am knowledgeable enough to have an informed opinion about what science is, I have no such delusions when it comes to God. Plus, there may have been a couple of intervening glasses of wine to blame.

For the Love of God

Let me just start this post by saying a big Happy Easter! to all of you. Among my friends who read this thing, I know I have everything from utterly areligious types to very devout Christians, so to the former, I say I hope you had a very lovely weekend and to the latter, a most blessed Easter to you, alleluia, alleluia!

Now, good Catholic girl that I am, I was going to make sure I got to church this morning if it killed me. I'll admit, I'm not THAT good a Catholic girl - I don't go as often as I should (especially considering there's a Catholic church a whopping 5-minute walk from my house) - but I'll be darned if I'm going to miss church on Easter weekend. A grand effort was made on my part to make sure that all of my celebrating and normal Sunday household chores got worked into the day - got up this morning, started the laundry while my cinnamon rolls (from scratch!) rose and baked...made myself presentable...ate breakfast and dashed off to church. Almost didn't make it - I got there JUST before the opening processional started, but my church is small and Catholicism is significantly less popular here than in the States, so I even got a seat (something that would be UNHEARD of at home at a late-morning mass on Easter Sunday).

Now, there are things that I think are really neat at my church - the music ministry is small, but the voices are extremely talented (even if their choice of music is a bit baroque for my taste)...the assortment of accents I hear in all of the responses from the congregation...the way I sound distinctly American in that rumble because I say ay-men instead of ah-men...the pastor and his very approachable and good-humored manner of addressing his congregation...but I saw something today that I just felt the need to bitch about. Pardon me for a moment while I hop up onto my digital soapbox....

As I looked around the church, I noticed a disturbing proportion of the congregation wearing jeans.

Now, I was raised in fairly modern churches, where on a typical Sunday the rule of thumb is come-as-you-are. I have certain standards for myself (i.e., while I might wear jeans or khakis to church, I only wear my nicest pairs and draw the line at ever wearing shorts), but in general, I subscribe to the belief that God is happy to see you regardless of what you're wearing. I figure as long as you show up attentive, clean, and generally respectable, you're doing okay. I have seen people show up toting teenage children wearing suggestive slogans on their t-shirts, or having clearly come straight from repainting their kitchen, and that bugs me, but I think my standards are generally fairly loose.

But for the love of God, people (and I mean that literally)...this is EASTER SUNDAY. It's the biggest. Day. Of the year. This is the day from which, regardless of denomination, all of Christianity takes root. For a great number of you, this is one of only TWO DAYS A YEAR you go to church. Is it really that much to ask that you dress up a little bit??? I'm not asking for frilly dresses in pastel colors and big floppy hats... but a decent pair of pants and a shoe a notch above a sneaker hardly seems unreasonable. I don't understand how someone can make the effort to actually GO to church, but never find it necessary to look good for God. It's not just an appearance thing - it's the mindset that at least today, going to church is Important. It's meaningful...even more so than on an ordinary Sunday. I just don't get how people can miss that.

But then again, I also don't understand it when people show up to a final looking like they're going clubbing as soon as they hand in their paper. There simply is no pleasing me.

Analytical Chemistry

So...I had a date tonight. For those of you on the edge of your seats, wondering how that whole eHarmony thing was going...this one's for you.

So, this guy came up as one of my matches, and at first, I was really wigged out because he bore some superficial similarities to a friend I had just recently met. Once I established that they were, in fact, two different people, I began the slow, plodding process of "guided communication." Frankly, I am of the opinion that you decide on the basis of the person's profile if you want to communicate with them - the "guided" portion is pure bullshit. No matter how much they tell you that this process is designed to elicit your "true answers" and "break through your barriers..." the fact of the matter is, you are every bit as capable of telling someone what they want to hear via a multiple-choice question as to their face. So they might as well get right to the open communication portion of the program for all the good it does. That's just my two cents.

So anyway, we got our eHarmony caps and gowns on and graduated to "open communication." Which led to the exchange of real-life e-mail addresses, and phone numbers, and eventually resulted in plans to have a drink after work tonight. I got to the meeting place...found he was not, in fact, a troll, and drinks went well so he invited me to go get some sushi. I was enjoying his company so I took him up on it. Now, it was about halfway through dinner when I had to admit to myself that I may be getting myself in trouble here. See, it had been becoming progressively clearer to me as the evening wore on that this guy was quite taken with me. Frankly, I sensed it from when I first walked up to him as he was waiting at the bar for me, but the sensation became stronger as the time passed. You know...there's a difference between a friendly smile in normal conversation and the one that crosses your face when you are talking or listening to someone who you happen to find quite charming. I started noticing him looking at my hands, as if he were thinking, "I wonder if I can get away with holding one of those yet? Nah, too soon." And as we walked back to the subway in the rain, he walked close enough to me that our arms touched, even though the sidewalk left plenty of space. He even tried to put his arm around me briefly, but seemed to think the better of it. In the subway station, I could tell he was stalling because he wanted a goodnight kiss, which he eventually asked if he could have. And when I let him kiss me, he did everything he could (within reason) to prolong it.

Now, I feel the need to say, for the record, that I like this guy. He's attractive, friendly, fun to talk to, and we have a lot in common. I can see why eHarmony would think we might be compatible, because all indications are that we will get along well and could happily spend a lot of time together. But here's the thing - I'm not intrigued by him. I need to be with someone who challenges me... someone whose moves I can't see coming from three blocks away. Even in friendships, I need to be around people who can keep me guessing - otherwise, I get bored. And this...THIS is why I hate dating and completely suck at it. Because I am apparently quite good at charming the wrong people. Perfectly nice, fun, attractive guys (that just don't quite do it for me for some inexplicable, intangible reason) are often drawn to the persona I present whenever I first meet someone. That same persona also works quite well on dad/grandpa types, some students, and theater people. The problem is that it never seems to work on anyone I have any vested interest in - I think not caring about what the person thinks of me is part of what makes me intriguing and attractive, so when I DO care, it loses something.

A year ago, I probably would've decided that the curse of maturity has ruled out that kind of spontaneous, thrilling chemistry on first meeting that I used to experience when I was younger. But that was before I moved here. Take the VGLM, or any of my crushes since I relocated: more often than not, those crushes initially took root during one particular encounter, where I simply couldn't learn enough about the person and no matter how long I talked to them they left me wanting more. So even if nothing ever comes of any of those, I at least know it's still possible to get that kind of charge. I have a hard time envisioning spending the rest of my life with someone who I never felt that kind of passion for. I don't expect it to last a lifetime - we're not built to sustain that kind of constant stimulation for very long, and at some point hopefully a deeper love takes its place, but shouldn't I at least have it at the beginning? If I were just looking for someone to date...a little companionship, like I have been for the last few years, this guy would be a perfectly good candidate. The problem is, that's not what I'm looking for anymore - I'm looking for someone who can rattle me AND steady me. A core-shaker.

I just have to find one I can rattle just as well.

Extra Ordinary Beauty

Last night was another one of those bizarre, inexplicable, yet fantastic nights out. You know the kind of night I'm talking about - you go out for something simple, like a drink after work, and you end up meeting strange and wonderful new people, having truly entertaining conversations. Eventually you find yourself eating greasy Chinese food at 1:30 in the morning, hoping your new friend can remember your e-mail address because you have nothing to write with and that's easier to commit to memory than a phone number, and taking the night bus all the way home because the subway has stopped running. As I waited for said bus, I was struck by how many perfectly ordinary, beautiful things had happened around me. So here's the list:

1. Honesty. I knew I liked my new friend because as soon as I met him he criticized my outfit. You might think that rude, but the fact of the matter is, he was absolutely right. His major point was that I am "obviously a very vibrant person" and my clothes didn't reflect my personality at all. Which is 100% true. And he didn't like my sleeves - neither did I. But my utter boredom with my wardrobe is a matter for another day.

2. The charge you get from meeting a group of people and feeling like you fit right in. Good interpersonal chemistry can be hard to find, and effortlessly blending into a new group dynamic is not something that I can do often. Of course, beer helps. ;)

3. Really GOOD hugs. In case anyone was wondering, it appears that the VGLM and I are snuggle-compatible (or at least it works on my end). But before you get all excited on my behalf - he had to be bullied into snuggling me, so it doesn't count. But it was some seriously high-quality snuggle - when he actually hugged me back and rested his head on top of mine, I could've died right there.

5. As I walked from my lab to the night bus, a couple of random guys passed me going the opposite direction on College, and one said, "You look great!" I had been lost in thought, so I turned around to see if that was directed at me, and it most definitely was. When you're feeling poorly dressed and unattractive (one of the people we had been hanging out with was a girl I would definitely classify as the VGLM's type, and girls like that ALWAYS make me feel inadequate), a well-timed compliment can do wonders. And "you look great" has always been one of my favorite compliments. It implies that you've managed to put yourself together into a good overall package, and just made a generally strong impression. It seems to be the compliment you get when you're not just wearing a cute top or having a good hair day, but are exuding some sort of attractive intangible. Of course, this guy was probably just drunk and said it to every girl he passed, but it was still something I needed in that moment.

6. The two adorable, heavily perfumed men holding hands as they waited to cross Yonge, and the two girls nuzzling and cuddling while waiting for the bus. I may be alone and bitter, but I still believe that love is a beautiful thing, and this was PDA that was far more sweet than sickening at an hour when most people are drunkenly groping their companions.

7. The guy waiting for the bus that was so drunk and/or stoned that stamping out his cigarette butt seemed to completely blow his mind. He was clearly on a plane of existence that I have never experienced, and frankly hope I never do.

8. The city at closing time, still brightly lit and sidewalks bustling with happy people.

9. The quiet of the 'burbs at 3am.

We live in a beautiful world indeed.

Whine and cheese

I've had this song stuck in my head for the last couple of weeks. It's my ringtone, but my phone rarely rings so I think it's on an endless loop for some other reason. So maybe if I lead off with some lyrics, it'll retreat. Besides, they're kind of appropriate for what follows:

You say I'm crazy
'Cause I can't make up my mind
But I won't let it faze me
'Cause if I leave all these thoughts behind
You'll see that you've got
Someone who's wastin' your time
But that's all right, 'cause I got
Someone who's wastin' mine...

It's in the way you move...
Baby, what you doin' to me?
Can't stand it, can't hold back
Every time I see you get beautiful, beautiful
It's in the way you do
Baby what you're doin' to me
The way you shine, strum your chords
The way you're mine, the way you sing your words

Cause you had me at first glance...

Oh honey, you're dangerous....

-G. Love and Special Sauce, "Beautiful"

Today was an absolutely gorgeous day. Started off cloudy and damp, but shaped up to be sunny, just the right amount of breezy, and basically just what spring should be. A friend who was lucky enough to have the day off invited me to have a drink on a patio somewhere after work and really, who can say no to that? When the sun began to disappear behind the buildings and it started to get just a tiny bit chilly on the patio, I headed back to work to pick up my stuff and head home. Normally, that would be a perfectly lovely way to wrap up my day.

But life never works out quite like you think it's going to, even in trivial matters.

When I got back to work, the place was mostly empty. Until I noticed that the VGLM was still there. (Yep, I'm whining about him again. And I'm sure you're sick of reading about it, but hey, it's my blog - you people just live in it. And it's too late to call or IM anyone to obsess to - this is the only safe place to ponder.) Fueled by my glass of wine on the patio, I wandered back to say hi. Turns out he had just gotten out of a rough 90-minute talk with his boss, so we went out for a beer and wing therapy session. Through the course of the hour and a half or so we spent together, I realized something: I am in serious trouble. I started noticing imperfections. Odd facial expressions, a goofy way of walking - things that make him real, and human. Imperfections are where infatuation leaves off, and real feelings start to take hold. As long as I'm keeping him on an unattainable, idealized pedestal, we're safely in crush territory. It's silly, it's girlish, obsessive, but fun. But sitting across the table from a guy who you are starting to really be able to see yourself with as he's telling you that dating is currently running dead last on his list of priorities...that. just. sucks. Especially since I've been in his position - when I was at the same point in grad school, I made a conscious decision to not pursue any serious relationships. And I'm sure I missed out on a couple of great things as a result - knowing what I know now, would I really have been any worse off if I'd dated someone really special...someone I could have had a chance at a future with? Of course, I'm not suggesting the VGLM would feel that way about me under other circumstances - I refuse to do the whiny obsessive girl thing, trying to analyze what's going on in his head when there's really no way for me to know one way or the other.

I just wish I wasn't feeling that way about him.

Random Silliness

Okay, this has nothing to do with anything, I've just been meaning to post it on here ever since Dave first sent it to me, in the interest of doing my part to boost the number of hits it's getting on YouTube. Although I've sent it to approximately 50% of my readers already, I think we've all probably gone too long without watching it, so click on it again, won't you?

I want you to want me.

"Hi, honey, how was your day?"

I don't always have someone around to ask me that, particularly when I actually had a day that I want to talk about. But let's be honest...isn't that why I have this silly thing? I mean, The Alchemist is always here for me - it doesn't make me talk when I don't want to, but it always listens when I had a good day, or a miserable one, or one that was just plain funny. So here I am, once again, because yesterday was just an...interesting day. Let's begin with my horoscope:

You can gain solid ground today in your quest for stability. Fortunately, this goes beyond financial security, touching also on areas of emotional satisfaction. If you have recently suffered from issues related to low self-esteem, it's time to reconnect with a more positive view of you. Set new goals and move boldly toward them without reserve.

And let's throw in today's for good measure because I think it's applicable to the writing of this post:

Your thoughts are racing all over the map as the scattered Gemini Moon moves through your 8th House of Transformation. You are able to observe every idea from a secure position within your own mind. Explore all the possibilities by playing out every combination of feelings that you can, without becoming attached to any outcome. This isn't about making decisions. It's about letting your imagination loose without worrying which way things will really go.

So my day officially began at 9:30, when we started marking exams. At 6, we finished. That's a LONG freakin' time to be grading the same question, over and over, on at least 250 papers. Cooped up in a small, hot room with 9 other people. After two nights in a row of being a couple of hours shy on sleep. Basically, it's a setting primed for punchiness, and it set in even faster than usual. I realized when I left that I hadn't even taken a bathroom break in the 8 1/2 hours I was there - don't ask how I pulled that off, I'm not entirely sure myself. Suffice it to say, though, we were all a little loopy by the time the marks were all recorded.

Now, I was supposed to go to a TPMG social that was starting at 7. And while a beer was sounding like heaven on earth after all of that marking, trying to be charming and social with 30 strangers...wasn't. I mean, when I'm in that state of mind, I can't be trusted around strangers. These perfectly lovely people would never knew what hit them - being on my best first-impression behavior for an entire evening? Smurf that, yo. So I made my way back to my building, hoping I'd run into someone that would want to go have a beer with me that knew me well enough to deal with my goofy-ass mood.

Enter the VGLM. He's working at an instrument as I walk by, so I stop to chat with him. I tell him about my day, and he says, "you need a beer!" I confirm that yes, indeed I do, tell him about the social that I'm not sure I can quite muster up the motivation to go to, and throw in a, "so if you're going to be around and want to go for a beer in a bit, you know where to find me." And to my very pleasant surprise, he takes the bait! We decide that after he wraps up what he's doing, we'll go have a drink. Color me all kinds of excited. Then a couple of his labmates are heading out for all-you-can-eat sushi and invite him, so he invites me along. Now, I'm a little disappointed that I will no longer get the one-on-one time with the VGLM, but I do enjoy his labmates and I REALLY enjoy all-you-can-eat sushi! Besides, had they not been there, I never would have gotten so many choice stories about the VGLM (there was mention at one point of a rainbow-colored hula skirt), or gotten to sit next to him so that I could enjoy the occasional fleeting arm or leg brushes. I like to think that at this point I was taking my horoscope to heart - all evening I tried to flirt with confidence, keeping any whiffs of desperation at bay. I think I did pretty well. We eventually relocated to a pub for a couple of pitchers, where I managed to get more lingering arm contact as he leaned over periodically to see what was happening in the hockey game. It was just an all-around good time - I laughed a lot, and my goofy mood and silly stories made them laugh.

This morning I was thinking about the simple, effortless fun I had last night, and realized one of the biggest reasons I really like the VGLM. I can talk to him about anything...tell him any embarrassing story, or tell him about any guilty pleasure I have, and I never feel like he is judging me. Most people I know don't really know how to handle my quirks - usually when I'm in a group I end up feeling like a hyperactive weirdo. And that's fine - most people could stand to spend more time around someone who will stir things up, and every group needs a hyperactive weirdo of some sort. It's a fun role to play. But everyone needs to have people to come home to who make them feel normal. People who don't just love you in spite of your quirks, but who never even notice them as odd. And the VGLM does just as many goofy things as I do - he laughs at my stories without ever rolling his eyes or pulling the old smile-and-nod - and then proceeds to tell an even goofier one. It's like it never even occurs to him that this chick is a weirdo. I leave conversations with him feeling passionate and inspired - it's not every day that you find someone like that in this world. I'm comfortable with him in a way I am with very few people, which is why I'm glad I at least have him as a friend. Of course, I'm still completely smitten with him, and if he ever gives me the slightest indication he's interested, I'll be all over that. But I can't make him want to be with me, all I can do is give him plenty of opportunities to figure it out on his own.

I asked my Magic 8-Ball if I was going to date the VGLM.
The response: Without a doubt.

Then I asked if he was ever going to ask me out.
The response: Outlook not so good.

I hate it when I have to do all the work.

Dancin' in the Dark...Blinded by the Light

Get it? Bruce SPRINGsteen? No? Ah, to heck with ya.

Mornings like this are why I really don't mind commuting to work. It's warm outside, drizzling but not really raining, the occasional roll of quiet thunder...classic spring rainy morning. I started a new Vonnegut book this morning that I'm enjoying so much that the hour-long trip went a little too quickly. And when I got to Queen's Park station, my favorite busker was there (I need a name for him - perhaps a Fidder on the Roof reference, but Fiddler in Queen's Park just doesn't quite roll off the tongue. Or fingers, as it were...). I haven't seen much of him since the new year started - the spot he chooses is high-traffic, but WICKED cold in winter since it's right at the bottom of the stairs to the sidewalk, so it's really not a great spot to try to play the violin when the wind chills are -30. He reappeared one of the mornings last week when #1 was visiting...I was so happy, because I really want anyone who comes to visit me to see all of my favorite things in Toronto, and he's awfully high on the list. So anyway, he's usually playing something I recognize (I imagine the more well-known the piece, the better the tips are), but not always things I can connect to a title. This morning, it was easy, because he was playing Vivaldi's The Four Seasons. Spring, naturally. As I walked by, I smiled at him as usual (which alone should tell you how much I love this guy - I don't, as a general rule, smile at strangers, although I wish I did more), and he said, "I like your smile!" so I smiled bigger.

As I walked away, he changed gears and started playing "You are my Sunshine." I like to think it was for me, even though he was probably just flirting with a prettier girl a few steps behind me. :)

I felt bad, though - I had actually thought about him this morning before I left the house and decided the next time I saw him I was going to drop some money in his case; as soon as I heard him playing I pulled out my wallet, but I had absolutely nothing smaller than a twenty or bigger than a quarter. The twenty seems excessive, but the quarter seems downright insulting. Ah, well, I'll catch you next time, Fiddler, because you really do make me smile, and you deserve something for that.

Bananarama

Hello loyal readers...it's been a while, but I have many good excuses, most of which boil down to my having had a lot of work to do lately AND a social life, which doesn't leave much time for blogging. But I had to write tonight - it's kind of an emergency. You see, I heard a rumor today, and I don't know quite what to make of it.

Remember Pepe le Pew? Smarmy French dude who works in another lab on my floor? Well, one of my labmates went to a gathering of francophones/francophiles this weekend, and she and her roommate were teasing PLP, trying to find out who he was interested in. By way of changing the subject, he asked Labmate if I liked a certain labmate of his...namely, the VGLM. You know, that guy that I keep thinking my crush on is finally subsiding, only to find I'm still slightly obsessed with him. Labmate played it off nicely, but apparently PLP said something about how he thought the VGLM had liked me a while ago, but then he liked some other girl, but said other girl has now left town. So basically, the VGLM may or may not have kinda liked me at some point in the past.

What, exactly, am I supposed to do with this information???

I mean, it sucks when someone you have a crush on doesn't notice you, but I do believe it sucks more when they DID notice you, but promptly LOST interest when someone younger/thinner/prettier/taller came along. And the whole thing is just so damned 7th grade...now I inexplicably find myself thinking things like, "does he still like me? And does he like me like me, or just like me?" Since I seem to have regressed to the age of 12, what say I just go with it? How long exactly do I have to wait before leaving him a note that says, "Do you want to go out with me? Circle yes or no."

Meh, it's a moot point for several reasons: 1) I don't consider PLP a very reliable source 2) especially not when filtered through Labmate, 3) even if he DID like me, liking someone else better in the meantime means the odds of him wanting to go out with me now are slim to none, 4) there is no number 4, 5) if it turns out he DOES like me and we end up dating, he will eventually read this blog and dump me for being a stalker or at the very least an obsessive loser, because 6) I still believe he is 100% out of my league and 7) oh, hell, I could go on and on all night here. My point, dear readers, is this: if you like someone, just ask them out. And if you don't, please have the decency to stop being so damned adorable and/or charming around them.

Pop Culture Confessional

Bless me, reader, for I have sinned. It has been quite a while since my last confession. In the interest of putting off the work I'm supposed to be doing today, I find myself watching a repeat of "Pussycat Dolls Present: The Search for the Next Doll," aka, "America's Next Top Talentless Skank." Call it what you will - morbid curiosity...shameless procrastination...whatever...I actually read a write-up that classified it as shameless guilty pleasure TV, and though I already have plenty of shameless guilty pleasures, I really don't want to face that grant proposal before my second cup of coffee. So...here we are. And I feel the need to share some of my thoughts:

- There is one girl who says she is a dancer, not a singer. She "makes no pretense of being a singer." Okay, I realize this is the Pussycat Dolls, not..you know...an ACTUAL singing group, but COME ON. They ARE a recording group - shouldn't they at least put up a front of looking for people who can actually sing??? Although I suppose I have seen ACTUAL Pussycat Dolls forget to hold the microphone to their mouths when they're "singing," so she may, in fact, have a good shot.

- One girl quit her "punk rock band" to audition for this because she thinks "singing and dancing...at the same time" is the ultimate challenge for her and what she is meant to achieve. Yeah. You do that. And here I've been wasting all this time trying to cure cancer.

- There is one girl who says she is a singer, not a dancer. Okay, yeah, you don't have a snowball's chance in hell. And I think I recognize you from Making the Band 3. Not that I watched that.

- On second thought, I think Making the Band Girl and Can't Dance Girl are two different people. Too many Melissas, and I sure as hell don't care enough to keep them straight.

- Melissa count: 3. I think.

- Plane Crash Girl: Yes, it is horribly tragic that your parents and brother died in a plane crash and that you were supposed to be on that plane. However, since you begin every statement about your limitations with, "since my parents died, it's hard to..." you have already used up your sympathy points.

- "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer" count: 1

- While I appreciate the high drama factor involved with half of the girls coming down with a vicious stomach bug the night before the big elimination, do we really need the closeup on the girls while they puke? MTV has mercifully toned down the amount of vomit footage since Jackass went off the air - apparently somebody felt the need to pick up the slack.

- One of the two girls receiving an IV offstage at the audition/elimination just said, "The doctor said he needed to put an IV in me...I started shaking...whatever it was he put in me just went straight into my bloodstream." There are no words.

- Making the Band Girl - way to wear a little skirt that flashes your panties with every step you take. Now THAT's the way to become the Next Doll. But IV Girl is giving you some tough competition in that regard. The former has white panties, the latter black - it's like you're the Skanky Angel and Skanky Devil sitting on the shoulders of the Lead Doll. Aww...that's almost sweet.

- Non-Singer Girl just made it through. Honey, there HAVE to be better ways to use your classical ballet training. Get out while you still can.

- IV Girl made it - that decision can not have been made on her performance, because girl looked like leftover hell warmed over. It must have been the panties.

- Plane Crash Girl did not - good, because now I don't have to continue disliking her and feeling guilty about it because, you know, her whole family died in a plane crash.

- Oh...OH...but next week the celebrity guest judge is...LI'L KIM!!!! Okay, that might be enough to bring me back for one more try. So yeah, the show is complete trash, but there is enormous cattiness potential and it's fun to watch the Lead Doll seethe as she tries to figure out who is least likely to upstage her.

Okay, that was mildly amusing. Now "Crossroads" is on...aww...Britney Spears when she was still cute and not yet batshit insane...ah, but Britney is a pop culture confession for another day.

Feel free to post your pop culture confessions in the comments...it really is good for the soul to get it out there.

My memory has just been sold.

Sometimes I think I'm just a wee bit psychic. For a scientist, I'm remarkably willing to believe in such very unscientific things - I think it comes from having more creativity than knowledge at my disposal at any given time. So... remember that sudden, unexplained bout of homesickness about a week ago? I thought it was weird, because it's not like I just left home...I spent 7 years living in Indiana, only able to go home once (or twice, if I was lucky) a year. In that time, I would occasionally get homesick, but always when it had been 6 months or more since I'd been home, and I was just there over Christmas. Besides, I really like Toronto - I wasn't here for long at all before it started feeling comfortably homey. So wherefore the sudden feeling of longing for my homeland?

Well, I found out on Wednesday that my parents now have an offer on the house I grew up in. The price is good, the contract is uncomplicated, and they're expecting closing to go pretty quickly. And just like that, the door closes on a 25-year chapter of our family history. I was 4 years old when we moved into that house - I don't have any memories of any other house we've lived in. I learned to ride a bike on that street...practiced high-kick routines on the deck in the backyard...on snow days, I rode my little plastic sled down the little hill over and over again until I had a good, icy track made before I made a nest in the family room out of my inflatable snow tube and my comforter, tucked in with a mug of cocoa. Having a big yard with woods behind it meant we all had to help rake the leaves in fall - Mom and Dad would rake up a big pile for my brother and I to jump in, but first they'd try to find a spot of ground without too many tree roots. My brother, always the bolder and less inhibited of the two of us, always seemed to find (usually with his tailbone) exposed roots at the bottom of the pile that I never hit. My job was always to stand in the trash can and stomp down the leaves to compact them, then take them back and dump them on the compost pile when the can was full. When I re-read that, it doesn't sound like much of a memory, but I always liked raking leaves, and I'm really going to miss that yard. There were a lot of good dinners on that deck over the years, and the (now) huge trees always provide lots of squirrel and bird antics to watch. My bedroom faced due east, and I always liked the way the morning sun streamed through my window, filtered through the leaves of the maple tree in the front yard. It would wake me up early on Saturday or Sunday mornings, and I'd curl up in bed with a book, or head downstairs to watch cartoons. In the summer, Dad would usually be outside working in the garden before the full heat of the day set in, and he'd come in, sit on the couch, and start watching Looney Tunes with me. And we would usually have the following conversation:

Dad: Whatcha think, (cute nickname that only Dad is allowed to call me withheld)?
Me: About what?
Dad: Anything.
Me: I don't know...

I remember one time going upstairs to the kitchen for something while Looney Tunes were on, and finding Dad up there cleaning some of the veggies he had brought in from the garden, watching the same cartoons I was. I was SCANDALIZED. It was probably the first time it dawned with me that my daddy was silly.

But Christmas Eve was always the best day of the year in that house, and the one I will miss the most. Since my grandparents and assorted extended family all lived in Illinois, our family holidays were always just about the four of us. My brother and I would have the day off from school, so I'd help Mom with whatever decorating/baking/etc. might still need to be done around the house. Dad would come home from work early and usually rope me into helping him wrap Mom's presents. When it was time for dinner, I'd set the table downstairs in the family room so we could have dinner by the Christmas tree with a fire going in the fireplace. A number of years, dinner was cheese fondue - we did this one year, and the following year my brother and I conveniently re-wrote history and declared it Tradition, which somehow actually worked on my parents. It was the only night of the year we would eat fondue, and usually the only night of the year we used that fireplace. Dad would usually grumble and curse profusely trying to get it going (think The Old Man working on the furnace in A Christmas Story and you've got the idea), but it always had to be done and was always appreciated. After the egg nog and Christmas cookies for dessert, my brother and I would explore the pile of presents under the tree, figuring out how many we had and wondering what they were. He'd lie on his back, looking up through the branches and the colored lights, and I'd follow suit because I learned pretty early on that he has pretty cool ideas and I was a very unoriginal child. Eventually, we'd go to bed, and while the fireplace had made the family room nice and toasty, it would have sucked all of the heat out of the rest of the house, so I'd have to snuggle up in my comforter and wait for the bed to warm up before I could even think about getting to sleep. Meanwhile, Mom and Dad would start putting out the stockings and things - they kept all of the goodies in their room, which was right across the hall from mine, so I always knew what they were up to. My parents are not terribly subtle people. Two Christmases ago, we had our last Christmas Eve in that house. Mom and Dad had bought their retirement house in the Shenandoah Valley a few years ago, and had been starting to have holidays out there, but they had plans to retire last year and figured it would be the last chance to have dinner next to the fireplace. They gave my brother and I the choice of where to spend Christmas, and he voted for the old house. Most depressing Christmas ever - I spent the whole time thinking about how it was going to be the last one and getting really sad. So this year, before they put the house on the market, Mom said, "well, maybe the house won't be sold yet...we might do Christmas here again..." To which I replied, "No! I already HAD my Last Christmas, and you are NOT allowed to put me through that again."

I think that's why I'm so sad about this whole thing - it's been a long, drawn-out farewell. Since they bought the house in the Valley about 5 years ago, Mom and Dad have been slowly phasing into it and out of the old house - repainting rooms one at a time, fixing things that need to be fixed before the house goes on the market, removing things that personalize the house and moving them to the new one, leaving both houses without much of an identity. During that Last Christmas, they had moved the bookshelves that had lined one wall of that family room for 25 years out to the new house. That one change made it no longer feel like our family room, which is part of why that was such a depressing Christmas. When I moved back home briefly last May, I was stunned to see grass planted in my dad's garden - and this isn't some little patch of tomatoes in a corner of the yard...we're talking a significant presence in our backyard that has been devoted to tomatoes, green beans, cucumbers, squash, lima beans, etc. for as long as I can remember. By the time I went home for this past Christmas, they were living full-time out in the Valley to avoid cluttering up the house they were trying to sell, and as Dad put it, "it's like living in someone else's house with all of our furniture" whenever they would come back up to Dale City. So it's really a good thing that it's been put out of its misery - apparently, should the deal go through smoothly, there will be two families moving into the house, and there are at least a couple of little girls. They were particularly drawn to the lot, which means my yard will be put to good use, which I am happy about. And it'll be nice for my parents to finally be able to REALLY settle into the new house, furniture, wall hangings, and all. It truly is perfect for them, and after a lifetime of working hard and making sacrifices to raise us, it's just a drop in the bucket as far as what they deserve. But pardon me while I have a moment of silence for my old house. It was a good house, and I'm going to miss it, orange shag carpeting and all.

Confucius say....WTF???

Okay, so today I go downstairs to the cafeteria to get a Noodle Bowl, and am delighted to find out that the Noodle Place gives you a fortune cookie with your food. I love fortune cookies, especially the vanilla-flavored ones (as opposed to the orangey ones) - it may be hard for your tastebuds to distinguish between the actual cookie and the paper fortune, but dangit, it's not about flavor, it's about the fortune. And sometimes the lucky numbers/say it in Chinese! feature on the back of the fortune. Frankly, there's a lot of enjoyment to be had in something so small and uncomplicated.

My delight was, however, significantly dampened when I realized that I had taken the World's Lamest Fortune Cookie (tm). You may ask, how Lame does a fortune cookie have to be to win the title of World's Lamest (tm)? I give you Exhibit A, my fortune:

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Take that step today!"

This is annoying on so many levels. First and foremost, it is NOT A FORTUNE. At best, it is advice - extremely vague advice at that, and not really very helpful, even if I WERE the type to make major life decisions based on what cellophane-wrapped desserts told me to do. But this sort of offense has reached near epidemic levels in the fortune cookie world, so it is hardly surprising. Secondly - that exclamation point. Fortunes should be vaguely, solemnly inspiring...not perky. There are starving aerobics instructors in Africa that would be thrilled to have that exclamation point - it's really just going to waste here. Perhaps most importantly, the fortune is not improved AT ALL by adding the words, "in bed!" Even the lamest non-fortunes become funny when you add "in bed," (i.e., It is better to give than to receive...in bed) and the best ones become that much better (i.e., You are the greatest person in the world...in bed). But not this fortune - the "in bed" appendix does nothing for it, and it's only marginally improved by the addition of "in my pants." But only because "in my pants" is an inherently funnier phrase than "in bed" - it still doesn't make any sense, but at least the "in my pants" is there to bring home the giggle. But oh...it gets worse. I flip my fortune over, only to find...no lottery numbers...no "how to say 'milk' in Chinese!" (that one's my favorite because dude, Chinese people are largely lactose intolerant - is it really a word I'm going to use much should I ever need to put my fortune-cookie language skills to use? Will I really ever find myself in a situation saying, "Dammit, if I only had the vocabulary, I could talk to this Chinese person about DAIRY!"?)...just the same damned fortune IN FRENCH. You know what? "Take the first step today!" in French? EQUALLY LAME.

Man. If a girl can't enjoy her Western bastardizations of Chinese culture, what reason is there to go on living? Or at least, to buy an overpriced noodle bowl?

Heart is where the Home is...

"Outside, autumn is over, and yet it's not quite winter. Indiana farmlands speed past in black and white. Beautiful. Until you remember that the world is supposed to be in color."
-ZZ Packer

I've been feeling homesick lately, but I think it's really much more a matter of being wintersick. I mean, I'm sitting here at my desk at work, looking out my window at the falling snow, and while Virginia got about 6" of snow over the weekend, it's mostly sunny and well above freezing there today. So even when it's snowing, it's still perfectly reasonable to go out, snap some pictures (I was out for all of maybe 10 minutes yesterday to take this shot, and my fingertips were numb by the time I got a single shot), play in the snow, whatever. I miss that. The overall dreariness of winter is starting to weigh on me - I'm tired of the world being in black and white, sick of being cooped up and not able to go out and play. Now I know how the dogs must feel when they're left in their crate all day while the family is out and about. But a couple of things have come my way over the weekend that have made me think about home more than usual. Apparently, my home state became the first to openly apologize for the institution of slavery on Saturday. I never know what to say about things like that - does such an apology really make anyone feel any better? Does it right the wrongs committed by our forefathers? And whose job is it to accept or reject said apology? I am, quite frankly, surprised that it took this long for someone to officially apologize, but I guess I'm glad it was my state that did it. Especially since it wasn't that long ago that we were officially observing Lee-Jackson-King Day every January - racial sensitivity is learned in baby steps, my friends. It's an odd little landmark, but it does make me miss the goofy split personality of the state. Virginia is deeply torn between the yuppie suburbia of the D.C. area, the down-home country simplicity of the small towns and farms, the urban decay of the larger cities, and the deep Southern gentility that tends to be associated with the capital of the Confederacy. It can be as infuriating as it is inspiring, but I have to say that I miss that environment and am a true product of it - being the child of Midwesterners, raised in the D.C. area but still south of the Mason-Dixon line, I enjoy being able to play a number of different roles in a particular situation - southern belle or damn yankee, city mouse or country mouse, culture vulture or crunchy granola, according to whichever role best suits my mood on that day. I like to think it keeps people guessing, when I'm sure it's more accurate to say that it convinces them I'm a lunatic. But my friends from back home get it.

But what really made me homesick was when I was goofing around on Flickr and found this. How does something like that NOT make you homesick? It made me realize that it's been many moons since I've seen VA during the fall season, and that is by far the best time to do all of the camping, hiking, wine tasting, sightseeing, and picture-taking that I so love to do. And so the ZZ Packer quote comes to mind - even in winter, the world SHOULD be in color, dagnabbit! Unless of course you're after a black and white shot, but I prefer those when they're by design, not by default. :) I may never move back to VA, but I don't think it will ever stop being Home. So I'm left in Toronto, watching the snow fall, and wondering how long it will be before the spring flowers will give me a reason to stop wishing I was there. Regardless, I guarantee I won't be whining about being far from home come August....

It's the little rings that count.

File this under things that make me happy: While standing in line at H&M, there's a guy whose wife/girlfriend/significant other/babymama has left him in charge of watching their child in the stroller (one of those hardcore, all-terrain strollers with the big wheels with big fat treads on the tires) while she pays for her purchases. Guy gets a phone call. Guy's ringtone is..."Let's Get it On" by none other than Marvin Gaye. Now, it's not every guy that can pull off Marvin Gaye with a stroller, but this guy totally did. And while I was in his vicinity, he got, like, 3 phone calls. Guy is infinitely more cool than I will ever be. And it got me thinking, what does your ringtone say about you? Mine is currently "Beautiful" by G. Love and Special Sauce, but my phone rarely rings, so it's kind of a moot point. My old phone had "Baby's Got Sauce," also by G. Love, but I had to get a new phone when I moved and my current provider doesn't offer that particular title (a very sad day in my world). So I pose the question to you, my readers: what is your ringtone at the moment?


Other things that made me happy today:

- The exceedingly random selection of forgotten 80's hits that followed me around the mall.

- Sunshine. It was still ass cold, but the days are definitely feeling longer now, and the sun does a body good.

- The ADORABLE sundress I tried on at H&M. I didn't buy it, because I have not yet decided what color I want. I shouldn't buy it, because I don't have much use for dresses. But the problem is, now that I've lost the weight I gained in the last couple of years of grad school, I have found it is impossible to find pants that fit. It is, however, much easier to find dresses that fit. So, I should be buying dresses, not pants. So the only question is, where do I find someone who will take me to the places where it's appropriate to wear the dresses? They're not fancy...just not something I'm going to wear for a day of lab work. Dave, if only you were here to take me swing dancing, all of my problems would be solved.

- I had an...um...interesting dream about one of my crushes last night. Yes, I said "one of" - if you haven't figured it out by now, I am a total crush whore. Here's the weird part - in the dream, I was fully aware that there were four "chapters" to the dream. I came in at the start of chapter 2 (somehow I missed chapter 1, like when I come home from work late and miss the beginning of one of my TV shows...I think I may have slept through part of my own dream), and continued through chapter 3, but woke up right before chapter 4, aka the Good Stuff, started. What gives??? I mean, it's bad enough that I'm not getting any action in real life, but when I don't even get any IN MY DREAMS, that's just pathetic. I can't shake the feeling I had in the dream, though. It's making me see that person in a WHOLE different light, which is funny, since that light only exists in my subconscious.

- Vegas, baby. Vegas.

Things That Suck About Canada

Until now, I've mostly written very nice things about my adopted country, so I figured it was about time to let loose some minor grievances. So without further ado, I present my list of north of the border grievances:

1. Liquor prices. Yellow Tail is a perfectly fine bottle of wine for $5.99 (wow, that's some serious rhymage). For over $12, it is utter crap. A bottle of regular old Jim Beam should never cost $24, and neither should the cheapest cases of beer in the store. I don't care if we ARE talking Canadian dollars - it still ain't right.

2. Wind chill. This is what spawned the formation of this particular List - the winters in Toronto are nearly identical to those I left behind in northern Indiana, except for the wind chill. The wind chill is evil, and it needs to be stopped.

3. It's not delivery, it's DiGiorno, you hosers! NOT Delissio!

4. There is no #4, eh?

5. No VH1. Sure, MuchMusic pretty much consists entirely of recycled programming from VH1 and E!, but that doesn't help me when I want to watch the Flavor of Love finale with my friends back home. Not that I watch Flavor of Love...I mean...um...never mind. Also, all of my MTV shows are at least two weeks behind here. Not that I watch any of those either. What's MTV? Moving on...

6. No BBQ, no Chick-Fil-A, and no real Mexican food. Toronto in particular has loads of things going for it culinarily speaking, but is sorely lacking in these three areas. And before you Canadians reading this try to pipe in and say, "no, wait, I know a great Mexican place..." No, you don't. Trust me. You people don't know what good Mexican food is. It's not your fault, you just don't know any better. Same thing goes for real barbecue - I am more than willing to let you try to prove me wrong, but from what I've seen so far, I am appalled. I have stashed containers of leftovers in my suitcase and had the following conversation at customs:

"Do you have anything to declare? Carrying any alcohol, tobacco, or food items?"

"Just some cooked pork, sir."

I am willing to do it as many times as I must until the Canadian BBQ situation is rectified.

7. No real football. I've addressed this problem before, but feel it needs to be revisited. At this point, you've all either read or attempted to read my play-by-play of the Super Bowl. Responses to this entry have been as sharply divided as Britney Spears and sanity - and that split occurs precisely at the border. The Americans: "Awesome! Loved it!" The Canadians: "So, you...really like football, eh?" Sigh...they will never understand me here...

GASP!!!

You have no idea how badly I need these.

Oh, you only THINK I'm kidding...

Days of Whine and Roses

Look, I know I said I would be done whining by now but...well...I'm not. It's been a bad day as far as my overall outlook on life is concerned and I'm feeling a little overwhelmed, so pardon me while I get some of the little, insignificant crap out of my system:

1. Um, hi, eHarmony? Why exactly do you have me set an age range for my matches if you're just going to match me with someone 2 years outside of that range? I wasn't even entirely comfortable with the age range you recommended for me, but was willing to see how it went - why you gotta try to push me?

2. Um, hi, weather? I really appreciate you warming up and all, but an already busted tailbone + black ice = a far greater quantity of suck than one person should really have to deal with just to buy some milk and a box of KD. Frankly, winter in general? I'm done with you. I'm itching to go out and do springlike things, but you just won't let me yet.

3. Um, hi, tailbone? You can really start healing any time now. I'm trying to do my part by not taking any painkillers that would encourage me to do further damage to you, but you're making it very difficult to get any work done without them. C'mon...meet me halfway.

4. There is no #4.

5. Um, hi, CHM 139 administrative crap? Let's just say my bruises aren't the only pain in my ass right now.

6. Um, hi, whatever car company it is that is using "Hail to the Chief" in your ads? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, President's Day is over. MAKE IT STOP. I mean, come on...there's gotta be something in the Patriot Act about that shit.

Okay, I think that's it for the things that I can safely whine about here. My horoscope today said:

Normally, you are attracted to experiences that enrich your life. However, now you are more likely to act impulsively on your desires. This can create a complex situation that requires you to work out the details of an unfolding relationship. Stay aware of what other people need, but also be sure to pay attention to your own physical and mental health.

I don't know if eating an entire box of KD for dinner counts as "acting impulsively on my desires," and I certainly don't know how that could have complicated an unfolding relationship (do I even have any relationships unfolding right now?), but the part about physical and mental health is hitting pretty close to home today. I hope this isn't indicative of another span of my horoscopes being accurate - they always freak me out when they do that.

Okay, speaking of impulsively acting on desires, I'm off to make some cocoa.

Things That Make Me Die Inside

Um...seriously??? Why don't we just call it what it is - America's Next Top Talentless Skank. I mean, that doesn't even have so-bad-it's-good potential - it's just so-bad-it-should-NEVER-HAPPEN.

Laissez les bon temps rouler!

It's Mardi Gras! And if, like me, you spent the weekend generally immobile while subsisting on nothing but marked-down Valentine's chocolate and pizza because they are the only foods that are within arm's reach and/or come straight to your door, then it really is Fat Tuesday. But if you DIDN'T spend the weekend gaining 5 lbs. like me, then you've got approximately 60 minutes left in which to get thee some gumbo. Personally, I went out for Indian food - not sure if that's really the idea, but hey, it was spicy, and I'm not sure jambalaya exists in Canada anyway. Zydeco does, however, as I was quite surprised to learn today, so maybe there is hope for the Great White North after all. Let the good times roll (at least until midnight)!

I am a veritable font of useless information

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Wahooty!

1. Wahooty is 984 feet tall!
2. If you lie on your back with your legs stretched it is impossible to sink in Wahooty.
3. Japan provides over thirty percent of the world's Wahooty supply.
4. If you keep a goldfish in a dark room, it will eventually turn into Wahooty.
5. The word 'samba' means 'to rub Wahooty'!
6. New Zealand was the first place to allow Wahooty to vote.
7. South Australia was the first place to allow Wahooty to stand for parliament!
8. You can tell if Wahooty has been hard-boiled by spinning her. If she stands up, she is hard-boiled!
9. It's bad luck to put Wahooty on a bed.
10. Wahooty can taste with her feet.

Courtesy of The Mechanical Contrivium.