Calm down

Both of you. I thought my Sarah Palin Halloween costume was cute, and it took me a while to make. I didn't intend for it to spark a flame war.

I considered taking the picture down, but screw it. I meant no harm, so I'm leaving it up.

I don't give a rat's patootie about who you vote for, as long as you vote with your heart. Look past the platforms, the labels, the rhetoric, the pandering, the slogans, the campaign signs, and the crazy women who carve things into their own faces. All any of that does is distract you from what's really important.

If you can vote early, do it. And if you live in a backwards state such as South Carolina where there is no early voting, then buck up and wait in line. And that's all I'm going to say about that.

Happy Halloween, Rock Band!

My goodness! Could it be? John McCain and Sarah Palin rockin' out to Judas Priest?

On jellyfish and federal funding

A lot has been made the past few weeks about various snubs by the Nobel Foundation in choosing the 2008 Nobel Prize recipients. The one that's received the most play in the media has been the Nobel in physiology/medicine, which went to two French scientists who isolated HIV in the 1980s. The prize didn't include Robert Gallo, an American scientist who linked HIV to AIDS.

Scientific American has an interesting list of 10 scientists who probably should've received Nobel prizes ... but didn't. (One fault is that the Nobel specifies that it can only be shared by three researchers, so everyone else loses out.) But the list doesn't mention Douglas Prasher, who probably should've had a hand in the 2008 Nobel Prize for chemistry.

Truth is, there's been relatively little media play over Prasher. The 30-second version: Dr. Prasher discovered a gene that makes jellyfish glow and believed the discovery could be used in detecting cancer and other diseases. Then his funding ran out. In an last-ditch effort to save his research, he sent test tubes with the gene to two other scientists. They continued his work and won the Nobel. He won nothing. (They have, however, conceded he made a vital contribution to the findings.) But here's the rub: While the winning scientists are sharing a $1.5 million prize, Prasher is driving a courtesy shuttle for an Alabama Toyota dealership. He makes $8 an hour. (CNET has a longer, well-written story if you're so inclined to read more.)

I think every scientist fears what happens when the funding dries up. I mean, everybody worries about how they'd pay the bills if they lost their jobs. (And boy, does it ever sting. Don't get me started about how hard it's been looking for a job in this economy, where job-seekers outnumber jobs three to one.) But scientists face a special kind of job insecurity. A lot of funding comes, in one form or another, from the government. And that means campaign-happy terms such as "spending freeze" can be scary. Something to think about during election season.

But back to Prasher. I don't know what I would've done had I been in his shoes. Would I have sent my research on or selfishly kept it for myself? Probably neither. Instead, I probably would've assumed my research wasn't really that good -- otherwise, wouldn't somebody want to pay for it? -- and quietly packed up my beakers and notebooks.

There's something to be said for Prasher's confidence in his work. He knew a good thing when he saw it. Unfortunately, the dollars don't always go where they should. In a perfect world, he'd see some of that Nobel cash. But even if he doesn't, here's hoping somebody recognizes he should be in a lab instead of behind the wheel of a Toyota courtesy shuttle.

Bonus link: "Obama, McCain Battle for Science Cred" (AP, Oct. 16)

A visit from home!

Paul and I had visitors in Charleston last week. My parents and grandmother moved their normal October vacation from Destin to Charleston, marking my first visit from home. I had a great time doing the tourist thing (hey, I'm a newbie here, too). Paul even scooted out of work early one day to visit the USS Yorktown docked in Charleston Harbor.

The tours on the Yorktown were interesting. We climbed several flights of stairs from the ground floor to the flight deck, and Paul was like a kid in a candy store studying the various navigational equipment. Unfortunately, what goes up has to come down, and that meant I had to face my fear of going down stairs that were so vertical they were practically ladders. After I made it back to the ground floor, I stuck to the "safe" exhibits (read: not upstairs or downstairs). Overall, though, I think everyone had a good time. My parents, both Navy brats, enjoyed sharing how things were when they were growing up. Dad told me about a summer "internship" he had on a carrier in the summer between his 8th and 9th grade years. (That would've been around 1961, I think.) He had to live like the sailors: sleep in hammocks, stand watch, etc. It was the first time I'd heard those stories. Fun stuff.

Mom and Dad bought us some much-needed furniture for our porch, as well as a small vacuum and bedding for the guest bed. They also brought lots of goodies from home (silver bathroom accessories, a bunch of clothes I had to leave behind, three boxes of Splenda I left in the pantry, etc.). It was great to see them. And it's one of the few times in the past few weeks that I've actually been glad that I'm not working right now. A whole week with my family! I didn't even get that when I lived in Memphis!

Seems a little lonely now without them here. But I've been nursing a bad cold with a fairly high (102-degree) fever, so I've been sleeping a bunch the past couple of days. Paul's afraid it's the flu -- I have all the symptoms at FluFACTS, including the sudden onset -- so he rushed out yesterday for a flu shot. But the joke's on him; the flu virus is contagious at least a day before symptoms show, and the flu shot isn't fully effective for two weeks. Eh, he probably gave it to me, anyway. No telling what snifflies the cadets are passing among themselves, and the new faculty members usually catch everything. We went through this when he started teaching at Memphis a few years ago.

I tell you, I'm still excited about seeing my family. It really, really brightened things up. Just sorry the week flew by as fast as it did.

Clean underwear (and a semi-funny post about how I idiotically hurt my foot)

You guys ever heard the saying about wearing clean underwear because you never know when you might be in an accident and have to go to the hospital? I've never understood why that's the reason why you should wear clean underwear. Is there any reason why you shouldn't wear clean underwear?

Yes, I'm going somewhere with this.

If you haven't been following my tweets, you might not know that I stepped on something sharp in my kitchen yesterday. I didn't know what it was, but it hurt like Hades and my foot started bleeding pretty badly. I put pressure on it, which slowed the bleeding a little but didn't stop it.

A half an hour went by with a Kleenex plastered to my foot and I had an epiphany. The night before, a piece of glass had chipped off a cup. "We shouldn't stack these cups," I told Paul, "because they can chip like this." I didn't see where the glass had fallen and I didn't think too much of it.

Yep, that's what I had stepped on. And as I put pressure on my foot, it was just digging itself in more and more. Ouch. Paul came home and looked at it. "I have bad news," I told him. "I think I stepped on that piece of glass from the cup. And I think it might be in my foot."

"Crap," he said. "Okay, let me look for it on the floor. Maybe it's not in your foot." He got down on his hands and knees and poked around on the floor. He got out a flashlight. I sat on the couch and winced.

"Where's the cup?" he asked, to which I replied, "Why does it matter?" "Because," he told me, "I want to see how the piece of glass will be shaped." So I pointed to the glass and he picked it up. He ran his finger along the rim. He cut his finger. (Don't tell me you didn't see that coming.)

I was in enough pain that I didn't throw a fit when he told me we were going to an after-hours clinic. I didn't put on makeup. But to answer the question you're probably asking yourself: Yes, my underwear was clean.

The nurse ordered three x-rays of my foot. The x-ray tech made me laugh, which made me feel better. Then the doctor visited me and told me I had to get the glass out. I thought that was a given, but apparently I was wrong. "You know, if it were a little piece and this deep in, say, your thigh muscle, I wouldn't bother," he said, holding his hands about eight inches apart. "Trying to get it out would cause much more trauma than just leaving it in there. People, you know, get shot with shotguns, and they have, like, five or six pieces in them and their body just walls it off. But because this is in your foot and you're going to be walking on it all day, I need to take it out."

And that was his preface as to why I needed minor surgery. I asked them to get Paul out of the waiting room to hold my hand -- possibly a mistake because Paul comes very close to passing out at the sight of needles, scalpels and whatnot.

But here's where I'm going with this. My underwear was absolutely, positively clean, but I looked like hell. No makeup. My toenail polish was chipped. And I really needed to shave my legs.

I'm on hydrocodone and an antibiotic, and my foot feels so much better. But the hydrocodone knocked me out for most of the day, meaning I still haven't shaved my legs or painted my toenails. It's all cool as long as I don't get into another accident.

... But at least I'm wearing clean underwear if I do.

Poetic justice

A friend of mine has been dealing with a hobbled computer that refuses to recognize the 7 key and space bar. First thought, of course, was that the problem originated somewhere within the keyboard. (Hey, you can only spill so much stuff on one before it starts to contemplate your demise.)

She plugged in a new keyboard. Nothing changed. Still no space. Still no 7.

Unable to diagnose the problem and faced with wordsforeverrunningtogetherwithnospaces, she devised a solution: Hit enter after every word. An actual e-mail:

I

am

going

out

but

will

be

home

early.

Just

eating

dinner

at

around

seven.

It has a certain ... je nais se quoi, no? Instead of a plain-Jane statement about a boring evening, it's almost poetic! And it's doubly poetic if you imagine it voiced slowly, haltingly, by William Shatner! (Go ahead, do it. I'll wait.)

This can be applied to any statement. Example:

The
cat
is
shedding
on
my
new
sweater.
Bad,
bad
cat.

Did you use your Shatner voice? No? Don't you know line breaks alone don't make poetry? You have to have the right inflection, the right speed, the right mindset. Go back and do it again until you get it right.

And now, I'm just going to stand back and wait for my visionary poetry to garner high acclaim and numerous awards. Maybe, in my infinite generosity, I'll pay to fix her computer. (Don't count on it.)

I'm just waiting for her blender to break so I can come up with a fantastic new cooking method. Or for her hair dryer to break so I'm recognized for my brilliant hairstyling acumen. Or for her water heater to break ...

Okay, honestly I don't know what I'd do in that situation.

Weekend happenings

Today's probably the last day we'll go to the beach to swim. It's getting cold out -- not cold like "I need a windbreaker" cold, just cold enough that the water is uncomfortably hard to tolerate. It's a shame, too; Mom, Dad and my grandmother are coming to visit in a week and I'd been hoping to take them to the beach. At the very least, we can go shell-hunting. I've never been on a beach with so many pretty, unmarred shells.

The weekend was semi-eventful (well, compared to "normal life," at the very least). I went to see Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist Friday afternoon. Cute film, decently executed. Would've been a total loss had the cast not included the cutesy duo of Michael Cera and Kat Dennings, who played off each other fairly well. I do wish the film had stayed truer to the book, which was an engaging read. I'm not much for teen books, but this one sucked me in.

Friday night, Paul and I went on a harbor cruise for tenure-track professors. Did my best to be social ... and actually engaged in conversation with quite a few people. Met one of my neighbors, Chris, who's a visiting assistant professor of English. Dinner was barbecue (but nothing like home ::sigh::). Mentioned to a few people that I'm looking for an editing gig, so hopefully someone will put out feelers and help a girly out.

Saturday was low-key. Didn't answer my phone all day (sorry). Played some Rock Band.

This morning, the apartment complex management served brunch. Quite a spread: omelette station with chef, waffles, sausage, fruit, pastries. Oh, and they served cheese grits with an amazing cajun chicken/ham topping. Wish I'd caught the name of it, but the caterers were gone by the time Paul went back to ask the name. (He's such a good sport.) Likely will try to cook it anyway. Ate with Chris again. Paul and I think it's great we know someone within the complex. It's become a lonely, tiresome task trying to meet people. Being shy is damning.

Okay, time to grant Paul a repreive from writing his lecture. The beach awaits.