vignettes from 205

No one else will possibly enjoy these stories as much as I did- this is more for documentation purposes. Like a scrapbook of words. I guess that is my purpose for this entire thing.

My roomates are wonderfully...funny (among many other great attributes). The other night I was in my room and they were in the kitchen. I heard them whispering but didn't concern myself with it, as I was having an unusual productive spurt. I suddenly heard a weird crash and lots of ambiguous noises that sounded bad. Nicole started screaming OH MY GOODNESS ARE YOU OK RACHEL? in an extremely dramatic voice. She kept yelling. Finally I thought, " hmm...maybe I should check up on them". As I got up from my exercise ball (a.k.a. the desk chair- which is currently deflating due to a slow leak), Nicole cried " Kara KARA come HELP!". For some reason I wasn't very worried. Maybe it was Nicole's tone. So I walk out and there is a plastic plate on the floor, broken completely in half. Both of my roomates were laughing hysterically, and I was very confused.

Turns out they had been planning a scene to scare me and have me come out of my room. They couldn't find anything else that would make a loud noise but not break, so they used our plastic plate. (BUT it broke nonetheless) When I say plastic plate, I mean it entirely in the singular sense. We own about 50 mugs, 30 bowls, and a plate. Not a microwaveable one, by the way. You have to use a bloody potholder to take it out of the microwave without suffering 2nd degree burns. (Ok so there are really three plates, but the two non broken ones are the size of my fist.) Somehow Rachel managed to break the plastic plate. Fear not, plates have been bought since then.
Only my roomates would accidentally sacrifice the plate for some laughs. They are silliness embodied.
I can't say I am much different, though.
I really love them.
--------------
We had a fly problem recently. This problem is resolved thanks to our stalking skills. We don't even own a swatter, so we had numerous rolled papers with fly-gut splatters on them. I always enjoyed walking into the kitchen to see Rachel unmoving...in a wide-legged crouched stance. She immediately shushed me to let me know she was fly-stalking. Then WHACK. She was the best fly killer I have ever seen. My role model, in fact.
Due to the newfound personal space I need around my ear, it was especially disconcerting to wake up to a fly buzzing around it one morning. I think I screamed a bit.
I wasn't the best fly stalker, but I tried. I think it was particularly awkward when I was getting dressed one evening and a fly threatened to violate my earhole. I went into killer mode as nightmares of previous flying bugs crept into my mind, and immediately began swinging wildly at him with the shirt I hadn't put on yet.
Note: t-shirts do not make good fly swatters. there is an obvious air resistance problem.
It was during one of my serious predator-like pauses to re-sight the intruder when I realized, hey...I am naked. I am running around my room flailing a t-shirt in all directions..AND I don't have clothes on. Good thing my door was closed.
Anyway, I think I weakened the fly's strength significantly with my wild t-shirt swings. He probably got very dizzy with those compound eyes and all.
At least all the flies are all gone now. We conquered what was our rightful territory, and the fly kingdom lives no more.
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I came home from Austin to find that my toilet was clogged. This is the third time it has been clogged... and NONE of them were when I was home. This can only mean one thing: there is a phantom pooper in our house. My roomates fereverently deny that is was them, so I figured it must be a sticky-pooped ghost. clearly.
It remained clogged for sometime seeing as I was not aware of any plunger in the house. I usually managed to just go at school, or when I was desperate run upstairs to the roomate's bathrooms. There was one night however, when neither of these things would have worked. A major dilemma I was caught in, seeing that both of my roomates were asleep and I was feeling a need. I considered going upstairs, but it was either wake them up, or leave them with a present for morning. Neither of these options seemed considerate. (their bathrooms are right off their rooms and have no doors.)
There is alot of construction going on right next to our home because they are building more or our homes. This seems unrelated until you realize that construction workers need a place to go potty too. That is right. a portable place. (just across from my front door.)
I did in fact get dressed to venture out into the night and brave the port-a-potty. This is how much I love my roomates. There are two blue plastic utilities sitting across the way, and so I timidly approached. After looking about furtively, I held my breath and opened the door in a pained, slow manner. My foot lifted to go inside.... and then my body said no. I couldn't do it. It was too dark and suspicious and awful.
So I went back inside and held it 'til morning.

I am sure you are thrilled to hear it.

When Henry met Kara

Every night when I return home to the trusty townhouse, I am greeted by a veil of unwelcome visitors. It is an entomologist's playground. They congregate around porch lights like Americans to reality TV. It took me about 10 minutes to actually walk through my doorway and get inside tonight. I stood from a safe distance ruminating on the creepiness of bugs (especially the flying ones), and every time I would build up courage and step up to the door, I would lose it before getting my key in.
Don't get me wrong, bugs have always been creepy: but they were nevermore so than after this weekend, when I became fairly well acquainted with one.
It was about two in the morning and Brian was getting ready to leave my house. I went downstairs to the back porch and let my dog outside to do her thing. As I was waiting beneath the infamous porch light, a moth made a dive for my head and I calmly swatted away. Well, apparently this meant war, and with the next swoop he got me good- real good.

HE FLEW INTO MY EARHOLE.
We are talking all the way in folks.

Panic followed.

I am not sure who was flipping out more, me or the bug. But apparently I freaked out enough to drop the s-bomb. This is quite a rare occasion indeed.
As he flitted about against my eardrum I let out whispered screams for help. I couldn't yell because my mom was sleeping downstairs, so these hoarse noises of desperation were sounded repeatedly as I ran to the stairs calling Brian. He ran downstairs and found me crumpled at the bottom... in the fetal position while swatting frantically at my head. Very high-pitched, unintelligible rambling was emanating from my mouth, which was on a face contorted dramatically with fear.
I was pretty calm about the whole ordeal.
The bug on the other hand, was totally freaking out. I knew, because his wings were BANGING against my EARDRUM. It sounded like a humming bird got stuck inside a bongo or something. Every once in a while, he would calm down, and for a moment, just a moment, my insanity resided. Then he would freak out again.
I really couldn't take it. Now I know what makes me go uncontrollably wacky.
After 10 minutes of me convulsing in utter terror and anguish, I totally wanted my mommy. So we woke her up, scared her a bit when she saw me cupping my ear in a death grip, and cried for help. After shining lights to coerce him out, he let me know that obviously he was flipping out because he could not, in fact, turn around. The two of us came to sort of an understanding at that moment. Neither of us stopped panicking though. Through his wild flitting and exhausted gasps, somehow I became aware that his name was Henry.
After about 30 minutes we knew we had to go to the emergency room. Henry was still just as energetic and desperate as ever, and I couldn't take it anymore. So before we left I convinced my mom to pour olive oil down my ear and suffocate the trapped fellow. I had never felt a more tangible and immediate sense of relief flow over me than when that olive oil was flowing down my ear canal and Henry stopped moving.
I never thought I would be so thrilled with death. I guess bugs are an exception.

We went to the emergency room at Christus Santa Rosa (this is about 3:00 on a saturday night/sunday morning) And a nice man squirted my ear with a plastic syringe full of warm water. This cost us $75 - even with insurance, mind you.
The beaten body of Henry floated out into a tray, and for the first time, I looked him in the...abdomen. I couldn't really see because I didn't have my contacts in, but as far as I could tell he looked analagous to a large grain of black wild rice. The sans-contacts issue was interesting when signing all the paperwork. I had to bend down and practically put my nose on the paper to see where the X was. The paperwork took much longer than the bug removal process. It is a good thing we gave them all that information though, because if I had died they would have known that I did not, in fact, have a will. Also, they would have been aware that I am associated with the United Methodist Church. This way they know who to call to deal with the burial and such.

Anyway, after a crazy night with my two favorite people (Mom and Bri), we stopped off at whataburger and had a little breakfast biscuit party until about 4:30 or so. Then it was time for bed.
So when you see me wearing earmuffs in the summertime, now you will understand why.

the aftertaste of langour
rests...
displeasing subtleties of fall
for these soft wild dreams displace
so much now
leaving footprints of perfect past and certain future
tainting what lives presently
with just enough sweetness
to taunt me far away

Ya know, I am kind of a big deal around here...

disregard title if you do not recognize the phrase from an unspeakably lame (but mildly funny) movie.

The one thing I struggle with most is wanting to debate and reason out everything. Some would say this isn't a bad thing and I would agree- to an extent. That extent is faith. Not that there is no room for logic and reason in faith, but it dilutes it a bit- makes it pointless.
Herein lies the problem: debating is too easy, and rarely does anything come with it. People can say they are going into a debate with an open mind, which I am sure they believe. They are wrong. Ultimately, facts never change a person's heart. Often they are too busy getting their panties in a wad while debating.
This is one of those lessons that God doesn't just teach you. This is one of those lessons where God has to teach you, and teach you, and teach you, and then bang you over the head with it, and then bang some more.... etc.
It is difficult for me to learn, because I like facts, and I won't lie... they like me back.
I know alot. I can argue lots of things, and especially if they are God things. This often leads me, (or I am constantly afraid that it does/will lead me) to feel rather self-important. [LAME. As if I could take credit for knowledge, and as if it makes me important.] I hate that. Then I end up trying to appear humble by claiming that I don't really know much. (When it comes to the grand scheme of things, I really don't- and I understand this.) But that is false self-deprication.
Folks, self-deprication is a sad excuse for humility. If humility is a woman(and it isn't..at ALL), then self-deprecation is like a man who cross dresses and calls himself a gender neutral name. He might fool some people, but dude, when he talks, it is all over.
Humility should not require stifling of knowledge, but rather, the realization of its vanity in light of the truth.

The other day I found out that those baby cheese wheels are covered in a hard yellow wax. You have to take that off before eating it. I was miffed when I comented on how hard the cheese was, and my mom cocked her head in confusion, and then explained. I felt sort of baffled by my ignorance. Surely being 20 means I should know the simpler tricks of the world. It was like when I was little and I tried to eat the skin of the kiwi. Once I found out that I was, in fact, normal for not enjoying kiwi skin, I felt sort of a bemused disappointment tainted with a strand of stuffy humility.
If anyone can make humility stuffy, it would be me.

For some reason I get a similar feeling when I go to the doctor's office, and sit on that paper-covered table/bed thing. I always want to swing my legs, and every time they hit the drawers underneath. For some reason I keep swinging. Then I feel embarrased when the doctor arrives 30 minutes later and I am sure they enter the room only because they hear a slight banging and wonder what I might be doing damage to.
Anyway, it makes me feel young and childish. Sometimes it is a refreshing reminder of the truth, though.

lazy days

My time in the lab has finally come to a close, and it feels SO good. I was really sick of the full time job, even though I loved it when I had stuff to do.
Turns out many things changed since my initial week of the lab experience.

Just to update, the scruffy Asian guy is Qing Hui (ching way). He thought that when I told him I was a junior, I meant in high school.
I guess that is no worse than the time I was carded while buying tickets to a PG13 movie (I was nearly 17). I showed the ticket lady my drivers license, and we laughed.

Sean and I actually became pretty cool with each other, and were always talking and joking towards the end. Don't get me wrong, he is still quite obviously pompous and such, but I like him. You can't totally blame him for his attitude- he played football in college, and is super smart and successful. He has the double whammy ego- jock and smart guy. So perhaps you can imagine that every time you address him while he is sitting down he leans back importantly and puts both arms up behind his head in the classic "I am a dominant male" body language sign. It is funny. I owe him though, there were lots of days where he kept me sane just by talking to me alot, or giving me some work to do.

Alfred and I never talked towards the end- he was always off doing his own thing.
Andrei spoke to me a few times, so that was interesting. I felt really bad one morning when he said "hello", and I had to ask him to repeat it 3 times before I understood. Finally he was just like "HI" (flem added of course). He never greeted me again.

After Dr. Toney and I became much more comfortable with each other (ie I could admit to him when I did something stupid, and he could openly agree), I found out he is hilarious. Absolutely a trip. Most of his humour is contained in long rants, so they aren't really quotable, but oh how I wish I had recorded them.

Quotes from the Lab

Toney: just had a brain fart huh?
Me: Yeah...I think the majority of my brain function lately has actually been farting.
Toney: (Laughs, but doesn't disagree)
---
Sean: Damn, it looks like a horror film in there Andrei.
(Andrei was learning a lumbar recording surgery- it(the rat)was a bloody mess. Pretty sick)
---
Me: Hey Sean look! I got good staining!!
Sean: It is probably mostly background.
Me: Man you are such a downer
Sean: (grins, leaves room and comes right back in) HEEY!! THAT is AWESOME staining you have there!
Me: AWW thanks Sean! You are always so encouraging!
---
Toney: Ok lets rock on down to the PVN and see what we can find! MMM MMM thats a beautiful structure.
~He gets excited in the microscopy room
---
Toney: I would KILL someone just to see them fire One neuron. ONE- that is all I ask. Imbeciles!
~His frustration with the people that installed the cabinets in such a way that the corner ones couldn't open because the doors ran into the adjacent cabinets. Pretty funny- his frustration was entirely understandable.
---
Toney: when I was on the admissions board for med school, we would always have to ask them why they wanted to be a doctor. their answer was always "I wanna help people" blah blah blah. Why the hell don't you become a PRIEST! There are PLENTY of ways to help people. Just for ONCE tell me you are in it for the money!...Sometimes to spice things up a bit I would start off by telling them, "OK, today in this interview, I really wanna focus most on quantum physics."...
~He really despises med students and doctors because they don't do real science. It is an interesting form of intellectual discrimination.

Blue Hole

Blue Hole: Wimberly, TX

Picturesque-looks like a painting doesn't it?
This picture kind of represents my summer so far. Fun, exciting, but relaxed, and serene. Just lovely all around.
This was after a morning of horseback riding on a 400 acre ranch in Burnet. I went with some girls that are in the summer research program with me. (Florrie is in the picture.) It wasn't one of those measly nose-to-tail rides, but we were in a group and could go through the trees or where ever we wanted. It was a grand time, and well worth the bruised butt I had for the next two days. We stopped in Wimberly on the way back.
My job is over in one week, and although I am admittedly excited, I will miss it. I will miss the people especially.

[By the way, what you don't see in this picture is one second later, when Florrie bombs into the water ungracefully because her legs weren't up. Quite humorous.]

Monte on Fire

That there is the greatest guitarist I have ever seen or heard. Monte Montgomery, folks. He is incredible. His technical brilliance is obvious even to people who have never touched a guitar. Brian, the fam and I all saw him live in Fredrickburg on July 4th weekend. I think it was the best concert I have ever been to. It was simply Monte and Phil (a guy with a snare drum). You can't beat a raw guitar and a snare drum. It was also nice that there were only about 100 people there. Very intimate.
Anyway, if you ever hear of a Monte concert near you, strongly consider attending.

I also happen to be fairly fond of this picture.

the lab

Some have been complaining of my absence in the blogging world. *cough heather* You want an update? OH.. I will give you an update…

Here is what has been tying me up lately: I have a real job. We are not talking like the average summer job. I work 8(ish)-5(ish) EVERY day like a real adult! On the first real day (after orientation day) I arrived excitedly at 7:30 AM just to be safe- because I really wasn’t sure how long I would be lost before finding the physiology dept. (Although I had orientation the day before, they failed to actually orient me in terms of direction) I held my head high with my id badge proudly clipped onto my shirt, just waiting for the day ahead. I parked, climbed out of my car, and then began the trek to the actual building (approximately 12.3 miles away from aforementioned parking spot). I traversed vast empty plains of parking spots reserved for the important people who get the close lots, and then made my way through endless halls that all look the same. I got to the physiology department at 7:45, and found…nobody.
This was why there were vast empty plains of parking spots, apparently.
The secretaries wandered in a little after 8, and so I waited. I found a comfy chair located in the hallway and sat contentedly. I had many papers published in journals by Dr. Toney, which he had given me the day before as "some light reading" for "background info". Light reading my butt. So I read until 8:45 when Dr. Toney strolled in. Turns out that researchers keep a later schedule than most.

Anyway, UT Health Science Center in San Antonio is my kingdom, and Dr. Toney's autonomic neurophysiology lab my playground. We are researching several aspects of the paraventricular nucleus and its role in cardiovascular control- among many other things. Oh, and when I say "we" I mean "they". I can't even find my way to the bathroom, much less implant flourescent microbeads in the rostral ventrolateral medulla of rats.
Dr. Toney has a project that I will "spearhead" (which could be a synonym for "ruin miserably"), but I can't start until I get some rats of my very own. So for now I remain the useless summer student/intern/peon/slave. I guess if I expect them to think of me as any more than "the undergraduate", I should first learn how to say the word immunoglobulin without stuttering. A pang of fear seizes me every time I know it is coming up in conversation, because no matter how hard I try it usually comes out sounding something like "emooonugoblilun". It reminds me of 6-yr-olds that consistently say pusketti instead of spaghetti, or of 21-yr-olds named David Pyle who consistently say ambleance instead of ambulance.
Needless to say, this difficulty kind of embarrasing.
I work with some interesting folks, so here is the lineup:

Dr. Glenn Toney - P.I.
This is my boss, and since he only researches and doesn't teach, he is offically a "P.I." It took me a while to realize that PI meant primary investigator and not private investigator. It is too bad, because I had all these fanciful dreams going in black and white. I was just waiting to walk dramatically in his office with a tear on my cheek- and see him sitting smugly at his desk, feet up, gum on the bottom of his shoe, and a hat cocked to one side...
(In a desperate, raspy voice, almost a whisper) "Toney, I need your help"
"Ah, you again…well you've come to the right place, darlin’. Tell me what you need"
"It’s just that..no, no I ..I can’t" (turns head away and covers mouth)
"It’s not…?!?"
(Sobs) "It is.. it is….."
(With disgust) "that rat!"

Anyway, once I found out he was merely a primary investigator and not a private one, I decided not to disclose any dramatic secrets in hopes of retribution and safety. Ok, so I don’t have any dramatic secrets-especially none that would require protection. In reality, we really do talk about rats though. Our conversations are usually him talking, me nodding. Literally this is how one of our conversations went the other day when he called the lab from his office…
"’Hey there Kara, it’s Glenn here"
"Oh hey" (I feign peppiness as fear wells up inside as I imagine him quizzing me on the ins and outs of neuroscience. This always happens, even though he has never come close to quizzing me.)
"So I have been reading the literature, and it looks like the hypoxyprobe kit has a primary antibody conjugated to FITC, and then the secondary is anti-FITC and labeled with HRP"
"OH… ok"
"So this replaces the avidin-biotinylated system we talked about and serves as the amplification step"
"uh huh…ok"
"I am not positive...but maybe since it is FITC labeled we will need to incubate in the dark to prevent photobleaching, but I really doubt the binding of the secondary antibody will depend on the fluorescence of the primary FITC because I can’t imagine they would make a system that is thrown off by such a small part of the molecule being changed"
"yeah."
"Now I am going to ramble on with lots of scientific things that you don’t understand, but in such a blasé manner as to indicate that either you really should know them or I am so far removed from the real world that I forget these are not normal things to know."
"I am gonna keep on nodding and saying such radically profound things as yeah, and ok, pretending I comprehend every word and concept in hopes that it really isn’t important to know for my study, and if it is, maybe I can look it up on the internet later."

So that is usually how it goes.

Alfred
Alfred is the lab tech that I shamelessly follow around. I am like a little puppy. It probably gets annoying, but he is sort of the one in charge of me, and so I watch all his surgeries and help him take care of rats and such. He also is a very sweet guy, so he has no problem allowing me to go almost everywhere with him.
Sometimes I think that maybe he finds some really simple task for me to do just so he can have a little time to himself, kind like when a person throws the tennis ball far into the woods to keep the puppy occupied for a while. I promise I have gotten better, and don’t totally follow him around all the time anymore.

Andrei-the silent Russian
Andrei doesn’t speak. The only sound I have heard from him is the slight grunt he gave to accompany the head nod when we were introduced. Well, that is all I have heard out of him in English, anyway…assuming it was an English grunt and not a Russian one. Apparently the world of research attracts lots of Russians, because the physiology department has plenty, and they all congregate at Andrei’s desk and speak Russian together.
I have never actually seen the man do any work. He just sits and talks to other Russians…in Russian. Whenever I am near his desk I feel like I am on a Hunt for Red October. What if they are planning something? They could easily be conspirators, and the physiology department would never see it coming.
I heard on the down low from Alfred that there is some drama and bitterness with Andrei, because he thought he was getting a faculty position but instead they put him as a post doc in Toney’s lab. It is not talked about, and I was told I absolutely must never refer to Andrei as a post doc- which is fine, because even if I were to speak to Andrei, (equivalent of speaking to a wall- a foreign wall), I would never say "what’s up, post doc!". That would require a carrot in my hand, large ears, and a name like bugs.

*Please in no way think I have anything against Russians. I am all about glasnost.

Sean "I am way proud of myself" Stocker
Sean is the post doc, and is very quick to tell you that he actually has a faculty position at University of Kentucky, and they are in the process of building him his own lab, and oh yeah, if he can find a way to slip it in… they are investing a whole lot of money in him. Cool, Sean. Good for you.
In all fairness the guy does have a reason to be cocky. He is really intelligent, and has accomplished quite a bit. It isn’t easy to get a faculty position- and I really am happy for him. In fact, he is really nice towards me, and I have every reason to like the guy. I probably would like him a whole lot if he weren’t such a jerk to Alfred. He treats Alfred like dirt, and always has some snide comment that accentuates Alfred’s "lower education" (with only a bachelor’s), and his innate superiority. GET OVER YOURSELF.
He also tends to be something of a drama queen, and just LOVES to diss Dr. Toney behind his back. What is great is that he always tries to soften his insults. " Ya know, Glenn is really one of the smartest guys I have ever met..BUT…" OH shush. We all know that you think you are the smartest person you have ever met.
Peng( pronounced pong)
I really keep wanting to type Pong since that is how it’s said, so I think I will. Pong is a really sweet graduate student. Well, she seems sweet. All I have to judge by is her demeanor and tone when she says hi to me in the morning. We smile at each other too. Our interactions stop there. This is due to something of a language barrier.I really would like to talk to her more though. My dream conversation goes a little something like this:
"Hey Ping!"
"No, it’s Pong"
"Ping?"
"Pong"
"Ping."
"PONG!"

Just kidding…I would never really do that.

The scruffy little Asian man
I don’t really know who he is, but he’s cute. He just kind of wanders into our lab, takes an instrument, and leaves. Sometimes he brings a mouse with him, sits down, and does surgery in one of the rooms in our lab that isn’t used much. I am assuming this is ok since no one ever says anything. Maybe they just let him go because he is a scruffy Asian, and lets face it, those are hard to come by.

(-)H(-)P01
This was my first rat, the first one I saw die for the sake of science. To be brutally honest, he died just to teach me how to kill him, but lets not get semantic. With him, I learned how to perfuse a rat.
I actually held his little beating heart between my fingers, and then pierced the left ventricle with a catheter. It was maybe the weirdest and most disturbing thing I have ever had to do.
I just didn’t realize how warm he would be inside. It makes sense- but everything in the lab is so cold and clean- me cutting him open and sticking my fingers in his warm blood was just startling. I later found myself in the role of Lady Macbeth, washing my hands obsessively. Out damned spot!
Anyway, since then I have perfused many rats. When I was recently talking about work with Brian, he excitedly pointed out, " Oh yay, babeh! You are already desensitized to death!" This is true.
The basic idea of perfusion is that after you stick the catheter in the rat’s heart and open the right atrium, you replace all the rat’s blood with PBS first, and then PFA, a fixative. This is to fix and preserve the tissue for later. After he becomes a "ratsicle" as Dr. Toney likes to say, we chop off his head French-Revolution style (yes we have a rat guillotine) and crack off the skull bit by bit to retrieve the brain. Do realize that they are anesthetized /knocked out while we are doing this...and after we cut from the abdominal cavity up through the diaphragm, they can’t wake up because they have no way of breathing. Their heart does still beat, however.
Sorry, that probably grosses most people out.
Anyway, I am forced to give the rats a name for my study, and so as my system goes, he is (-)H(-)P01. (no hypoxia, no probe, #1. My personal study is hypoxia in the brain.) In my heart, however, he was more than that. In death, he has a name, and his name was Ricardo.
Thank you, Ricardo.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Was that a long enough entry to count as four, Heather?

WHOOP

Yep. That camera is MINE. oh happy happy day. As you can see I couldn't even wait to get out of the car to play with it (jeff picked me up and brought it to me because it was delivered to his place.) Many more pictures will follow I am sure.

I guess I finally figured out how to post pictures. This is my favorite picture, of course. Hopefully this new step forward in my infrequent blogging life will give me a jumpstart of sorts. It should ideally be followed with the purchase of a digital camera don't you think? Yeah. me too.
A huge pet peeve of mine is seeing people with digital cameras who never use them. Maybe I am what they call a "picture freak", but I know that if I had one it would most certainly be used- much to the chagrin of those around me in some cases. I am currently bound to stealing pictures from my friends websites. Those make up about 90% of my collection, and the rest are through email. In my defense, I do physically take some of the pictures (such as the one above) with their cameras. That gives me some right to owning them I hope.
Some day soon maybe I will write about why I love photography. It is a good topic. Time doesn't allow for such ramblings during finals week, unfortunately.

So I think people were under the impression that I liked my old blog background. I guess since I chose it, that is a fair assumption, but really I have always thought it was kinda ugly. Perhaps I am the only person who would purposefully choose the ugliest blog template, but it was different, and I like different. The green was actually ok, the orange with the green was not so cool. I am not really crazy about this one either. The sides kinda remind me of my grandma's couch. Anyway, I would actually like black best, but I fear it would be too boring. I don't think my words hold enough interest to make it compelling with merely a black background. It would also be really cool if I knew how to put links on the sidebar and stuff, because I definitely don't. I go to the settings area, and all I see is HTML and that scares me. I don't mess with that stuff. If anyone has any helpful hints as to how I can add things like links and pictures let me know. then maybe I will get a better background. (In my defense, I don't like any of the ones they offer. I want to design my own.)

sidewalk chalk vandals

So today is April the 20th, and this very much excites all 5 hippies on the campus at A&M. ( The number 420 means weed. awesome.) They banded together, and in a valiant effort to spread the word about the "ultimate relaxing tool", decorated the sidewalks with that oh so mature sidewalk chalk method. There were drawings of five-pronged leaves all over the place, along with various phrases indicative of drug use. (There was one particularly humourous spot where someone drew something that looked very much like a peacock. Going by context, I am guessing this was supposed to be a marijuana leaf, unless NBC was somehow involved in the whole ordeal. Maybe it was the vandal's first try at a leaf. The other vandals had formerly restricted him to the simpler job of writing 420 as large as possible everywhere they went. Now we understand why.) At the same time they used the sidewalks of campus to push their political leanings. OK, fine, express your love of THC, but implying I should vote for Bob Marley as president? Too far. I understand that along with my freedoms as an American comes the necessary allowance of free speech, but sidewalk-chalk propaganda? I didn't see those words anywhere after We the People...
There were also numerous peace signs. Perhaps that is part of the platform of Bob Marley. I am sure he would promote peace as president of the US. oh wait, he is DEAD.
It was nice that one of the vandals used the opportunity to write love notes to his sweetheart mary jane though...

I really thought that as a college student I wouldn't run into things this silly, but alas, some people never grow out of it. It kinda brings the nostalgia back from high school when I sat next to that kid in computer class who drew marijuana leaves on word art EVERY SINGLE DAY. The teacher would always make him erase it, and he would promptly start over. As the rest of the class was entering data into excel, he would painstakingly form each point of the leaf. This was, it seems, his primary concern and solitary pleasure in life. He sure had success written all over.

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I am sitting in the student computing center right now and somehow I got the chair that is considerably higher than everyone elses. We are talking a solid foot and a half higher. This makes for awkwardness. At first I felt around the chair bottom for a little chair-putter-downer lever, and then realized that these are the ones that spin to adjust height. I don't think it is worth the embarrasment of sitting amidst a full row of computers and spinning in circles. I shall remain hopelessly teetering above the CPU's and heads of all the computing students. It is strange to look down at my neighbor, who happens to be about 6'3''. I believe it is strange for him as well, considering the look he just gave me as I leered down at him. Don't worry, I looked away really fast. You know, maybe I don't mind this. I have leering power.
Imagine me sitting in this chair, and as people walk past just turning towards them and slowly staring them down at eye level. That would seriously freak some people out.
But I remain a shy giant in this world of seated folk, and so will continue to loom in an embarrased, appropriate way.

the spring break entry that should really be made two separate entries

wow I haven't written in like nearly two months. That is fairly sad.

spring break summary:
it rocked.

I got to spend lots of time with my best friend, my boyfriend, and my favorite person in the world. I also got to hang out with the person who can make me laugh more than anyone else, the person who inspires me and awes me like no one else can, and the most passionate person I have ever known...oh, and I got to spend time with the person who never fails to remind me of God's infinite grace and love. The fact that these are all one person is too beautiful of a coincidence to take lightly. I love him in a intense, startling, deep-seated way- and I dare not use the word love lightly. Never have-not when it comes to the romance of men or God.
It is a special person with whom you can spend an entire week straight and feel it is not nearly enough time.
I never knew I was such an emotional sap until I met him.

----TOTAL TURN OF SUBJECT MATTER AND MOOD----

It was a good spring break.
There was lots of driving and beautiful weather, and quite frankly I couldn't think of a better combo. I thoroughly enjoy driving on warm sunny days along city streets with my windows open. It is second only to driving on warm summer nights with my windows open.
There was one time I was really cruisin'...and when I say cruisin' I mean I was ultimately chill in the protege, and if there were a soundtrack to my life, a really rad song would have been playing at that moment. Anyway, I was on my way to Brian's apartment with my windows down, the volume up, and honestly, I was feeling pretty cool. You know when you have those times where you just feel cool? They don't happen often for me, but this was certainly one of them. So I was driving along babcock road with my windows down, my hair blowing back in the breeze, and breathing in the air with a cool smirk on when ....SMACK....there was a plastic bag plastered to my face.
Yeah.
Not cool.
So wind moves things, especially things like plastic bags.
I was a little too startled to take the time to figure out if it had flown in from outside or the floorboard, and I flailed wildly to get it off my face and out of my car. Flailing wildly is not synonymous with being (or feeling) cool. Then again, having a plastic bag on your face is not either. Having a plastic bag over your face is also not good for safe driving, and thus I believe the wild flailing was very much called for.

This story is now definitely my "most startling experience ever" story. It could also be cross-referenced with "most ego-shattering experience ever", "most drastic mood changing experience ever", or "experience that was surely the most amusing for others to watch", but it was primarily just startling. The story that previously held the "most startling" title has now been moved to just plain "scary"- yet it is still a worthy story. Perhaps I will share it on the blog sometime.

I saw Hotel Rwanda. If you ask me if it was good, I will say necessary- ask me if it was well done, and I will say intolerable. This is not a movie that can be judged, criticized, examined from afar like so many movies- for it is not fiction. Either you watch without feeling emotion because you convince yourself that it's not true, or you get hit upside the head with truth too shocking to just swallow. I tried to swallow emotion. I didn't want to taste salt. If I let go and allowed compassion to grab hold of me then I was afraid it wouldn't stop. I don't cry in public.
I knew the story already, but knowing somehow doesn't dilute the horror of it all, and there are not enough tears that could fall that would ever dilute the blood.
Part of me was too pissed off to cry.
The worst part is that I am the minority. Few even know the story- nor do they know about Burundi... Sudan. They might have heard a blurb on the evening news, but no one wants to listen to that for very long. Their dinners might get cold.

I think the saddest part of the 2 hours was the college student sitting behind me, who assured his friend halfway through: "naw dude, it's just a movie."

It's just a movie. It is easier to think that.

Rodrigo: my favorite toe

Highlight of my week: my suitemate bought shower crayons. As puerile as it may seem no one can honestly say they wouldn't be excited. I get to write all OVER my shower walls!! As if showers weren't enough fun already! I immediately took to writing spontaneous shower poetry- I hope my roomates enjoy.
I had my favorite dream EVER the other night! ( except for the one where I was chasing penguins and I had to run like they did. I was waddling all OVER the Arctic!). Many have heard about this, but bear with me. You see, my toes were interviewing for positions on my feet. (Before God of course) As could be expected, they were all fairly nervous. In case some of you are not aware, I have one particularly long toe on my right foot. I call him my turbo toe. (He definitely outgrew the big toe.) Well, turns out his name is Rodrigo. He was super nervous for his interview because he originally intended to be a finger. He was rejected from the hand seeing as he was just a little too stubby, but pleaded with God so passionately for an appendage position that he was placed on my right foot. His argument was that he could make up for being a possible stub risk by helping immensely with balance, and giving me some extra height if I really needed to do the tip-toe thing. So, Rodrigo, thankyou. Your fight for foot placement really encourages me. I love you even more now. Never again will I make fun of you, and when others do, I will stab them with you.


I am not sure why my toe is Hispanic. Perhaps I DO have a little Latin influence in me after all!!

MereBo

It has undoubtedly been a grand time living with the one and only Meredith Border. I decided there were some stories worth sharing about my lovely quirky roomate- though the funniness is most definitely intensified when you see the expressions on her face that go with the scenario.

The other night....
Mere: Oh...just in case you were wondering, that butter tub in the fridge actually has fruit in it.
ME: Um, yeah...I know. It's mine.
Mere: *Long pause as her eyes get very large and a look of horrified guilt comes over her* Oh nooooo.....
(she thought her mom had sent it for her or something, and ate half my fruit. I didn't care, but we got a great laugh out of it)
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Kim and I are playing guitar together and tuning the guitars to each other...
Mere: um, so I am not supposed to touch those knobby things am I...
Me: you mean the knobs that tune the guitar strings? No- that totally changes the note
Mere: Ok I am sososososososo sorry but you see I just can't help it and when I talk on the phone I just play with them naturally and I didn't mean to I am soo sorry I will never do it again!!!!
Me: OHH, so THAT's why my guitar is always out of tune!
(again, I really didn't care but we ended up laughing about it for a long time)
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I was getting ready for bed at like 2 in the morning, and walked out of the bathroom to see Mere, who had been sleeping for about 3 hours, standing at the door all discombobulated...
Mere: (sleepily with eyes half closed but with a very urgent tone) Kara I was supposed to tell you that you only have 30 seconds! 30 seconds to get your multicultural film! It's gonna be ruined you need to hurry!
Me: Um, multicultural film? What are you tal....ohhhh, you are still asleep. it's ok mere, just turn around, go back to bed...
Mere: No, hahaha...but you have to hurry! (as she wakes up, the conscious side begins to laugh at herself while the unconscious side is still very worried about my multicultural film...)
Me: you were dreaming..multicultural film?????
Mere: ummmm multicolored? I don't know. (promptly goes back to bed, lies down, and falls asleep)
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AS I walk into the room...
Mere: I burned my feet in the sink!!!!! they realllly hurt and I can't walk!!!
(she washes her feet in the sink...often twice a DAY. kinda abnormal. apparently the water was too hot that day.)
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When Meredith laughs, one eye squints much smaller than the other. Someone pointed this out to her once in high school, so for a long time whenever she laughed she would hold her left eye open with her fingers.
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There are so many funny Meredith stories that I can't remember- lots from high school. but oh well- these were probably much funnier to me because I was there. Her stories about her family are even better though. There is the time she walked into the bathroom to find her sister putting a cd in the toilet and flushing. Apparently she thought this was the best way to clean a cd. Then there is the time she walked into her house to find her little brother running repeatedly into the wall- just for fun.
I am telling you- constant entertainment from this girl.