Daddy's little soldier

Much like the first steps and the first cuss word, the first trip to the ER ranks among the milestones of parenting. Fortunately, our trip was relatively quick (in and out in 150 minutes), and we knew that she was OK.

For posterity...we were at a brunch that was hosted by my new boss, Larry. Elaine was playing contentedly with a toy on the floor, seemingly oblivious to all of the people milling about and the food that, quite honestly, was in easy nabbing distance for her little grappling hooks. I was standing nearby with a plate of food, and Jill was on the other side of the room, filling her plate. Abruptly, Elaine stood up and dashed forward, beginning to babble about something. I moved to put my plate down, keeping an eye on which way she went. She didn't get far. I guess she planned on just blowing past a group of three people standing to my right, but she ran into the back of someone's hand. I think that he was swinging it, as if to gesture, as she ran into it. He says that he was holding a plate.

He bent down and took Elaine by the shoulders, and then looked up at me and said, "I wounded her." I made him repeat himself, because I didn't see a plate or anything; I just saw her stop cold. He turned her around and then I saw the blood. She had a vertical gash in the middle of her forehead, about 1.5 cm long. By this time, her internal clock that gauges the appropriate interval between the instance of pain and the explosion of tears had expired, and we all heard her side of the story. By this time, Jill had arrived at the scene. We zipped her off to the bathroom, and Jill cleaned up the wound. Jill said that she saw subcutaneous fat, which meant that Elaine probably needed stitches. I knew that she was going to be fine, but we were worried about scarring.

Checking in


We disappeared pretty quickly for the UW Medical Center. Elaine had long since forgotten about the incident by the time we got registered in the ER waiting room. Once we finally saw a doctor, and confirmed that she did require a couple of stitches, both Jill and I started to get anxious. Suddenly! Two nurses came in and swaddled Elaine, pinning her arms. The doctor applied a topical anesthetic, waited a few minutes, and then injected a local anesthetic. Then he deftly sewed two stitches, applied some antiseptic, and slapped a bandage on. Through all of this, Elaine made a horrible, gutteral crying sound, her eyes bulging and darting between the unfamiliar faces that were hovering overhead. Tears ran out of her eyes, snot came out her nose, and she drooled so much, she was choking. When they finally released her, she practically peeled off of the bed, she was so soaked in sweat. Needless to say, it took a while to calm her down, and she pretty much just passed out for awhile. Jill and I? Yeah, basically traumatized.

When Elaine woke up, she was just fine. We went to Josh and Megan's place, and Elaine played with Madeleine and the other kids that were there. No problems. We changed her bandage this morning, and she just sat there in my lap, totally unconcerned. I wonder what, if anything, she remembers of the incident.

Random -vs- Chaos

An observation

When playing boardgames, I often run up against the rough side of luck. Perhaps the person to my left is taking all my s#!t, perhaps the dice are unfriendly, perhaps I only pick the bad cards...in any case, I am clearly the victim of circumstance. Obviously, the opposite is true when I do well at a boardgame. In this instance, bad luck has failed to impede my brilliant plans. I gain respect, and rise in the minds of my competitors. I smell different, and the ladies want my number. Too bad, ladies.

An emotional reaction

Hey, unexploded cluster bomblets of the world's wars, lying dormant but deadly in the countryside of Europe and Asia...you suck. Hey USA and Russia, nice going on NOT SIGNING THE STUPID TREATY TO STOP MAKING GOSHDARNED CLUSTER BOMBS.

I'm shaking my head in disbelief...

...at this editorial in the NYT. I mean, seriously, we haven't shared the most basic medical knowledge with these people? "This is sa-aa-alt with magical no-swollen-neck, no-retarded powder. Boogah woogah!"


(Zed)
Cluster bombs can GO SUCK AN EGG.

Torn from yesterday's headlines...

"German Freezer Baby Mother Guilty"

First of all, I think that they could have afforded a few prepositions and perhaps a verb to make that actually work as a coherent phrase. Second, that's just not an image that I want in my mind at 7AM. I mean, it's an isolated incident, they caught her, case closed. Had there been a rash of baby freezer mother incidents, perhaps that would qualify as breaking through the filter to join the ranks of news items dealing with global recession, major political restructuring, genocide, anything to do with Michael Jackson, and skateboarding guinea pigs.

I'm sure that I'm leaving a few things out.

About my day

Started off benignly enough. Well, Elaine got up at 3:40, but Jill mostly took care of that incident. I got my coffee and internetting done before she got up for good. I was showered and dressed in plenty of time, and I did NOT have to run for the bus stop. The bacteria that I'd been struggling with at work grew nicely, and I had a semi-productive day of recording results, making plans, and carving out bench space. My sandwich was excellent, and I had an afternoon latte and a nice, freshly-baked chocolate chip cookie.

Later, I texted Jill to find out when we would be going to the oncologist for her follow up after Monday's scan. She said that the early word was that she might have a clot in her leg, so she was sent to a hospital to have an MRI performed. I had a bit of a debacle with the busing/shuttle system here, and ended up standing outside on a rather yucky day for the better part of an hour. After making it to the appointment, we received some great news: Jill's scan was really good. No visible cancer, just like last time. This means that we can move on to the next step, which is exploratory surgery and peritoneal therapy.

While at the oncologist's office, we found out that Jill did indeed have a clot in her leg. She received a prescription for 6 months of a really expensive medicine (our health plan is awesome for inpatient stuff, but very crappy for co-pay). By the time we got all of this taken care of, it was getting pretty late. We picked up some Ethiopian food and headed home. Upon entering the house, my nostrils were assaulted with a very strong gas odor. I turned off the furnace and called the gas company. After a few hours, they determined that the cause was in our service line, somewhere under the front lawn.

I'm currently waiting for the diggers to come and install a new line. It is 11:15PM. It is likely to be a long night.

Bleh.

UPDATE: They finished up around 1AM. Turns out the leak was near the meter, so there was no need to dig a trench. The furnace is now cranking away, and all is well. I'm raising a glass to those fine men and women of the gas company for coming out on a chilly night and getting the job done. Now I can enjoy my holiday beer with peace of mind before I slip into a prewarmed bed.

Thinking about Thanking

We Yanks have a little thing we like to call Thanksgiving coming up. It's where we look back on our year and reflect on the things that we are glad of. It's especially poignant at this time of year, as the last bales of whatever are brought into the barns and such. It's a real capper on the year's hard work.

I was going to make a list of the things for which I am glad, but I changed my mind. This will be a list of things that spontaneously pop into my head that annoy me. You may then interpret the opposite to be things which make me happy. Let's get started...

-I hate it when able-bodied people press the wheelchair button outside of a building instead of just opening the freaking door.

-Cats

Well, that's all I have for now. Gobble gobble!

In the can

Just put the vapor lock on a fresh batch of Munich-style Helles. Here's the plan: allow fermentation to get underway (hopefully within 24 hours), then move the carboy to the garage. Hopefully, the temperature outside will hold its 45-55 degrees F pattern that we've seen for weeks. I'll rack it to secondary after 9-10 days, and mature it for another 10 days before bottling. Sometime between the third week of December and the second week of January, we will have a weekend game day. We'll try to get as many people as possible, and the goal will be to kill the whole batch. It will be Decemberfest (or Januaryfest). It will be awesome. I will be mostly naked by the end of the day, in all likelihood, so folks should plan for that.

Who's afraid of the little old lady who lived in a shoe?

Elaine, probably. She's shown remarkably few hangups in the past. The bath is the only exception, where she screams terribly when her head is being washed or rinsed. I did the same thing as a baby. The terrible thing is that I remember thinking that my mom was going to drown me in the tub...not on purpose, of course, but completely accidentally. It's one of those times when you feel like matters are totally out of your hands, I guess, which is really scary. I hope Elaine doesn't think that about me, though.

The shoes thing started up recently. We had bought her these Robeez knockoffs at Target a few months ago, and she's worn them all summer. Then we got a bunch of clothes from a local friend, and there were some shoes in there. She was obsessed with this pair of white sandals that were too small for her. She still insists on being put into them occasionally. Then there were the Pooh shoes and a pair of blue sneakers with laces. These have both been favorites. The problem is that the blue shoes are the only ones left that really fit her.

Our troubles began with the galoshes. You may have heard that it rains here, and we thought that a pair of galoshes would be a prudent addition to Elaine's wardrobe. Jill found a pair at Nordstrom's, and we presented them to Elaine, confident that she would be instantly transformed into a hooting bundle of galoshes-possessing toddler joy. Instead--Tragedy! Horror! Betrayal! She wouldn't even touch them, and backed away from them like they were a nest of snakes. I basically forced them onto her feet, and she took two steps and just stood screaming at her feet until I pulled them off. After calming her down (no easy task) she decided to join me on the couch. Upon pulling herself up and rolling over, she found herself inches from the dreaded boots and did the same nest-of-snakes hasty retreat, accompanied by another screaming fit.

Jill took them back and exchanged them for another color. We left them in the middle of the basement room without any fanfare or acknowledgement, hoping to just acclimate her to their presence. She will tolerate their presence, but if you pick one up and show it to her, you still get a strong reaction. We found that this newly acquired phobia extends beyond galoshes, however. Today, I pulled out a new set of Fauxbeez (what we call the Target brand Robeez). We had previously purchased the next larger size in different colors, and I figured that those that she'd been wearing were getting a bit tight on her. She freaked. Now, I had put these shoes on her feet before, when they were much too big for her. There was no reaction then, so this is something new. I made her wear them today, and she quickly forgot about them.

Part of our trip out was to go to Target, and Jill wanted to get some larger sneakers for her. Going down the aisle that was full of new shoes was pretty traumatic for her. There was shrieking and hyperventilating. I could picture images of Dora the Explorer pink and white sneakers swirling threateningly around her head as Hannah Montana strappy sandals (with the pink glitter) bared their teeth at her and growled. I left her in the cart and walked about 20 feet away. I reached over and picked up an perfectly nice white slipper and showed it to her. Same reaction. I told Jill to just pick something out without us, and pushed the cart to the next section. It was like turning off a faucet. She was totally fine.

Humans are weird.

transport motorways and tramlines

As I proclaimed in the last post, it's been nice to get back into a workday schedule. I jump the bus at 8:30-ish and again around 5:00. Eventually, I'll get a bike for non-rainy days, which should cut down on my transit time. I'm also considering running to or from work. It's flat and then downhill going to work, so I won't get too tired, and there is also a mini locker room/shower attached to the bathroom closest to my lab, if I find that I get too sweaty. On the other hand, I can run home and get more of a workout. Two of the guys that I work with occasionally run home, and their route goes near my house. Also, Megan works nearby, and she's offered to run home with me. This makes sense, since her daughter will usually be at my house if she's at work that late.

I find that I'm not much of a bus person. I appreciate that so many people use the public transportation here, and it's usually pretty convenient. It's just that I use the bus at the busiest times of day, and I go right through the university district. This means surly drivers, lots of cell phone gabble, and jockeying for the few available seats. I pass the trip reading the news on my phone (or reading journal articles) and listening to music. Most of the time, there's no interaction with anyone, which feels somehow simultaneously right and wrong. I want my personal space, so I respect others' personal space, but it feels kind of pathetic and lonely at the same time. It's the Western world way, I suppose. I do try to exchange a minimum of pleasantries if someone sits next to me, or if my seatmate is getting up to leave. I figure that it's better than shifting my eyes away and leaning to one side as if a ghost just passed on one side.

Leaving work the other day, I hurried to the bus stop, not wearing my headphones. A man at the bus stop struck up a conversation about the crossing light, and I gamely participated. I thought that he worked in my building. Then he said, "Well, since we're being social...are you worried about global warming?" Sensing a trap, I said "I'm not exactly worried about it, no." Of course, once he had started, there was no dignified way for him to abandon ship, so he handed me a business card-sized piece of paper with a website address on it, and harangued me about his idea of an alternative energy solution for the next five minutes. He got more animated and louder as he went on, and I struggled to tie off the conversation by summarizing what he had said and promising to look into it. I got the distinct feeling that he was using me to broadcast to the bystanders at the bus stop. I tried to use body language cues to signal my desire to bring it to a close (avoiding eye contact, laughing inappropriately, doing jumping jacks, etc), but he was having none of it.

Once the bus arrived, I got on and searched in vain for a place where we couldn't carry on the conversation any further, but anyplace that there was only one available seat (on the aisle) was matched by an available seat on the opposite side (on the aisle). I plopped down into one, pulled out my phone, and began pushing buttons and staring furiously at the screen. Somewhere, out there, a bomb was about to go off, and I needed to hack into the mainframe at the evil hideout and disable the device. From my phone. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him pull out a 3-ring binder and begin flipping through it. Convinced that he was about to show me further evidence of his obsession, I slipped on my headphones and began nodding my head to the silence. Eventually, he either found a different seat or got off. I felt kind of bad about the very obvious (and passive-aggressive) brush-off, but I do hate being solicited in the street (not for money or a sale in this instance, but for positive reinforcement and word-of-mouth support). I feel like both parties are demeaned by the process. In summary, I conclude that headphones are a pretty good idea, even if you have no music playing. Remember, kids: you can stupidly smile and nod your way out of undesirable social situations if you wear your headphones. This includes cologne-drenched 19 year-olds at cell phone kiosks, random people with clipboards, bums with coffee cans, and guys with ideas-so-crazy-they-just-might-work.

Have a great weekend!

Life of Late

Wow, I haven't posted for a whole week! That's gotta be some kind of record.

It's dark at 5:30PM, now. That feels weird. It's been rather balmy lately, but I believe that's going to change soon. The legendary November rains should be kicking in any time now.

It's been interesting starting a new project in the lab. I'm enjoying it, so far. My lab mates are an interesting bunch, and the lab dynamic is very different than in my last lab. Everyone here is in his own orbit around the basic theme of the lab, with very little overlap or crossed paths. As a result, the environment is collegial, but not as collaborative. I'm not saying that cross-pollination of projects cannot occur, but the healthy space between projects is definitely by design, and fosters a DIY attitude. I'm pretty happy about my early experiences, since I had some apprehension about going back into the lab. We all went out for beers last Friday, and it turns out that you can order German beer by the liter quite close to where I work. Interesting...

In other news, some stuff happened, I drank some beer (nothing new), played some games (new titles: Terakh and Wealth of Nations), got out for a few runs, and read a whole bunch of science. I got sciences coming out the ying yang, y'all!

Bottle reflections

I was listening to A Prairie Home Companion this morning whilst giving Elaine a bottle, and some woman sang Let it Be by The Beatles. I'd heard this song a few thousand times in my life, as a conservative estimate, and had puzzled over the lyrics. Given the popularity of the song, I assumed the lyrics must be rather profound to many people. I think that what had kerfuzzled my understanding was my perception of The Beatles as hippie spiritualists who, while not anti-Christian, were certainly pro-Eastern in their mystology. Yes, I just made up a word there, or at least spell-check thinks I have.

Let It Be mentions Mother Mary, a somewhat divisive figure. To some Christians, she represents the perfect response to God;"...let it be done according to your will.". Catholics, especially, overtly revere Mary for her obedient spirit. The overall concept of stepping out of the way to let God do his work without the interference of your needs and desires is a fairly universal concept in mainstream Christianity today. However, Mary also represents a battleground of sorts among Catholics, Protestants, and non-Christians. Part of the Protestant argument against Catholicism is the claim that Catholics worship Mary, which would be idolatry. This causes some Catholics to get a bit of a persecution complex about the Mary thing, and they claim her as a badge of honor and do whatever possible to flaunt her image. Non-Christians, particularly atheists, sometimes refer mockingly to Mary as a metaphor for blind devotion. I assumed that Lennon/McCartney meant the reference in the third sense, since that (the non-Christian perspective) is how I am used to encountering Mary in pop music.

The thing that struck me when listening to the song today, particularly after having been heavily involved in Catholicism during my last six years, was that they actually managed to get it right. The lyrics describe perfectly and respectfully what the believer gets out of a spiritual relationship with Mary. First, the concept that she's a mother, and so one can turn to her. Second, that she will be there, or come to you, in times of trouble. Third, that her lesson is always the same. Accept what is thrown your way. Live through it as best you can, and take what good you can from it. Finally, there's an affirmation that you will be rewarded for your faith with understanding, but you have to be patient. I found that the song presented these concepts without a sense of irony or judgement, but instead imbued them with beauty and grace.

I'm no longer a believing person, but I haven't lost respect for those I know who devote their hearts and minds to their faith. I know that it's not blind devotion, but rather devotion with intense self-scrutiny, discipline, and an intent to become a better person every day. So, I guess that I was struck by the song, particularly since it was written and recorded in one of the most tumultuous and divisive years in American history, 1969.

The other thing that I noticed while listening was that Let it Be was the musical ancestor to all of those really crappy touchy-feely, change the world anthems from the 80's. As if she was reading my mind, the singer launched into a few bars of We Are The World right in the middle of the song. I am not kidding. She actually thought that would be a good idea. Ah, well. Let it be, I guess.

End of an era

I usually don't do sports here, since no one who reads this cares, but I'm going there this time. This week, the Detroit Pistons traded their starting point guard, Chauncey Billups, to Denver for Allen Iverson. The combo of Billups, Rip Hamilton, Rasheed Wallace, Tayshaun Prince, and Ben Wallace won Detroit its most recent championship in 2004. Billups and Hamilton have led the Pistons to 6 straight Eastern Conference Finals appearances, and two NBA finals appearances. Suffice to say, it's been a successful run.

Billups, Hamilton, and Big Ben had bounced around the league for awhile before being picked up as spare parts by the Pistons. Prince was a first round draft pick in 2003, and Rasheed came aboard in 2004 after gaining a reputation as a head case with a short fuse. Rick Carlisle did an admirable job of coaching these motivated castoffs and youngsters to be the class of the Eastern Conference, and then Larry Brown swooped in and molded them into the perfect team. There were no superstars on that team, just unselfish, hungry talent. They destroyed the Shaq and Kobe-led LA Lakers in that year's championship series. Literally. The team was effectively blown up in that offseason.

I watched almost every game of that season, sitting on my couch, drinking cheap beer. I had come to Michigan as a Charlotte Hornets fan, but the Hornets moved to New Orleans a year after I left Charlotte. Almost every Pistons game was televised, so I started watching. It was hard not to get to like the individual players, as they so obviously loved to play together. I really started to pay attention in 2003, the year they drafted Prince. It was often frustrating to watch them, because they would often have huge scoring droughts during the games. I often thought, "Man, they really need someone who can slash to the basket--a true scorer. A superstar-type." I waited around for the big trade that would put them over the top.

However, during the championship run, the Pistons embodied the Larry Brown mantra, "Play the right way". Meaning, share the ball, make the extra pass, take high percentage shots, and above all, play as hard on defense as you do on offense. The same media that gave Detroit no chance at all throughout the playoffs quickly changed their tune once the writing was on the wall in the Finals. The team was celebrated as heralding a new paradigm for an NBA team. It was a real feel-good ending for a bunch of castoffs who committed to each other and to a strong work ethic.

Needless to say, the NBA hated the concept. Superstars sell all the merchandise, and the league. When the Pistons lost in the Finals in 2005 (to the Spurs, another "ensemble" team), the critics began talking about how perhaps the 2004 Lakers team was due for a big fall anyway. When they lost in the Eastern Conference Finals in 2006 to Shaq's Miami Heat, the first rumblings of how the "pure team" model was failing to hold up against "superstar with supporting cast" model. Last year, the Pistons again fell in the Eastern Conference Finals, this time to LeBron James and his Cleveland Cavaliers. The president of the team, Joe Dumars, swore to make a huge trade this past summer, which never emerged.

So now, we're here. After winning their first three games of the season, the trade was announced. The team captain, Billups, would be sent to his hometown Denver for an aging superstar. The duo of Billups and Hamilton, one of the top scoring guard combos in the history of the NBA, was to be broken up. Hamilton did not speak to the media for three days after the trade. Other team members had only the most cursory comments. While I'm sure that Iverson will fit in with the crew in Detroit, and I'm sure that the team will contend for the Eastern Conference crown again, it won't be the same, and it's going to take some time for everyone to get used to it.

In 2006, Nazr Muhammad was traded to Charlotte. He was picked up the previous summer in free agency to replace Ben Wallace. He started for about a month, then came off the bench for a few months, and then disappeared from the rotation. The media was not kind to him. They cast him as an outsider, and said that he really didn't fit in with the rest of the Pistons. Upon arriving in Charlotte, at his first news conference, he said that Detroit was the only place he'd ever played where he genuinely liked every player, all the way down the roster. That's the way I've felt about this team from afar. They all seem like good guys, and the chemistry is palpable.

There are some sports writers who are now saying that this trade is tantamount to an admission that the team concept is a failed strategy. I remind you: an NBA record-tying six straight Conference Finals appearances, two straight Finals appearances, and one NBA title. The most consistently strong team in the East for the past seven years. 100% sold out seats and a reenergized, rabid fan base. The most recognizable starting five in the NBA. The perennial understanding that any road to the Finals would go through Detroit. "DEEE-TROIT BASKETBALL!!!" reverberating through the Palace of Auburn Hills. There is no failure in any of that.

I'm excited to see the new-look Pistons when I can actually get a game on TV out this way. I'm looking forward to the new sets on offense, and the faster style of play that Iverson will bring. He wants to win so much, you can see it on his face every night. That kind of hunger will serve the team well. But I just want to raise a glass one more time to the Chauncey Billups era in Detroit. Cool, collected Chauncey: directing traffic like a general, rock solid from the stripe, protecting the ball, backing down pretty much every other guard in the league, dropping bombs from downtown. The guy you want with the ball in his hands at the end of the game. You will be missed.

Hope

Congratulations, America. We just elected a Democratic Congress and President. I applaud us on our fine decision. I think that our new chief executive has the goods to perform adequately for the next term, and may have what it takes to be truly extraordinary. I think that he actually gets it--"it" being what we need as a nation. What do we need? Not hope--lottery sales and Vegas earnings indicate that we have plenty of that. Change? That happens every time the sun rises. No, I think that we need intelligence, progressive values, and extreme political courage in our leaders to pull the rusty heap of this nation into this century. That said, Obama needs to recognize that he must be the leader of his party. He must corral them and get them to work in a disciplined manner, because there is no way in hell he's going to enjoy this kind of majority after the 2010 elections. It always bounces back, and the GOP is going to start campaigning for those seats first thing tomorrow.

All that said, I'm HAPPY right now. There is a distinct possibility that science will be funded for the next few years. A McCain spending freeze would have essentially destroyed academic science research. Also, I'm HAPPY that we've elected our first black president in my lifetime. I'm just going to shut up and enjoy this for awhile.

Congratulations to president-elect Obama!