R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Ladies, nobody in science is ever going to give you any respect. You're going to have to knee them in the groin, sucker punch, headlock, and choke hold them, kick them to the ground, beat them into unconsciousness with a heavy object, and take the respect you deserve from their limp, clammy hands. In an intellectual sense, of course... yes, of course...

Halloween 2009

I don't think I'll ever really understand Halloween. Is it religious or pagan? Is it for kids or adults? As a kid, wearing a costume made me cry, and other kids' costumes scared me. Even now the idea of dressing up like a stranger perplexes me... who am I supposed to be when I'm in costume? A character? Myself? Which myself?

I walked around campus on Friday as confused as ever. On a non-holiday, the undergrads look strange to me. Half of them are wearing baby blue t-shirts and athletic shorts, and the other half look like a bad cut/paste job from an Urban Outfitters catalog. On Halloween, I figure it's safe to assume they're in costume. Maybe the Urban Outfitters kids dressed up as the school spirit kids to be ironic, and the school spirit kids wore the ugliest outfits imaginable to make fun of the Urban Outfitters kids. Or maybe no one was in costume and they all looked like they do every day. Honestly, it's hard to tell the difference.

I spent my Halloween drinking wine and eating stir fry with a French Kiss, a wild type Drosophila, Pumpkin π, and a guy named Luv. My costume was Bad Elyse-- which is a joke, see, because there is no Good Elyse. Hahahaha. Ah, I don't get Halloween at all.

Hiccups

I am a weird girl and I have weird hiccups.

When my mother was pregnant with me, people could tell that I was hiccuping because her stomach would bounce visibly. My hiccups were so strong they actually caused my mother pain.

My hiccups have always been out of control. My diaphragm contracts so violently that my entire body shakes. They yank on internal organs, tug my abdominal muscles painfully, and keep me from breathing properly, making me lightheaded.

I don't know what triggers them, but this morning I woke up with the hiccups (actually, the hiccups woke ME up) and I've had them 3 times since. The present bout has been so strong that I had to vomit (twice).

Go away hiccups!

Then came the Beatles, and it was Good.

My mom and I listened to the Beatles' remastered Revolver (stereo) this morning. We're huge Beatles geeks. We debated which album best represented when the Beatles' sound began to change. I think Revolver shows the complete revolution they made... but she thinks earlier. Rubber Soul, perhaps? And which song is more perfect-- "And Your Bird Can Sing" or "Here, There, and Everywhere"? Every time a song came on we had a conversation that went like this:

Me: I really like this song.
Mom: Me too! It's a really good song.

or

Me: This is a perfect song.
Mom: Yes, this is really one of [Paul/John/George]'s best songs.

It's like saying "amen" after a prayer. Everything in my family is about the Beatles to the point of ridiculousness. When I was little and we skipped going to mass, my mom would play "Hey Jude" and "Let it Be" and say that it was good enough. My mom got a new puzzle last week. She said, "It'll give us something to do at Christmas besides look at the snow." It's a white album puzzle-- 500 white pieces. Only in my family.

Knives are sharp

Last night I was admiring my new birthday knives. They are exquisitely beautiful and shiny, especially the santoku knife, which has oval indents in it for "thinner slicing." I was standing in my kitchen admiring its icy, almost malicious gleam in the tinny fluorescent light, and found myself instinctively moving my finger toward the blade to touch its shiny edge. (I like to touch shiny things. I am a girl.)

Slow motion-- my finger's hypnotic trajectory is punctuated by my mother's voice-- "KNIVES... WILL... CUT... YOU..." I managed to stop my finger micrometers away from the knife, suddenly realizing that yes, running my finger along the edge would probably result in a terrible, annoying band-aid on my digit for the next two weeks. This probably saved me hours of irritation as well as 8-10 bloody paper towels.

Thanks, Mom.