Mint or Cherry?

That time that rolls around once a year made its way back into my life again.  It is what we all know and love…a trip to the dentist.  I don’t know about you, but I am very far from a fan of the dentist.  I won’t say I hate the dentist, because I feel bad insulting someone who is indeed a very nice man and has kept me cavity-free for my entire life.  That’s right folks,not one single cavity (knock on wood, throw salt over my shoulder, and a host of other supersititious actions).  So to keep my streak going, I routinely visit the dentist.  I arrive there and take my seat to await my turn to have my teeth poked, prodded, and scrubbed to an oblivion.  I spend the first but of my time mesmerized by the fish tank in front of me.  There are quite a few fish that I dare to characterize as “cute” a term not commonly used for sea life.  After watching them for quite some time I couldn’t help but feel pity for them as I recall Finding Nemo and the fish who desperately wanted to escape their own dentist office fate.  But alas, there was no toilet in site, and I doubt the body of water any toilet here would lead to would be hospitable for these fish.  They would probably curse me as they swim through sewage and encounter others of their kind with four eyes or five tails.  Thankfully, my plotting of freedom was interrupted as I was finally ushered into the dentist chair.

When anyone else goes to the dentist are you too expected to carry on a stirring conversation with your mouth open and occupied with dental instruments?  I mean seriously, how can I possibly make intelligent conversation when all I am really capable of doing in this situation is making a few inquisitive cavemen grunts at a tone appropriate to the converational topic.  And then came the question…”What flavour of flouride would you like?  I have cherry, mint and orange.”  What just a second here…thats it!  Just three little choices??  *sigh…orange is out, I do not dare risking my love of citrus and forever associating it with the dentist…same for cherry…well that left mint.  I was very disappointed and felt dejected that they did not have my usual choice of pina colada.  I began to bemoan this travesty as I sat there looking like a duck during lfouride treatment and holding a tissue to take care of any spit when a poster illustrating many different forms of horrendous dental problems.  Overbite, underbite, crowding, spacing, yellow, black, purple, and a myriad of other unsightly tooth problems.  It is a wonder any of our teeth survive past babydom.  With that great poster to look at mint was not tasting so bad.  I sad back, wiped a dribble of flouride off my chin and comtemplated the newest issue of the day…red toothbrush or blue toothbrush?

No “Jogging” Here

I have done it again…signed up for another half marathon.  I figured physically signing up would give me the kick in the butt I needed to start pounding out the miles again.  And it did…for a short time.  At the moment I clicked to pay the monstrosity of an entrance fee vision of running schedules and fast times began prancing across my brain.  Oh the goals I formulated within those few minutes.  I was ready…this time I would be the next Haile Gebreselassies, posting world record times.  Needless to say that did not last long.  The elation quickly transformed into a “why exactly am I doing this?” frame of mind.  At this moment I am still not quite sure.  It is not like I have anything to prove to the running world…no one is clocking my times or keeping a record of my sparse running related accomplishments (except for maybe the creepy guy I see on the trails every morning…ah but I digress, I shall save that story for another time).  Maybe it is the inner running ego that makes me not want to be confused with the morning “jogger.”  If you are a runner like myself you will understand how we loathe the word “jogger”.  A runner is stealthy and cheetah-like, prowling the streets in the early morning when no one else is awake.  We lay claim to trails barely graced by dawn’s light.  We blow by walkers and dismiss the bikers because we are running and taking part in that sacred ritual of cavemen times and are propelled forward by only our own brute, power.  We have advanced past the jogger stage.  We have thrown aside our fuel belts and headphones.  We do not need the distraction from the pain that music provides because runners crave it.  Without the discomfort we are not satisfied.  We do not wear heart rate monitors because we know we are working hard when our chest is about explode.  We do not wear shirts (just a sports bra for the ladies) and we regularly don shorty shorts because our years of running have sculpted our stomach and legs to a point where we feel comfortable displaying them to the world.  Even if we don’t want to…runners need to run.  So I guess that is why I entered the race.  I was compelled to; my running spirit was pulling me back from the trenches of “jogging”.  I WILL lace my shoes and I WILL run that half marathon.  Saved, once again, by running’s amazing grace.

I Got My First Real Six String

That’s right!!!  I can officially say I can play (in some recognizable manner) Summer of ’69 by Bryan Adams on the guitar.  I have spent the last week plucking away and tentatively singing along while I strum to that wonderful ode to guitar playing anthem.  I am sure it does not sound nearly as good as I think it does but oh well I am my own little basement rock star!!  My newest challenges will include some Oasis (the ever-popular Wonderwall), Bob Dylan, and anything else I can find some decent guitar chords within my level to play…which at this point is still minimal.

It has been quiet around the lab lately due to a lack of undergrads and in a science lab that can only mean one thing…MCAT season.  At some point all science undergrads are bitten by the med school bug, and what this means for me is making my own buffers and running my own columns one slow, agonizing drop at a time.  Oh well, I guess I should cherish this rare bit of peace and quiet.  I am sure it will not last long.

I am off for now, to read the owner’s manual of my new columns to make sure the operation os the same as my old one which I desperately hope it is.  I once again silently curse my undergrad for this extra chore.

And if anyone is wondering…there are approximately 116 days until Christmas.  I say approximately because I might have gotten distracted while counting the days on the calendar.

Rashes, Strings, and Things

I just finished my morning run…another solid morning of miles.  It was a chilly morning, which is odd since today is supposed to be over 30 degrees Celcius (around 90 Farenheit for the American friends out there).  The run stared good, felt awesome as my shoes were pounding the trail.  However, about 2 kilometers in a strange thing happened.  I noticed a horrendous burning sensation happening on my ears and arms.  I brushed it off as a physcological excuse to go back home.  So I puttered on for another kilometer, but it just kept getting worse.  I gave in and finally stopped to investigate the situation.  Turns out I had this spreading rash/hive situation happening on my arms.  Dear god that freaked me out and took me back to my unfortuante medical reaction a few years ago.  It scared me so much I relented and headed fro home.  Thankfully, after a total of 5 km, the rash was beginning to subside.  Well, there was no excuse now, so I hit the trails for another round of miles before finally retiring to the shower.

Today I head to the local music store to get my newly acquired guitar re-strung.  I am hoping the kind resident musician at the music store will allow me to watch as he puts these new stringd on for me.  I am excited for the strings which will allow me to continue my progress to becoming the world’s next best guitarist.  My repetroire now includes Yankee Doodle, When the Saints Go Marching In, and Ode to Joy…and its still growing.

Also my newest toy arrives in two days.  That’s right folks, the new plam pre shall be mine and I shall love it.  I will await the arrival of that wonderful package for the next two days.  Anyways, I am off to do some western blots and take care of some LB media that I had to make today.  It is currently in the autoclave which is a gigantic machine that looks like a torture tool from the midevil times.  I will get the undergrad to take it out…I avoid that thing any chance I get.

The Cycle Begins Again

With the end of today, my wonderful, carefree, summer will be coming to an end.  There will be no more road trips, random events, or any otherwise sponteous happenings.  While the weather here might still be relatively summery, the general summer feel will be starting to wane.  The cycle of the seasons has come right back around and is quickly approaching the “beginning of the semester” period.  This shall be an interesting year for me.  As a new grad sudent I am not required to take a full course load.  Instead, I will be a lab rat, researching a cure to all that ails you in my lab of science.  In addition I will be taking up my new post lording over the undergraduates as a graduate assistant who duties will include running labs and genrally manage the ruckus that undergrads cause (breaking columns and such).

I also have a few other goals in mind.  Since I have been road-tripping like a cross country trucker, my running miles have suffered just a wee litle bit.  Now that the car will once again be relegated to city roads, I plan to give my legs the workout they have been craving, which means……..MILES, MILES, MILES!!!!  Also, I am delving back in to my neglectd musical roots.  In addition to resurrecting my saxophone I am taking on a new challenge.  I am going to learn how to play the guitar.  Have no fear, you will definately be hearing all about my progress.  I just got the guitar from Wes (check out my link to his site) and I chose some picks at the local music store.  My progress of an hour of strumming yielded a stirring rendition of Amazing Grace while frighening the dog at the same time.  You have no idea how pretrified this poor thing was at the sound of my strumming.  He let it be known just how perturbed he was by barking along as accompaniment.

So with that I shall be off to partake in my last official, carefree, summer day.  A breakfast worth its weight in gold is being cooked for me as we speak, and I was just asked if I like blurberry pancakes.

Sing Along

I am about to head on yet another road trip and would absolutely love some new songs to play on my iPod fro the drive.  There are only so many times I can bear other drivers to witness me belting out the lyrics to “Redneck Woman” with my windows open on the highway.  I like just about any possible kind of music out there with the exception of screamo.  I do not like the screamo, its jut not my style.  But everything else is approved to be pumping from my car speakers.  Any good ones?

Also today I was once again suprised at how well people know me.  Throughout the course of the day these things happened…

1)  When asked if I wanted a muffin, someone at the table blurted out “Aren’t muffins bad for you?”  An accurate echo of my usual mantra.  (Just in case you didn’t know, those wonderful little morning snacks can pack up to 400 calories.  Even the “healthy” whole wheat ones and other deceivingly nutritious names.)

2) When the idea of bringing a toaster oven to the office was brought up someone else commented “Yes, so Lee-Anne can have her monthly bagel.”  Again, very true…I only eat one of those carbo rich sink-holes a month.

3)  When asked if I ran today (a Thursday) and I replied that I had.  They recoiled in shock since Thursdays are usually my day off.  I had to re-arrange due to the raod trip, you see. 

Oh what an entertaining day, and another one that re-affirmed my quirkiness isn’t all that bad.

Airports

Airports can be fun.  They are a key point of travelling to tropical destiantions, shuttling you overseas, or just a good place to get a huge oversized and overpriced 3 day old muffin.  I like them for all these reasons, but the one place in airports that I do not like are the international departures terminals.  It is a very sad place to be.  Here people are not excitetedly talking about the beaches they will encounter or daydreaming about the great pictures of their adventures they might take on their short jaunt before returning home.  Here, departures last for much longer than a week or 10 days.  I am talking months folks, and its not a nice thing to witness.  In addition to these woeful departures, one can also see the trauma that ensues when a traveller is about to board a flight and realizes they have forgotten their passport, iPod, running shoes, or anything else that will be missed for such a long period of time.  The only good thing about these international departure terminals is that they offer a close up image of an honest-to-God airplane.  However, this elation  is short-lived once you realize it will be jetting off to a far away land with your favourite people on it.  *sigh, damn those Wright brothers.

Anyways, on to more interesting news.  All you science people out there will understand my latest dilemma.  I need to do column chromatography to isolate a protein…without a column.  You see, a certain person of undergraduate studies has broken it.  Dropped it, on the floor.  And to add to this harship, there is a sample still sitting in the resin of this column with no bottom spout to drip out of.  Woe to me, I have a bounty of elution buffer, but spout to elute from.  Anyone have any ideas of how to salvage what I have left?  I am sure any solution will have to be close to the likes of a miracle.

So here I sit, proteinless and mourning my column, and waiting for the replacement to arrive.  The column that is, not the undergrad…I am not that lucky.

PS.  I was joking about the last bit there.  My undergrad is exceptional at making buffers.  They are always spot on (in the words of Chef Ramsey) and never contaminated with incorrect components, miscellaneous junk, or rubber bits from the stopper of a syringe.  Way to go faithful undergrad.

Ride Warrior

On my last roadtrip I conquered the road, and my destination had me conquering the death-defying roller coasters.  I am not a roller coaster junkie and the rush of adrenaline does not course throught my veins as I think about the “thrill” that awaits me as I plummet down the twists and turns of a roller coaster.  I am more of a casual rider.  I do not look forward to the almost vertical drops with great anticipation, nor do I throw my hands up to the wind as I screech with glee as I quickly tumble back to sea level.  Quite the opposite actually.  Instead, I scream for my life…a life-flashing-before-my-eyes kind of scream.  I am genuinely terrified, and not in a good way, as the coaster slips from its high perch into the oblivion below.  During the whole ride my hands are gripped firmly to any and all safety devices that I may or may not trust to keep me in my seat.  As horrible as this sounds, by the end of the day, I was beginning to enjoy the roller coaster experience, mostly due to my new theory I have developed to ride these beasts.  Here it is…seconds before the cart is set to drop, I begin screaming.  Yes, if you are ever riding a coaster and are still clicking up to the summit and you hear a premature shriek of terror from somewhere in the middle (I do not, under any circumstances, sit in the front), that is me.  I find this technique lessens the pressure in your head as you drop, making it feel less likely to explode…always a key feature.

Anyways, the point here is, I just displayed a classic Darwinian move.  I evolved to ride the coasters, and survived while doing it.  Isn’t evolution grand?

Road Warrior

I am back after my weekend road trip/hiatus.  I am not one who really minds a drive if it is under 6 hours long.  I got my iPod at the ready and equipped with my special “driving playlist”, filled up on gas, and plugged in my GPS as a safety blanket.  I have been on this trip a lot of times but I just get that soft, cozy secure feeling if my GPS is at the ready to correct and driving blunders of mine.  I hit the road and began singing along.  I am of the opinion I sing at my best in the car…at least I hope so because I do so with my windows down.  While belting out the lyrics to “Redneck Woman” (a deviation from my usual ghetto style) I was thoroughly content with myself.  As my next song (Hand in my Pocket, by Alanis Morisette) came on I was loving the drive.  I glanced over at my cell phone and couldn’ t have been happier when I saw that the usually annoying “No Service” was pasted across the front.  This ensured that no interruptions to my driving bliss would occur.  It gave me time to survey the road, and believe me, I came across some very strange highway sights which inspired thoughts such as…

1) Is is really safe to drive down the highway with your passenger’s feet hanging out the window?  Couldn’t the transport trucks flying by posisbly do some very unpleasant things to that situation?

2)  If you are camping in a trailer why do you need to bring an electric fridge with you?

3) Did they really just forget their boat on the side of the road?

4) Why do people look at you funny whey they see you singing in your car?  EVERYONE has done it themselves.

Oh the road…its like a whole new universe out there.  But now I am back and playlist is pulsing through the soundwaves of my lab of science.

Hiatus Over!

I haven’t posted in a couple days because I have been away adventuring, but have no fear I have some good insights to share.  But for now I must go to bed, I am mucho tired.

Sweet dreams too all.